Chapter 7 A Dragon Calamity #2
This question came out in a rush, and Tāwera spotted a tic in her jaw. Her hands clenched at her sides.
“No, my name is Tāwera. Thank you for speaking with me.” Satisfied that others understood him, he turned away.
Every instinct told him he needed to rest before attempting to reach the shore, so he set out to explore the ship. Nothing about this vessel resembled the others he’d traveled on with the sailor.
Tāwera wandered through another doorway.
The wooden floor changed from hard to soft—the carpet, the curtains, the ornaments and flowers, the chandeliers—were far more luxurious than the basic ship he’d first traveled on with his sailor.
He peeked through open doorways and followed a young man around as he tidied and cleaned what looked like a combination bedroom and lounge.
He needed to ask Nyree what they called this style of room.
When the man left, Tāwera hurriedly followed. He yanked at the door, relieved when it opened to his touch. When he stepped outside, he spotted the young man again, standing in the middle of the corridor. His expression held shock and astonishment, along with a healthy dose of fear.
“I’m sorry for frightening you,” Tāwera said and patted the man’s shoulder. A hint of lemon and something stronger, more astringent, wafted from the man as Tāwera walked past more doors. It looked as if this section of the ship contained more rooms in the same style as the one he’d just explored.
A thump had Tāwera pivoting in his tracks.
The young man sprawled on the floor, and Tāwera rushed to his side, concerned he’d suffered an injury.
His breath was warm against Tāwera’s palm.
Perhaps Tāwera should get someone to help the man, and then he’d venture onward to explore more of the intriguing ship.
Tāwera jogged back in the direction he’d come from and found a group of people talking to a lady behind a counter. At least that is what Nyree had called the arrangement. “Excuse me,” he said. “A man is lying on the floor down that passage. He does not seem well.”
The group fell silent. Not a one moved.
“The man is sick,” Tāwera barked, and he watched a man spring into action.
Reassured something was happening, Tāwera went on his way.
He smelled food, and his stomach let out a happy rumble of encouragement.
From memory, hunger always struck him after a shift.
He’d made it a point to eat as soon as possible to rebuild his strength.
As Tāwera followed the food scents, he was aware of another urgent prickling. The tug of the moon. Did this mean his taniwha would force a shift in a few nights? No fair maidens were vying for his attention, so satiating his dragon in this manner was not possible. Not unless Nyree wished…
No!
Tāwera refused to make her do anything against her will.
His brow wrinkled as he tugged at the thoughts. If he wasn’t mistaken, a storm rode on the air. He should discuss this with Nyree while they were both rational and not driven by moonlust.
Yes. Nyree had informed him men and women had frank discussions, or at least she’d mentioned most happy people had open communication, so he would approach this subject with the honesty she’d told him was healthy.
Tāwera continued to climb the stairs in search of the delectable scents. They were unlike anything he’d smelled before, but it was definitely food. Nyree had described her life and the ways of humans, but seeing the truth for himself was still mind-opening.
He spotted a man with a strange, tall white hat.
He’d dressed in clothes of the same color and carried a platter piled with food.
Tāwera hustled to catch up because his curiosity was a huge thing.
He followed the man through another doorway, and the scents that struck him had him halting in astonishment.
He’d never seen so much food in one place.
Not even when the tribe had a hāngī was there such a display.
The thought had him adding another question to his list. He needed to ask if their people still cooked their food in a hāngī, steaming it in the ground.
What he wouldn’t give to taste the smoky goodness of the meat and kūmara again.
The man settled his plate amongst the others and strode toward Tāwera.
Tāwera hurriedly stood aside to avoid a collision.
Once the man vanished, Tāwera wandered down the line of food.
Beautifully arranged, it was a feast for his eyes.
His belly released another rumble, and Tāwera chose a piece of food.
He did not know what it was, and at this stage, he didn’t care, given his powerful hunger.
A chunk of white meat. A yellow vegetable. A red vegetable.
Each bite tasted interesting and satisfying. Some foods crunched while others melted on Tāwera’s tongue.
He spotted a pile of plates and took one. Every offering enticed him, and he was eager to sample everything. Soon, he’d heaped his platter, and he retreated to find a place to sit. Ah! A knife and fork. He and Nyree had used them while dining the previous evening. It was etiquette.
