Page 31
“He’s an easy person to love,” Silas agreed. “And a great teacher, from what I’ve heard from my students. All I hear all day is ‘You know, Headmaster Pine used to do notes this way. You should set up your classroom the way Headmaster Pine did. Headmaster Pine used to have his dragon help him with demonstrations.’”
“I imagine that’s hard to measure up to,” Margaret said, “but I’m sure they love you.”
Silas chuckled. “They’re good kids. Get into trouble occasionally, but you expect that. They do have the ability to, you know, literally set me on fire with their wands, but they haven’t yet, so I’m taking that as a win.”
That got a laugh out of Margaret, one that made her choke a bit on her tea. It was the best sound Silas had ever heard.
“Well,” she said. “I—”
But before she could finish, the door behind them banged open, followed by the sound of the bell. A harried-looking woman wearing a hand-knit beanie the color of mustard-gone-bad burst in, looking around with wide eyes.
“Maggie?” the woman said. “Are you—there you are!”
Margaret set her cup down. “Hello, Norma. What can I help you with?”
Norma barely glanced at Silas before rushing on in a panic.
“There’s a rontspurt in my flowers,” Norma said. “Has already gone through half of my arrangements. Nearly got my arm bitten off. Oh, Maggie—”
“I’ll be right there,” Margaret said, untying her apron. “I’ll meet you at the shop in just a moment. Have to grab a few tools.”
Norma nodded, then sprinted back out of the pub as Margaret opened up another cabinet and began to examine several glass jars filled with different herbs.
Silas stood up. “How can I help?”
He wasn’t expecting Margaret’s breathy laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. No help required. Rontspurts are essentially the magical equivalent of a garden snake. They don’t even have any teeth, so I don’t know what she’s talking about. Ah, there’s the nutmeg.”
She pulled out a glass jar and turned to Silas. “I’ll use this to get it away from her flowers. She’s the florist, and a bit dramatic.”
She seemed to hesitate then, glancing at Silas and then at the door.
“I don’t think this will take long,” she said. “But I also don’t want you to feel like you have to wait around . . .”
But Silas shook his head. “No need to worry. I don’t mind waiting. In fact, I find it quite cozy—if you don’t mind.”
Margaret smiled. “Not at all.”
And then she turned and headed out after Norma, nutmeg in hand.
Then, Silas was alone in the pub. Well, alone with a small dragon—who was thankfully still snoozing away, though Silas could’ve sworn she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye.
That, and he had his toolbox. His toolbox and at least one cabinet that needed his attention.
“What do you say, Bernie?” Silas asked. “Do you think I have time to do the cabinets?”
The dragon snored in response.
“My thoughts exactly,” Silas said, and then he got to work.
Chapter Fourteen
Unfortunately for Margaret, the “rontspurt” in question was not a rontspurt at all. While it had the coloring of one—black with yellow spots—the head was slightly curved, it had six legs rather than four, and a spiked tail rather than a forked one. This meant that it was actually a dreebell, and an agitated one at that.
Now, Norma’s comment about the bites made sense. Dreebells had needle teeth, and this dreebell in particular didn’t seem to have met an arm it didn’t want to sink them into.
It took Margaret three hours to secure the beast. She used one of Norma’s water buckets, a handful of weeds, and repurposed a mop and a set of tongs to get the creature into the bucket. Once in there, the creature thrashed about for a moment . . . until it realized Margaret had trapped it in with a feast of greens. She heard it growling happily inside as it munched away.
“Take it down the lane to the lake,” Margaret told Norma. “Look for a mud puddle, drop some more weeds, and then tip the bucket over. Run like hell, and come back for the bucket after a day or so.”
