97 Ways to Train a Dragon (2 page)

“I am?” Wiglaf looked around. Yes. He was in a nest—a nest with bits of eggshells in it. Pink and purple eggshells. He remembered what Dr. Pluck had said. Dragon eggs were pink or purple. And newly hatched piplings were covered in green slime. Wiglaf's eyes widened. “I think I am sitting on a dragon's nest, Angus. And look! There's an unhatched dragon egg!”

Angus jumped down into the pit. He and Wiglaf bent over the deep purple egg. It was the size of a small pumpkin.

“A dragon egg.” Angus stared at it. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Wiggie?”

“Yes!” said Wiglaf.

Angus grinned. “Scrambled dragon egg!”

“No!” cried Wiglaf. “That's not what I'm thinking! Angus, the egg—it's warm! This egg could still hatch—into a little pipling!”

“I bet it's a dud,” said Angus. “Or it would have hatched with the others. Anyway, you heard what Dr. Pluck said. Dragon piplings are really nasty.”

“He said mama dragons teach their piplings to peck and pinch and punch,” Wiglaf said. “Maybe they're born nice. We could find out. Let's take the egg back.”

“You've lost your mind,” said Angus.

“We can't leave it here to hatch,” said Wiglaf. “It's all alone. And think of it, Angus. We could raise a little pet pipling! Come on, Angus. Don't you like animals?”

“I love animals!” said Angus. “But animals don't like me.”

“How can you say that?” asked Wiglaf.

“‘Tis true,” said Angus. “Your pet pig, Daisy, stays away from me.”

“Only when you say how much you love bacon,” Wiglaf said.

“When I go to the henhouse,” Angus said, “the hens run in fear.”

“Only when you start talking about drumsticks,” said Wiglaf.

“My mother bought me a goldfish once,” Angus said. “Every time I looked at him, he dove under a plant to hide.”

“You just haven't found the right pet yet,” said Wiglaf. “Maybe it's a pipling! Come on, Angus. Help me take this egg back to DSA.”

Wiglaf wrapped burlap bags around the egg. Angus held another bag open and Wiglaf slipped the wrapped-up egg inside. Then the boys started back to school.

“Yikes!” said Angus. “Look! Uncle Mordred's on the drawbridge, waiting for us!”

Wiglaf gently lowered the bag with the egg inside. He began dragging it as if it were no more than a bag of trash.

The boys stopped at the top of the small hill in front of the drawbridge.

“Hello, Uncle,” said Angus.

“What? So few bags?” Mordred bellowed. “You lazy lads!”

Suddenly, the bag with the egg inside wobbled and began rolling down the hill. Wiglaf dove for it.

“What's inside that bag, boy?”

“Um .... the usual, sir,” said Wiglaf.

Mordred's violet eyes lit up. “You caught a swamp wog didn't you, boys? Ohh, I love a roasted swamp wog. You're trying to sneak it by me so you can have it all to yourselves!”

“No, sir!” said Wiglaf. “I—I I have never even seen a swamp wog!”

“Don't lie to me, boy!” boomed Mordred. “Bring me the bag!”

Wiglaf froze.

“You can have this bag, Uncle!” Angus picked up his bag—by the wrong end. He swung it over his shoulder and all the trash flew out, spraying Mordred with chicken bones, old boots, and mead bottles. “Oops! Sorry, Uncle!” called Angus.

“Nephew!” Mordred roared as the boys took off running. “You're fired! You, too, Wiglaf! No Dawn Patrol badges for you!”

Wiglaf and Angus broke into smiles as they ran. No more Dawn Patrol!

Once in the front door at DSA, the boys hurried up the stairs, past unlucky fellow students on their hands and knees, scrubbing the steps.

On the second floor, they scurried down DSA's Hall of Fame. They ran past the statues of the DSA founders, Sir Herbert Dungeonstone and Sir Ichabod Popquizz. Past marble statues of famous knights and the famous dragons they had slain. Past a life-sized bust of Mordred. The scent in the Hall of Fame reminded Wiglaf of some happy moment from his childhood. But what? He never could remember.

At the end of the hallway, Wiglaf caught sight of Erica. She was scrubbing bold black letters off the wall:

Just a joke, Wiglaf hoped.

On they rushed, past Bragwort, who was cleaning a rusty drinking fountain.

“No fair!” Bragwort called after them. “Why aren't you scrubbing?”

“We're on Dawn Patrol, remember?” said Angus. “And we have to get rid of this trash bag.”

“Whew!” said Angus when at last they reached the dorm room. “No one's here.”

Wiglaf carried the egg over to his cot. He took it out of its bag so he could look again at its deep purple color.

“Hello, in there, pipling!” Wiglaf whispered. Then he turned to Angus. “Can I hide it under your cot? You've got so much stuff under there, no one will notice an egg.”

