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There was not much room for coherent thought in the head of the average swamp dragon, and Lady Brightscale Silverwing of Quirm, more recently known as Penny, was no exception. The little hen dragon lived her life in a state of perpetual confusion, bouncing dimly between one instinct and the next—and quickly, lest her stomach, which delivered more orders than her brain, objected.
This was quite natural for a swamp dragon. It did, however, mean that when Lady Brightscale lost her way one day, hurled from the smoking ruin of her owner’s dragon shed after a coal-feeding mishap, she never did find her way home again. It was a pity, too, because there’d been quite good coal. All the coal you could eat! If one of Lady Brightscale’s fellows hadn’t taken that as a challenge, she would have remained in her pen quite happily.
As it was, the little dragon had followed her nose away from the smoke and noise and towards a blacksmith’s, where she’d scrounged for scraps before being chased off and bumbling into…oh, a succession of buildings, none she remembered very well, always on the hunt for food. By the time it occurred to her that she ought to sniff her way home, Lady Brightscale was on the back of a cart heading out of Quirm, gnawing contentedly on a pair of fine leather boots with deliciously spicy buckles.
The little dragon raised her head, peering out the back of the cart, and saw the long, long stretch of road unrolling behind the cart. Even a swamp dragon is capable of performing very simple calculations when necessary, and the current variables in the equation—the very, very long distance and the very, very small wings on Lady Brightscale’s back—did not seem promising.
Lady Brightscale settled back down to enjoy her boot. The horses pulling the cart snorted uneasily, flaring their nostrils at the odd chemical scent wafting their way. The driver, sitting just behind the horses and entirely unaware of the tiny dragon curled into a half-open crate at the back of the cart, drove on.
#
Most people are sensible enough to realize that swamp dragons, for all their diminutive size and glittering colour, are not ideal pets. Most people are also, however, quite helpless to exercise their common sense when faced with small, helpless, hungry animals. Lady Brightscale—Penny, now, due to her bright coppery scales—had no trouble endearing herself to the driver, nor to the rest of the little company heading southeast towards Ankh-Morpork.
By the time the little merchant train rattled into Ankh-Morpork, Penny’s memories of her Life Before were dim indeed. The little dragon did not mind, though she did think wistfully of the coal now and then. Otherwise, she was happy. There wasn’t enough coal, but there were plenty of nails and old horseshoes to eat, and once Penny even managed to slurp the oil out of a lantern before she was caught.
Altogether, the carters were too busy trying to sort out why their wagons seemed to be falling apart and what on the Disc had happened to the horses’ shoes to notice Penny flitting off once the wagon train was through the city gates.
Penny was lost almost immediately. The little dragon was experienced at being lost, though, and felt no particular attachment for the carts that had jounced and bounced her here from Quirm. There was food in the city, lots of it, and excitement! She squeaked and flapped and whirred through the great city’s grimy industrial areas, sneaking coal from forges and poking her curious, empty head into open doorways.
Coal! Food! Smells! Bright colours! Penny was dazzled. There were even dragons. Swamp dragons are a generally solitary species, and even swamp dragons bred in domestic comfort for generations are not generally drawn to the company of other swamp dragons. Penny, however, was just bright enough to reason that the presence of other dragons probably indicated the presence of a dragon feeder, and Penny would quite like to taste high-quality coal once again, preferably without being chased out by an irate blacksmith.
Determined, Penny followed her nose.
#
Penny’s trip through Ankh-Morpork was an erratic one. She was easily distracted by interesting sights and smells, and occasionally forgot her mission entirely. Still, sooner or later she’d catch a whiff of dragon, bizarre and distinctive, and she’d bobble back towards her goal.
The light was fading and the little copper dragon was quite tired by the time she reached the big house in the fashionable part of Ankh-Morpork. She knew little about property values, but she did know that the area was distinctly more open and less smelly overall, with none of the fascinating stinks and chemical odours she’d encountered elsewhere.
One stink was strong, though. Dragon! And the dragon house, which was quite architecturally similar to the one she’d lived in back in Quirm: stout-walled, with a flimsy roof. Penny had seen that roof up close when she’d tumbled snout-over-tail through it on a blast wave back home.
