Winner of the 2004 Best Fantasy Book Award
From the 10th Annual Sacramento Publishers & Authors Book Awards
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Ten Dragon Tails
 Candy Taylor Tutt
Libris Draconis Press
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Table of Contents
Excerpt
CELESTIAL WISDOM
“Mister Scoggins!”
“Aye, Cap’n Pangbourne!” Virtue Scoggins pulled his wool cap down firmly and,
rather nimbly for a man his age, climbed down the rope ladder into the small
boat. Scoggins did not want to keep the captain waiting. Only a short distance
away, the Portuguese galleon sat disabled, rigging torn and sails shredded by
cannon fire. She wallowed low in the water, heavily laden with cargo that now
belonged to the English crown.
As captain of H.M.S. Arrow, Richard Pangbourne
served proudly as a privateer of Queen Elizabeth. He wanted it made clear that
he seized goods under the auspices of Her Majesty and did not commit robbery
like a common pirate. Well-educated, he was fluent in both French and Spanish.
However, the subtle nuances of the Portuguese language eluded him, thus he was
accompanied by the ship’s navigator. The only man aboard who spoke fluent
Portuguese was Virtue Scoggins.
The son of a lumber broker in Deptford, young
Scoggins had been sent to school in London. A bright lad, he enjoyed learning
and excelled in languages. Moreover, he exhibited a flair for penmanship and
illuminating which delighted the schoolmasters. A clerk’s life seemed his
destiny, until the city of London lured him away from his desk, and down
to the docks. There he was filled with wonder as he encountered strange cargo,
animals from faraway ports, explorers, ship captains, privateers, and once even
saw the Queen herself. Scoggins decided that what lay ahead for him was not the
life of a merchant. He wanted to learn and see firsthand all the world had to
offer. When his studies were accomplished, he signed as an apprentice navigator
aboard a privateering vessel.
On his second voyage, the ship captured a French
merchant vessel and Scoggins joined the boarding party. Below decks, he spied a
swarthy little old man in monk’s
robes, cowering near the crew’s quarters. Upon inquiring he was told the man was
a Portuguese prisoner; indignant that they would capture a man of God, he
promptly interceded on the monk’s behalf. Over protests of the French captain,
the old man was brought aboard. The trip back to
England was safe and uneventful, and to relieve boredom Scoggins passed time
chatting in Latin with the monk. He introduced himself as Fr. Manuel and offered
to teach the young navigator Portuguese. Fr. Manuel had been a missionary in
China, and told tales of an exotic land where
winged serpents dwelled in the Emperor’s palace, and people ate unsavory fare
such as dog meat and rats boiled in rice. One day as Scoggins made entries on a
new map, the monk took the pen and made mysterious ink dribbles on a piece of
parchment. Fr. Manuel explained it was the
Chinese way of writing, that each word was actually a picture. Scoggins sat
wide-eyed, and knew he had made the right decision. Other men could have the
gold; knowledge was treasure for Virtue Scoggins.
As they boarded the Portuguese ship, a short stout man
identified himself to Captain Pangbourne.
“Captain Antonio del Acaba,” Scoggins duly translated.
“Tell him I seize his goods under authorization of Queen
Elizabeth of England with whom his sovereign is at war.”
Scoggins began to speak but was cut short by Captain del Acaba.
“He knows full well the practices of English pirates.” del Acaba
cast a look of superiority at Pangbourne, obviously amused that the English
captain required an interpreter, and a rather unimpressive-looking one at that.
Indeed, with spectacles perched on his nose, graying hair
unruly under his cap, and coat overlarge for his thin shoulders, Scoggins did
not cut a dashing figure.
“Tell him were we true pirates we would seize his ship and his men,
but in the name of Her Majesty we will demand only his cargo.”
His animosity tempered with not a little relief, del
Acaba agreed to Pangbourne’s terms. Formalities thus observed, the crew of the
Arrow fell to transferring goods from the Portuguese ship. A sizeable cache of
wooden chests full of gold coins was hauled up; casks of brandy, more chests,
barrels aromatic with coffee and spices followed. Then more exotic plunder
appeared: bolts of silken cloth embroidered with golden threads and tiny bright
beads, lacquered baskets, ornamental carved wooden boxes.
“What do you make of this, Mr. Wheeler?” Pangbourne
asked his first mate.
“A return voyage from Portuguese holdings on the coast, India
as likely...”
“Hah! It has been a long trip for them then. We’ll lighten
their load so as not to overtax their ship, being that she is not altogether
seaworthy just at present.” Wheeler and the captain laughed as they went
belowdecks to supervise.
Scoggins continued to observe the steady flow of cargo.
The salt tang of the sea air mingled with the sweet smells of incense from
ornate wood boxes as they were carried by. Suddenly Pangbourne’s voice boomed
from beneath the deck.
“Mister Scoggins!”
“Aye, Cap’n. ”The navigator descended into the hold, blinking
as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Here, man.” Matthew Wheeler beckoned from a corner and
pointed to a chest the size of a small trunk. It was intricately carved in an
open grillwork design, and fastened to its top was a thin metal plate engraved
with tiny markings. Wheeler cocked his head to one side.