“If it hatches, all my clothes will get slimed,” said Angus.

“Hatching takes a long time,” said Wiglaf. “Even if the pipling begins pecking on the shell, we'll be back before it hatches.”

“Oh, all right.” Angus fell to his knees and began digging out tunics, leggings, under-shirts, and socks from under his cot.

Wiglaf wrapped the egg in Angus's dirty laundry. Then he slid it back under Angus's cot.

“Don't hatch, pipling,” said Wiglaf. “At least not yet.”

Chapter 3

By the time the boys ran in to the dining hall, it was empty.

“You've missed breakfast,” said Frypot the cook. “Lucky for you I've still got some eel-meal.” He handed them steaming bowls of hot cereal.

Wiglaf stared at the quivering gray lump. Even Angus turned up his nose. “Is there nothing else?”

In the end, they choked it down. Then they went off to scrub alongside their classmates. As he scrubbed, Wiglaf thought about the purple egg. He wondered what the little pipling inside might look like. Would it peep? Would it have tiny wings?

By the time Angus and Wiglaf and some other boys staggered back to the dorm room that night, they were too tired to think.

Angus threw himself fully dressed onto his cot. Two seconds later, he was snoring.

Wiglaf, however, sat on his cot. He wanted to look at the egg. He wanted to see if the pipling had started pecking. But he would have to wait until all the other boys were asleep. He was pulling off his boots when Erica came in.

“Wiggie!” she said happily. “The carpet I ordered from the Sir Lancelot catalog arrived!”

Wiglaf followed her over to her bunk on the far side of the dorm. She already had a Sir Lancelot tapestry hanging above her cot. And now beside her cot was a small carpet woven with a likeness of a fully-armored Sir Lancelot.

“Very nice,” Wiglaf told her. He wished he could tell her about the dragon egg. But Bragwort might overhear. He didn't want to risk it.

“That's not all,” Erica went on. “Mordred put me on Dawn Patrol.”

“Congratulations!” Wiglaf saw that she had already sewn the DP badge onto her tunic.

“Bragwort is the other member of Dawn Patrol,” she added. “But Mordred made me captain! I must get right to sleep. Good night, Wiggie.”

“Good night,” Wiglaf answered. He went back to his cot and lay down under his thin, thread-bare blanket.

After torches out, Wiglaf let his eyes get used to the dim light. When he felt sure everyone was asleep, he knelt down beside Angus's cot and pulled out the laundry nest. He uncovered the egg. It was still warm. He felt for cracks in the shell, but found none.

“Not ready to hatch yet, are you pipling?” Wiglaf whispered.

Then he lifted his own thin blanket and put the egg down at the foot of his cot. Ahhh. It felt good, having a warm egg on his cold feet.

Wiglaf closed his eyes. He was glad Scrub-a-Thon was over. But could DSA really pass inspection? Wiglaf didn't think so. Not unless the inspectors had bad eyes. And stuffy noses.

The noise woke Wiglaf from a deep sleep. He sat up.

There it was again!

Suddenly, it hit him. The egg! It was hatching!

A dim glow lit the room. Holding her mini-torch, Erica padded over to his cot.

“Wiggie?” she whispered. “What's that?”

“Sit down, Erica,” Wiglaf whispered back. “I have something to tell you.”

“You are joking!” Erica said when she had heard all about the purple egg.

“No joke.” Wiglaf pulled back his blanket. The egg now had crack lines all over it.

PECK!

Wiglaf and Erica jumped back as a head popped out of the egg. A circle of purple shell sat atop it like a hat. The pipling had a long neck. And a little snout. Its eyes were shut.

“A pipling!” breathed Erica.

“Pink ears,” whispered Wiglaf. “It's a boy!”

The pipling yawned. Wiglaf thought he had never seen anything so cute. He reached out a hand to touch it. But before he could, the little dragon ducked back into its shell.

Then
Boing!
A clawed foot poked through the bottom of the egg.

Boing!
Another foot.

Boing! Boing!
Two clawed front paws.

The little head popped out again. The dragon was half in and half out of the purple shell.

“Hello, pipling,” Wiglaf whispered.

The little dragon turned its head toward the sound of his voice. But his eyes stayed shut.

Just then Angus groaned in his sleep.

The noise startled the pipling. With a chirp, he ducked inside its egg again.

“Wha—?” Angus opened one eye and caught sight of the half-hatched pipling. He sat up, wide awake now. He gasped. “Sir Lancelot's liver!”

“Shhhh!” Wiglaf said. “You'll wake the whole dorm.”

The pipling's head popped up again. With one last push, his tail broke through the egg. Now a whole baby dragon sat at the end of Wiglaf's cot. It wasn't as slimy as the piplings in Dr. Pluck's picture. It was no bigger than a little bunny.