Home. Her wings fluttered anxiously, hauling her up into the air. Was this Home? It didn’t seem exactly like Home, though admittedly Penny didn’t recall much about Home. It must be Home, the swamp dragon decided, if only because nowhere else she’d been was anywhere close. The large, armoured person leaving the dragon house and stumping back towards the human house must be the Feeder.
Her mind thus made up, the little copper dragon flitted towards the roof. She landed, scrabbling for purchase, and found that the roof shifted under her meagre weight. Penny let out a startled squawk as she fell, flaring her stubby wings too late to catch herself and tumbling down into the dragon house.
Rows of tiny, inquisitive, smoking heads popped up over their pens to stare. Dozens of pairs of jewel-bright eyes glowed. Intruder!
The tiny dragons, well-fed and full to bursting with the coal they’d just been served for dinner, flamed.
#
Lady Penny Brightscale Silverwing of Quirm and Ankh-Morpork seemed to be somewhere else. It was large and open and cold and didn’t smell of very much at all.
The little dragon was confused. As this was her usual state of being, she found this neither distressing nor unexpected. Disregarding her sudden translocation to the vast and eternal night desert, she squeaked an inquiry at the figure looming above her.
NO.
Penny squeaked again, requesting clarification.
NO, I DO NOT HAVE COAL. AND NO, I AM NOT HAVING THIS. DO YOU HEAR ME? NOT ALL OF YOU AT ONCE!
Penny realized someone else had squeaked. She realized, furthermore, that she was surrounded by quite a few swamp dragons, some of them still smoking from the nose.
Hmph. She edged closer to the dark figure and plucked plaintively at its robe. If there was to be coal, she wanted the first serving. The other dragons had already eaten. It wasn’t fair.
NO! BAD.
The figure was trying to tug its robe away from Penny now, but the other dragons had moved in. And—oh, no!—Penny realized there were even more dragons, all of them with a faintly spectral sheen, clinging to the tall figure’s shoulders, flapping and squawking indignantly as they hung on.
The black-robed figure sighed deeply. IT’S BAD ENOUGH DEALING WITH THIS LOT, it said. I CAN’T GET THEM TO MOVE ON FOR ANYTHING. A LUMP OF COAL, MAYBE, BUT TRY THROWING A LUMP OF COAL INTO THE NEXT LIFE. IT CAN’T BE DONE.
Penny bore up under this with stoic incomprehension and began to chirp. She had quite a penetrating chirp. Ear-splitting, some might say. The black-robed figure’s features were entirely hidden within its cowl, but nevertheless Penny sensed a wince.
THAT’S ENOUGH. WE’LL CALL THIS A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE, WILL WE? AND DON’T DO IT AGAIN.
#
Penny was in the shed. She fell flat, displaying a sense of self-preservation remarkable in a swamp dragon, and avoided the ball of hot, multi-coloured flame rolling overhead. The flaming swamp dragons, themselves displaying an unusual degree of common sense, dropped behind their pen walls. The treacherously slippery roof burned, flaring at the first touch of dragonfire.
Fortunately, very little of it burned. Charred, flimsy scraps rained about Penny, but none of them touched her. The little copper dragon was just picking herself up, rather dazed, when the door burst open and the armoured human strode back in.
“What’s gotten into you lot? That’s the second roof this month—! Oh.”
Before Penny could protest, a gloved hand grabbed her and scooped her up. She answered this indignity with a sullen squeak. She really was quite tired, and slightly more confused than usual.
“Well, well, who are you?”
Penny didn’t know how to answer that question. She gave the stranger her most bug-eyed expression of tearful hopelessness in an attempt to indicate her terrible hunger.
“A stray, eh? Or did someone dump you? Rotten of ‘em, if they did. Why, you look almost like one of Brenda’s line.”
Penny attempted her most penetrating chirp once more and found a lump of coal stuffed into her jaws before she could work up to a truly drilling note. She crunched happily, her worries forgotten, and settled quite cheerfully into the armoured person’s arms as she was carried into the human house to be looked over. She still wasn’t sure whether this was Home, but it was close enough.