Chapter Twenty-One. When Mending Dragons and Misconceptions #2
The five of us sneak into the farthest back stall before anyone can suspect the auction’s biggest cash cow might be sick or injured.
The female Sprinter raises her head as we approach, already muzzled in brown leather.
It’s Elin, a shy two-year-old. Of course my father is selling her.
She doesn’t have the racing drive and doesn’t shed well.
If this was any other summer, I’d be expected to exaggerate her flying ability.
But instead I get to take care of her. Something in my chest unwinds at the notion.
Her scales shine in a lush green, but her front foot, hoisted in a limp, is covered in shining silver.
As much as it’s a benefit that dragons can use their metal to protect themselves, it’s like a luminous mirror signaling that something is wrong and thus not worth whatever hefty price my father demands.
My brain automatically classifies her value.
Ten thousand sterlings. With this injury it could be halved to five thousand.
When Dr. Walsh and Farren crouch to the ground by her foot, I follow suit.
“Let’s see,” Dr. Walsh says. “Ah, yes.” He turns to Farren. “What do you think?”
“It looks like a few ingrown scales,” Farren diagnoses. “A cluster of three, right on the joint.”
“Oh, thank god,” Maureen sighs.
A one-three-two. Somehow even over the phone Dr. Walsh knew it was a mere one. “We just need to put her under for ten minutes and we can fix it right up.”
Mrs. Moore jerks. “I can’t have her put under.”
Dr. Walsh pauses, sizes me up. I straighten my spine not knowing what he may say next, but trying to appear as un-Murphy-like as possible. “We could have James craft it fixed. I could talk him through it.”
“Yes! That would be preferred. You know the clients here. They, well…” They are elitists who would always prefer a silver-crafter over a copper.
“Wait no, Farren should do it. She’s who’s trained,” Cara objects.
That’s my cue. One classist prick coming up. “She’s a copper,” I say, flat and monotone. I know it’s convincing by Farren’s face, crestfallen. I’m pretending, I want to yell. Please believe me.
I don’t move.
Cara frowns again, harder if possible. “I’d take training over crafting ability any day. Why are you interning with the Walshes if it’s all about crafting?”
I didn’t really know Cara before she became a silver-crafter, and when she first entered silver-crafting classes she mingled without drawing much attention to herself like all newly forged silver-crafters.
Keep your head down until the registration settles and the other dozen silver-crafting families of Forsen accept you.
But two months later I witnessed her laying into Colm Ditters about how he should watch how he talks to her.
It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.
This girl, barely five feet, made Colm at six-three wither.
And now she’s turned that withering focus on to me.
“Cara, we don’t have the time,” her mom admonishes.
“I’ll guide him through the crafting, Maureen. We’ll get it done.” Dr. Walsh turns. “And Farren can run any other physicals while we work.”
“Perfect,” Mrs. Moore sighs. “Cara, show her.”
Farren’s the distraction then. She’ll perform the physicals and I’ll pretend to do this procedure as Dr. Walsh does the real work.
Farren bursts out of the stables with a frustrated huff before I can silently apologize.
Dr. Walsh rolls up his sleeves and crouches on the ground next to me. “Maureen, you don’t need to be here for this.”
“No, I’ll stay. John Murphy has high expectations for this one. It’s the first female he’s put on auction in five years.” She wrings her hands. I’m motionless, but my insides feel like the anxious flutter of her fingers, twisting.
Dr. Walsh looks at me, an unspoken directive settling. With Mrs. Moore hovering I’m not just pretending. I have to perform this procedure. And as simple as it may be, it’s still operating, digging into the scales and pulling out all the metal that has grown inward.
“It’s a humble crafting, James. We’re cutting out the three scales. Like a bad hangnail.”
Right. Feels like more than a hangnail though.
Dr. Walsh talks me through the three steps. Identify. Grip. Pull.
Only those are the same three instructions in descaling. It all comes back. Hort’s jerking against his restraints. Hort, silver coated and scared, like he knew I was about to hurt him and didn’t understand why.
Elin yanks her foot away and I flinch.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I whisper.
Dr. Walsh’s hands slide over mine and clutch them. I only realize then how much I’m shaking. “You’re okay. You’re okay. We’re helping her. Make it fast and there will be less pain.” Dr. Walsh leans in close. “If you can’t do it then just pretend and I’ll…”
“No, I want to help her. I want to.”
But I’m too slow, hesitating. Maybe I’ve just been fantasizing I could be any good at this.
It’s one thing to pretend with Farren to keep Nity’s secret safe, entirely another to be so …
so weak I can’t even craft. He’s weak. Art Whimbley’s words infiltrate my thoughts. You might have to give up on him, John.
Weak.
Weak.
I’m weak.
Dr. Walsh squeezes my hand again. “Let me tell you something I taught Farren when she was first learning. As veterinarians to these magnificent creatures we can’t let fear stop us from intervening, we can’t sit by, and we can’t just watch.
We try to help when we can. You’re a good kid, James. Strong. Resilient.”
Strong. Me?
“I know you don’t want to watch her be in pain. I know you want to help her.”
“I do.”
“So, we’ll help.”
I refocus on the silver. I stare for as long as it takes for me to take a deep breath. Then I pull the silver scales out of the Sprinter’s foot. And I complete my first veterinarian procedure. I help her.
After, I seek out Farren. I know I can’t celebrate with her, but even in her ribbing me I’ll be happy. I round a stall and draw up short at Cara’s voice.
“I thought maybe you resented me for advancing into silver-crafting without you,” she is saying.
“But that’s not it, is it?” As Cara blows out a breath, I press myself against the stall next door.
I don’t dare interrupt, but I also can’t seem to back away either, curiosity a magnet in my chest. “How in the world are you friends with James Murphy, but left me behind?”
“I told you it’s not like that. Murphy and I are not friends.”