“Indian writing, d’ye suppose?”
Scoggins inched closer and adjusted his spectacles.
“Aye, ‘tis writing, but not Indian.” He squatted down for a better look.
“Chinese, I wager.”
Leaning over, he frowned in concentraton.”Ah...’heaven’...no,no...’celestial’...yes,
that’s it...” Scoggins straightened. “ ‘Celestial Wisdom.’ Astronomy writings,
as likely.” “Hah!” Captain Pangbourne rubbed his hands together, clearly excited
at prospect of securing any navigational assistance. “Take it to my cabin
straight away.” Wheeler lifted the chest and nearly lost his balance.
“There’s scarce any weight to it, sir,” he gasped, recovering his
footing.
“Have a care there, Matthew,” Pangbourne laughed. “Come to my
cabin tonight, Scoggins, we’ll go over these maps. I daresay we can
always do with more wisdom.”
That evening as Captain Pangbourne made entries in his
journal, he was annoyed by soft squeaking and rustling. “Poxy mice,” he
muttered. He capped his inkwell and closed the ship’s log just as a timid knock
came at the door.
“It’s Scoggins, sir.”
“Yes, come in, man. Let’s have a look at these
astronomical treasures.” Scrutinizing it more closely, they perceived that the
chest’s design was actually lattice-work, a pattern of small openings, not
unlike a small cage. The Captain undid the satiny vermilion cord that secured
the brass fastener together; again the rustling noise came, not from mice in the
cabin, but from within the chest. Pangbourne lifted the rounded top, and peered
inside.
“Almighty God!” Pangbourne slammed the lid shut
again and turned to the navigator, eyes wide.
Scoggins had never seen the captain so agitated,
short of victory in battle. Indeed, he now brandished his quill pen like a
sword, gesturing toward the Chinese chest. Ink flew.
“ ’tis an imp of Satan himself, Scoggins,
an...an abomination!”
Cautiously Scoggins drew on his spectacles, and
listened at the top of the chest. “If you’ll permit me, sir?” Carefully he
lifted the lid and looked within. Looking back at him were two bright green
eyes.
“What it is, is a...”
“What, man, what?”
“A dragon, Captain. Not much more than a
hatchling, to judge by its size. You can see, its wings are ...”
“ ’ods bodkins, man, shut the chest before it
escapes and attacks us!” Pangbourne backed away from the table.
Scoggins suppressed a smile. “It’s got no teeth yet,
sir.” He reached inside and a pigeon-like cooing sound came forth. “I’ve seen
one, many years ago, in Macao. ‘Tis strictly forbidden to take them from China.
This one was likely a gift from the Emperor to one of his ministers, and
captured
by the Portuguese.”
The navigator gently lifted the small creature out. “Ah, m’
beauty. Just a baby, she is,” he said, supporting the dragon’s body with one
hand as he stroked the small wedge-shaped head. Its smooth green skin was the
color of oak leaves in spring, tiny scales no bigger than lentils covered its
back, and its slim tail twined around Scoggins’ arm as he scratched under its
chin. With squirrel-like
chattering, it craned its long neck upward and spread fragile wings, thin as
rose petals.
Scoggins reassured Pangbourne as he approached with
trepidation. “No telling how long she’s been cooped up in her cage, needs to
stretch a bit, she does.” Pangbourne moved a bit closer.
“Mind you keep a good hold on the creature, Scoggins.”
Slowly, holding it by the nib, the captain extended his quill pen. After
inspecting it for a moment, the baby dragon suddenly lunged its head
forward, seizing the feather end of the pen in its mouth.
“Aye, hi!” Startled, Pangbourne let go of the pen. The
dragon held its prize daintily in its front claws, looking satisfied. Scoggins
could contain himself no longer and laughed. “Pardon, Cap’n.” He pried the pen
from the baby dragon’s grip and returned it to Pangbourne. “Your pen, sir.”
Transferring the hatchling to his shoulder, Scoggins reached into the chest.
“Perhaps ‘tis merely a tale, but...dragons are the
guardians of pearls for the Emperor, so the story goes...ah.” Triumphantly, he
held out his hand to Pangbourne.
The captain stared. In the navigator’s ink-stained palm
was a pearl the size of a robin’s egg, shimmering in the candlelight.
“God’s nightgown, I’ve never seen such a thing!”
Pangbourne took up the pearl and then, as he turned to Scoggins, it was his turn
to laugh. The tiny dragon had crept round the navigator’s neck and was
stealthily staring at the captain, its head protruding from Scoggins’ frizz of
gray hair.
Retrieving the creature, Scoggins put it gently
back into its cage. “Have you some water, sir? I’m thinking she may have a
thirst...”
“Ah, to be sure, to be sure.” Pangbourne hastily
tucked the pearl in a leather pouch on his writing table, then took up his water
jug and poured a bit into a clean teacup.
“Back to the brig with you, my fine pen-thief.”
Scoggins set the cup carefully into the cage and closed the lid. “Would
she not make a fine pretty to bring Her Majesty, Cap’n?”
Smiling slightly, Pangbourne crossed his arms. “Not a
word of this to the crew. ‘Tis certain they would think we had been pinching the
grog.”
