Tea

Lady Hen held her baby to her chest. One of the last usable tables in all of Dragontown sat between us. I’d had the degrading floor of the palace replaced with stone. And though the cobblestones looked unseemly, they hadn’t melted yet. The ground was still eating away at their bottoms, and they were already rocky and unstable. They were enough to preserve the bottoms of my furniture, and to make it easy to walk inside without shoes on.

Little teacups sat on saucers that hadn’t yet lost their color. I frowned at mine, it was losing some of its heat and Lady Hen refused to drink until baby Falcon had finished suckling. He struggled to bite on properly. When he wasn’t crying, he was a sluggish baby with a face that looked squished. His brown hair twisted and wrinkled out of his scalp.

When she finally set the infant down, I slurped at my drink. It was lukewarm, the coldest it would get. There was a time when tea that sat too long got cold. It lost less of its flavor when it wasn’t hot at all. Tepid, like this, and it tasted more dull. My hand moved toward my window as if opening it would allow cold air in. I hadn’t bothered trying to open a window in a while.

Lady Hen pressed her cup to her lips. She coughed, “What a bitter thing.”

“You don’t like tea?” I blinked. I’d thought it proper for her to experience the heights of life now that her son was a count. I grabbed it from her, “If you won’t be…”

“Have it. Are all things lairds an’ ladies have enjoyed like this?”

I finished the rest of my cup and put it aside, “Once you’ve tasted it a few times, it starts to be more rich. That’s like a lot of things. Living here.”

“It’s been getting better since Falcon came around,” she smiled.

I watched the infant. He was a month old and almost couldn’t move, but his little arms and legs wobbled toward nothing, “There are few beautiful things here. It is pleasant to have one more,” I sipped Lady Hen’s tea.

“The faithful would have ye believe the dragon herself is one ‘o them.”

“No more than I am,” I jokingly hand-talked the scepter symbol like Mr. Brick had done.

Lady Hen gasped. She flicked her fingers back and forth elegantly. Her eyebrows raised hopefully, but her lips remained pursed and silent. She pointed at me, then used her fingers to make the shape of two pointed teeth. She dragged her thumb over her mouth and grimaced hatefully. Finally she tilted her pinky up. Her eyes followed my hands expectantly. A question?

I made the teeth sign, then silently pointed out the window, toward the fire gland. Finally, I put my pinky up like she had. I wondered if that was the sign for a question. She nodded. That told me two things. The pinky most certainly indicated a question, and the fangs meant Bubbles. I covered my mouth with my hand, in half I was surprised. I whispered the meaning of the signs so Lady Hen could not hear them, but so Bubbles could.

Lady Hen sighed in relief. She made the scepter symbol, then tied her pinky fingers around each other. A dozen more symbols came in quick succession, and she pressed her hand to her heart. She pointed at Count Falcon. I mimicked my hand against my heart, and I pointed at him also. “It’s getting late,” I leaned back in my chair, “you should take him to bed.” She scooped up her baby and took him away. I stepped outside. In a way, I supposed it must have been the evening, but it could have been the morning or midnight as well and I’d have known as little.

My shoes were already half-ruined, and their bottoms hissed with the steps I took. I dragged myself to the broken bridge. Mack and Mr. Brick had been using the some of the same symbols before. If anyone knew why Lady Hen was interested in such a thing as hand talking, it would be them. Mr. Brick would want to speak with me as much as my father. My leg trembled as I lowered it onto the half-ruined stone. I’d almost fallen from the bridge when it was stable. I avoided slipping this time, though I had to make a wide step across a segment where much of the bridge had already collapsed.

I pushed myself into Mack’s hovel. Elsie knelt silently on the floor and Daisy was playing in her robes. I curtsied as I entered. “Good evening, Mack.” I made the fangs symbol.

He noted it, “We should talk outside.” He angled his head toward his wife, a respected member of the faithful. I wondered why he shouldn’t trust her.

I followed him a short way. Now, I noticed in the corner of my eye several of my subjects using this new language. When they saw me, many of them began talking out loud again. And none of them dared use hand talking while the faithful were around. When we reached a quiet area he made a series of signs toward me that I didn’t recognize. I shook my head honestly. Then, I dragged my thumb across my teeth like Lady Hen had, and I raised my pinky. I needed to know what that sign meant. I needed to know that Lady Hen had been asking me something innocent.

“Hate,” Mack answered out loud.

I pointed at him: you. I made the fang sign: dragon. I dragged my thumb across my teeth and flicked up my pinky: hate? He nodded. I blinked. I guessed, I was supposed to expect that response.

I started to make the fang sign again, but curled my hand into a fist instead. I breathed heavily. I pointed at him, then shook my head as if to say no. Finally, I made the symbol of the scepter. He turned to leave. I supposed my answer was more clear than I’d meant.