For Joe – G. M.

  Keith Micklewright for all his wisdom, support, and friendship over the years – P. M.

  American edition published in 2021 by Andersen Press USA,

  an imprint of Andersen Press Ltd.

  www.andersenpressusa.com

  First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Andersen Press Ltd.,

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA

  Text and illustrations copyright © Geraldine McCaughrean, 2021

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

  or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

  recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Andersen Press Ltd.,

  except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Distributed in the United States and Canada by

  Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

  978-1-7284-6783-2

  1–TL–9/1/2021

  The Kingdoms of Arbor

  and Pomosa stood

  back-to-back. Each had a

  castle bristling with guards.

  Arbor was plush with trees

  in every shade of green:

  woods and orchards full of

  mushrooms, fruit, and birds.

  Pomosa was rich too: golden

  with wheat fields, silver lakes,

  and creamy, milkful cows. A

  high thorn hedge separated

  the two territories.

  Sometimes, it’s true, the

  people of Pomosa would

  look across at the plush

  forests and say, “If only

  we had trees. It is hard

  to make wheat-flour into

  loaves without wood to

  heat the bread ovens.”

  And the children heard

  them say it.

  Sometimes the people

  of Arbor would look

  across at Pomosa

  and say, “If only we

  had wheat and rice

  we could make into

  pies and porridge

  and pancakes.”

  And the children heard

  them say it.

  If only the thieving children of

  Pomosa had not found a way

  through the hedge and gathered

  fallen branches and dragged

  them home for firewood, to

  please their mothers.

  But they did.

  If only the thieving children of

  Arbor had not come creeping at

  night to cut corn and milk cows

  and tiptoe home to surprise the

  grown-ups with sheaves of grain

  and buckets of milk.

  But they did.

  As the thieves became more

  and more daring, the two

  kings grew more and more

  annoyed, “Post guards with

  swords and torches! This

  stealing must stop!”

  But either the guards were

  lazy or they looked the other

  way, because—do you know

  what?—not a single child

  thief was caught or thrown

  into a dungeon.

  The kings threw tantrums

  and shook their fists at

  one another.

  “A dragon! Find me a dragon!” the King of Arbor told his ambassadors.

  “The biggest you can find!”

  The ambassadors sailed for China to seek out a dragon.

  Much to their surprise, one agreed to come in return for a

  wage of plums, pears, and pine cones.

  Watched from the battlements of both castles, she stepped out along

  the Arbor Highway, her scales catching the sunlight. A creature of such

  pure power that the King of Arbor dared not go down to greet her.

  “Guard my country!” he shouted down. “Kill any Pomosa thieves!”

  The King of Pomosa sulked and

  stamped, “I want a dragon!

  I need a dragon to guard my

  country from that ugly

  great beast!”

  Ambassadors were sent to

  China and, much to their

  surprise, a dragon was found

  who agreed to come in

  return for ginger,

  gooseberries, and goldfish.

  Watched from the battlements

  of both castles, he came striding

  along the Pomosa Highway.

  “Fearful!” murmured the men.

  “Huge!” whispered the women.

  “But it’s so beautiful!” they all agreed.

  Both nations gasped in amazement.

  Neither dragon noticed. They were busy eyeing each other, scales rippling.

  The colors pulsed in their arched backs. Smoke trickled out of nostrils

  and ears. There was no reading the thoughts behind their glittering eyes.

  Children hid behind their mothers’ skirts. There would be no more

  thieving of wood or wheat.

  But bakers still needed wood to heat their ovens, and winter

  nights are cold without logs for the fire. Woodsmen need

  bread and porridge, and growing children need milk.

  From their rooftops, the people watched the dragons patrol. So

  exquisite, so exotic . . . so terrifying. As one walked west, the other

  ambled east, with only a thorn hedge between them. (Naturally,

  each country thought its own dragon was the best.)

  We must have timber!” said the King of Pomosa.

  “Order my dragon to kill that monster next door!”

  “We must have milk and bread,” said the King of Arbor.

  “Tell my dragon to kill that creature next door.”

  Dragons are noble beasts. Was it their good manners

  that kept them from refusing to fight?

  The she-dragon reared up on her

  hind legs. The he-dragon stood tall.

  No one could tell what they

  were thinking.

  They fought.

  “Stop them!” cried the people of Arbor. “We didn’t want this.”

  Dragon fire blazed.

  “Stop them!” cried the people of Pomosa. “We never asked for this!”

  But the dragons fought on, ears torn and snouts bleeding, coughing up

  black smoke.

  “Stop them!”

  But the kings watched with snarling glee.

  “If mine wins, your kingdom belongs to me!”

  “If mine wins, your kingdom belongs to me!”

  The dragons fought until they could fight no more.

  Both toppled at the same moment and lay,

  long necks overlapping, their fire out.

  Their blazing colors had faded to gray.

  Then people ran from

  their houses.

  They brought

  milk and pine cones, gooseberries

  and hot water. They brought herbs and honey to

  spread on the wounds and stroked the big heads.

  They plucked thorns out of soft, dragon armpits.

  “He was so beautiful. He was our dragon.”

  “She was so brave. She was ours.”

  A long, long tongue slithered out between

  the she-dragon’s lips and licked a nearby snout. The he-dragon

  opened his gray eyes. A strangely dragonish voice murmured,

  “We have done what we came to do. Now they understand.”

  The two kingdoms of

  Arbor and Pomosa

  stand shoulder-to-

  shoulder.

  There is a line

  somewhere

  parting the two

  countries, but it is

  hard to see: the baby

  dragons’ tails scuff it

  out as they play. And

  their parents lie

  back-to-back feeling

  each other’s warmth.

  There are no kings

  now. Somehow no

  one could remember

  what kings were for,

  and sent theirs away

  to find out. And since

  everyone needs bread

  and wood, birdsong

  and honey, apples

  and milk, the people

  freely come and go,

  to and fro every other

  day or so.

  But on Dragon Day, they do nothing but dance.

  The End

 

 

  Geraldine McCaughrean, A Tale of Two Dragons

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