Tāwera sat and surveyed his meal with satisfaction, then he began eating.
He ate slowly, despite the ominous grumblings of his belly.
This was an experience he did not wish to hurry, and he savored every mouthful.
He wished Nyree was here to share this meal.
Perhaps he’d take some of the delicious fare with him.
They had plenty, and Tāwera was positive the people here wouldn’t miss a plate of food.
Something crashed to the floor behind him, and Tāwera turned, his fork suspended in the air. He discovered two men staring at him, trays of food splattered on the floor at their feet.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” Tāwera said. “I was hungry, and there is plenty of food. Enough to feed everyone.”
One man—a short, wiry man, dressed in white—released a hair-raising scream and fled. The other seemed made of sterner stuff, and he warily approached while Tāwera continued eating. He wore an eyepiece below his bushy black brows and had a round face.
“Ah, how long have you been here?” the man asked finally.
“I am visiting,” Tāwera said. “I will leave once I have regained my strength.”
The man crossed himself in the same way the churchmen had when they’d witnessed something they disapproved of, and it made Tāwera laugh.
“Are you a ghost?” the man asked.
“No.” Tāwera straightened, his chin lifting. “I am a taniwha.” Oh! He shouldn’t have mentioned that. Perhaps the man would forget.
The man scowled and glanced over his shoulder at four other men, also dressed from head to foot in white. They drew closer, but each looked terrified.
“You will leave once you’ve eaten?”
“Yes, I must get back to the land.” Tāwera had wanted to mention Nyree, but he hated to get her into trouble. It was best if these humans did not learn of their connection.
“All right,” the man said, pushing at the center of his eyepiece. “Would you like dessert and cheese and biscuits to finish? A cup of coffee before you leave or some dessert wine?”
Tāwera considered his almost empty plate. “Yes, please.” Another thought occurred. “Could you prepare food for me to take with me?”
The man tugged at his own hands and bit his lip. “Y-you won’t come back and frighten our passengers?”
“No, I will not return. I will require rest,” Tāwera said.
“D-do you promise this?”
“Yes,” Tāwera said. “What is your name?”
“Ernesto.” The man wrung his hands but did not retreat.
“Thank you, Ernesto. You are a kind man.” Tāwera finished his last mouthful and set his eating utensils across the center of his plate as Nyree had shown him. “I am ready for more food now.”
“I-I will bring you dessert. Frank, a coffee for the gentleman, please. Do you take milk?”
Tāwera considered this and remembered he had this morning. He would take his coffee this way again. “Yes, please.”
“Frank, a coffee with milk for the gentleman. Tony, prepare a plate of cheese and biscuits while I dish up dessert.”
Two men hustled to follow Ernesto’s orders while the other two remaining whispered together with increasing agitation.
Tāwera cocked his head, their voices audible because of his excellent taniwha senses.
“I can see him. He’s naked!” one said.
“We’ll have to fumigate the chair,” the other muttered.
“Here is your dessert. I hope you enjoy the selection I’ve chosen for you.” Ernesto set the plate in front of Tāwera and stepped back with a scowl. “You are becoming visible. Your form is faint, but I am certain you weren’t discernable earlier.”
Tāwera lifted his arm and frowned. Ernesto was right. “Maybe it is your excellent food, but whatever the reason, this is an interesting turn of events.”
“Perhaps you should complete your meal and leave. We do not wish to upset the passengers.”
“May I take my cheese and biscuits with me? Perhaps enough for two persons?” Tāwera asked.
Ernesto gulped, his brows almost a solid line across his forehead, so deep was his frown. “There are two of you?”
“Yes,” Tāwera said and dug into his dessert. He groaned with pleasure at the first mouthful. This was delicious. He continued eating while the men in white fluttered around him, halting often to whisper and stare at each other. One brought out a tiny machine and directed it at Tāwera.
“Look at the tattoos on his face,” a man with a rounded stomach muttered.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” another breathed. He pulled out a small object and aimed it in Tāwera’s direction. The man’s hands trembled, and he cursed to himself, using the Lord’s name in vain. The missionaries would not have approved.