The next day
H.M.S. Arrow anchored in a sheltered cove on the coast. Rigging was adjusted,
Scoggins detailed a new map, and the first mate requested permission to take men
ashore in search of fresh water.
“Mr. Wheeler!” shouted the captain from the quarterdeck.
“Aye!”
“Take two of the gunnery crew with you and fetch us some
meat!”
“Aye, Cap’n!” The men fell to rowing the short distance to
shore, lustily singing of pigs, sweet and fat, and women with similar qualities.
It was late in the day when Scoggins took a walk on deck to
stretch his legs and relieve his stiff neck. Squinting in the setting sun, he
could just make out the smallboat with Wheeler and the men returning to the
ship. Then his view was blocked by something very large, and dark.
Scoggins held the telescope to his eye, its brass rim cold on
his cheekbone. Steep sides swept upward to sails, tall and spiky as bat’s
wings. Elaborate latticework adorned the foc’sle, and on the bow, no figurehead
- instead, staring out vigilantly at the seas ahead, were two enormous painted
eyes.
“By Harry, it’s a Chinese junk!” Instantly Captain Pangbourne
was at his side. “Here, Cap’n, have look.”
Pangbourne seized the telescope.
“Is it pirates or a merchant vessel, Scoggins?”
“Can’t make it out, Cap’n...”
“Wait now...God’s teeth, now there’s two!” He thrust the
telescope back to the navigator.
“Aye, off to starboard...” Scoggins fell quiet. “Getting on
dark soon, Cap’n...”
He paused, then continued. “Wheeler and the men...they’re
nowhere to be seen, sir.”
As twilight deepened, eerie quiet enveloped the HMS Arrow.
Pangbourne and Scoggins stood gripping the quarterdeck railing and staring out
into the blackness beyond their ship. Suddenly a tiny speck of light flared in
the distance, firefly-quick; then another, then more and more, which became
glowing spheres as they came closer and closer. Lanterns, scores of them,
reflected a golden-brown light in the water below as the Chinese junks neared.
A shout went up from one of the Chinese boats. Scoggins strained to
hear, then turned to Captain Pangbourne, his voice kept low.
“They are representatives of the Emperor... They say they know we
have Celestial Wisdom... Its return is the ransom... for release of our men.”
“Yes, man, of course tell them yes,” Pangbourne replied
immediately, nodding, never once taking his eyes off the lantern-lit ships.
Scoggins shouted a reply, then hurried below to fetched the chest from the
Captain’s cabin.
The men appeared out of the night, rowing for all they were
worth under escort of two small Chinese boats, lit fore and aft with tall,
swaying lanterns. The navigator bowed to the Chinese spokesman, who stared at
him, then bowed in return. As he took the chest, he replied to Scoggins, then
climbed into one of the small boats. Yellow lanterns bobbed and danced, becoming
smaller as they returned to the Chinese junks.
Wheeler and the men were giddy with relief, all talking at once of
strange things they had witnessed on board the junk.
“They stared at us, poked us a bit...”
“Laughed at us, they did...”
“What was in that chest, Cap’n?”
Pangbourne hesitated, then cleared his throat.
“Ah...the Chinese take their astrology very seriously, it would appear...”
“Well an’ it’s a good thing for us. You rescued us none too
soon, as was dinner-time on their ship an’ it appeared none too tasty.”
“Fish, I’ll wager,” replied Captain Pangbourne. “Worst yet,
this great fat Chinese ran round with a cleaver and was slicing rats to put in
the stew!”
Captain Pangbourne made a retching noise, and the men jeered.
Later, in the Captain’s cabin, Scoggins sighed over his rum.
“ ‘Twould have been grand to fetch back a dragon for Her Majesty.”
“Aye.” Pangbourne nodded in agreement. “Now there’s a thing
neither Francis Drake nor Dandy Jack Hawkins ever brought from the New World.”
Suddenly the Captain pounded his fist on the table.
“Hah!” He jumped up and rummaged over his desk until he found the
leather pouch containing the pearl. “Let it not be said we returned
empty-handed, man!” he beamed, lifting his tankard triumphantly. “By the way,
what did that Chinese say to you, Scoggins?”
“He was amazed that a barbarian pirate speaks the language of the
Middle Kingdom.”
“Hmm. Indeed.” Pangbourne took another drink. “Scoggins?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do the Chinese really eat rats?”
“Yes, sir, boiled with rice.”
Pangbourne shuddered. “Dragons in the hold, rats in the rice,
‘sblood but they are a heathen lot!”
Scoggins peered over the tops of his spectacles. “Aye, Cap’n, but
they do possess Celestial Wisdom.” Laughter was heard on deck from the Captain’s
cabin, and the men wagered he was pinching the grog.
Richard Pangbourne
presented Queen Elizabeth with the pearl of Celestial Wisdom and received a
privateer’s pension. Virtue Scoggins was appointed Royal Mapmaker, his finely
detailed work prized for its accuracy. Embellished with intricate designs, every
map bore his trademark: in flowing script, in the seas off China, were the
words: ‘Here Be Dragons.’
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