“I have packed cheese and biscuits for you.” Ernesto fluttered his hands. “H-how did you get here? I mean, how will you leave with no one seeing you?”
Tāwera savored the last mouthful of a cake. He didn’t know what it was, but it was brown and tasted like nothing he’d ever eaten before. “I will fly,” he said absently.
“F-fly?” Ernesto stuttered.
Tāwera straightened. He should not have said that either. Concentrate! A glance at his arm told him he must attempt to get to shore now before he became even more noticeable.
“Fly?” Ernesto repeated.
“Yes.” Tāwera stood. “Thank you for the food. It was delicious. I must leave now.”
“C-can you hold this while er…flying, or should I place it inside a bag?”
Tāwera considered the box. “A bag with handles would be most helpful. Thank you, Ernesto.”
Ernesto snapped his fingers. “A bag. There is a cloth one hanging behind the kitchen door. Please bring it immediately.” He turned his attention back to Tāwera. “Do you require a quiet place from which to leave?”
“Yes.” Tāwera beamed at Ernesto, liking this man’s commonsense nature. “As long as I have an open area, I should manage to take off.” He would take off. He must return to Nyree.
“We will go to the bridge,” Ernesto told him. “There is an area in front with the space you require.”
A man returned with a bright blue bag and handed it to Ernesto. Ernesto packed the box inside and gave it to Tāwera.
“Thank you,” Tāwera said.
“If you would come this way.” Ernesto set off at a brisk pace, and Tāwera broke into a trot to catch up. The other men scuttled out of their way.
“He has tattoos on his buttocks, too,” one man cried.
Didn’t everyone? Yet another question to ask Nyree. He had seen no one else with moko like him. Not even Nyree had the traditional chin moko that most adult Māori women of his acquaintance sported. He must ask Nyree about this.
“Ernesto?” a male voice asked.
“I have an unauthorized guest who assures me he can fly to the land. I thought it best to bring him to the front deck where fewer people would spot him,” Ernesto said, speaking so fast his words almost tripped over each other.
“Unauthorized? How did he get onto the ship? Wait, fly?” the unseen man spluttered.
“Yes, please stand back, and you will understand what I mean.” Ernesto paused before glancing over his shoulder and gesturing for Tāwera to follow him.
“Jesus Christ,” a voice said.
“No, I am Tāwera. I am pleased to meet you.”
A thump greeted his words, the man sliding to the floor in a heap.
“Is he all right?” Tāwera asked.
“I will see to him,” Ernesto promised. “It is best for you to leave now. The passengers must be aboard by three. Then we leave to visit our next stop.”
Tāwera nodded since Nyree had explained this to him.
They walked outside.
“I will need you to hold the bag while I shift,” Tāwera instructed. “Please stand right where I am now. Once I take to the air, I will pluck the bag from your hand. Thank you once again for the meal. I enjoyed it immensely.”
Ernesto nodded. “You are welcome.” He accepted the bag from Tāwera.
“Please stand back. I do not wish to injure you after you have been so kind to me.”
Ernesto’s eyes widened, and he squeezed his bulk closer to the wall.
Tāwera walked to the center of the open space, closed his eyes, and focused on his dragon.
His shift was much smoother this time, and the pain was minimal.
Elated, he opened his eyes and flapped his wings to lift into the air.
Once airborne, he glanced down to check on Ernesto’s position.
He wanted to grab the bag containing his cheese and biscuits.
Ernesto remained frozen against the wall, his expression shocked, or perhaps it was admiration because his taniwha seemed way more solid than earlier. Tāwera hoped Nyree wouldn’t be too angry with him if he promised not to show his dragon form again.
Tāwera darted closer and aimed his talons at the bag.
Ernesto’s eyes grew even rounder. Thankfully, Ernesto lifted the bag at the last moment.
Tāwera scooped up the bag handles and lifted into the air.
He arrowed from the ship, speeding as fast as possible because he hated to cause trouble for Nyree.
His black form wasn’t as showy as the red and green dragons his mother had told him she’d flown with before he was born, but in this case, he’d blend better with the mountains.
Shouts and screams came from one inflatable ferrying passengers from the shore to the ship.
Oh, no! This was bad. This was extremely bad, and he suspected Nyree might be very upset with him.