by Sarah Matanah
It was raining so hard that a huge puddle had formed in the middle of their cave. Flo and Mo crouched together on a ledge and played Parcheesi. Mama D and Mama G had piled up jewels, coins, suits of armor, statues, crystal balls, and all kinds of other junk in big stacks toward the back of the cave. Now they were digging a channel so the water would drain out the entrance.
A voice called in from the rain, “Is anyone in? It’s Dreg. I don’t know if you remember me, but the rain is so thick out here it’s like trying to fly while a lake is being poured over your head.”
“Come in,” Mama D called. “There’s a lake in here, too, but at least it won’t be dripping on you.”
Mo scrambled for the entrance, knocking the Parcheesi game off the ledge and into the puddle. Flo tried to push past him. Mo elbowed her under the wing and almost got ahead.
“Mo,” Mama G said, “the game!”
So Mo fished out the soggy board and felt around in the grit at the bottom of the puddle for the pieces. Flo came back leading a dragon even bigger than Mama D. He had dark green, lumpy scales and teeth that curved out of the sides of his mouth and half way up his lips. The strong smell of a wet and furry animal came into the cave with him, not at all like the usual dust and cinnamon smell of a dragon. He carried a large basket strapped to his belly.
“Kids,” Mama D said, “this is Dreg. He was your great aunt’s good friend.”
“Hello,” Mo said. He was feeling grumpy because now his feet were soggy and the game was wrecked even if he did find all the pieces. And why did he have to pick up the game? Flo had been playing too. He found another wet piece and tossed it at Flo. It missed. Mama D glared at him.
“I’ll help you with your luggage,” Flo said to Dreg. She pulled the buckles loose.
“No!” Dreg roared. He twisted abruptly as the straps loosened, swinging the basket toward the side of the cave just before it fell in the puddle.
“Sorry,” Flo said.
The basket sprawled on its side inches away from the water. A tuba fell out, along with two spiky crowns, some velvet cloth, and five tins of sardines.
“That’s a valuable instrument,” said Dreg. “It had better not have been damaged.” He lifted his lip so that his teeth stuck out more than ever.
“Flo was trying to help,” Mama G said.
Dreg positioned the tuba and blew. It made an ugly, muffled blat.
“Aaurrgh,” he said, immediately pulling the tuba away from his lips and shaking it upside down. Everyone stared at him.
“Weasels,” he explained, shaking the instrument so hard that his face turned from green to puce. “They love the tuba. They sneak in here every chance they get. They stuff it full of bones and bits of cloth and anything else they find. Then they come out and eat my sardines. I hate them.”
The shaking didn’t seem to be doing anything. Finally Dreg set the tuba down and stalked away from it. A moment later a brown pointy face with whiskers appeared over the edge of the horn. Dreg started toward it, but the weasel had already whipped around to the other side of the puddle. It peeked at them from behind a stack of coins.
“Quick!” Dreg shouted, “Get it before it can get back in the tuba!” He waded into the water and grabbed at the weasel, knocking over the coins. The weasel stayed where it was until Dreg’s claws brushed its fur; then it darted under the pile of treasure. A moment later its head popped out from behind a silver statue of an elephant. Dreg chased it, but the weasel kept disappearing an instant before Dreg reached it, reappearing on the other side of the puddle.
Mama D and Mama G watched Dreg and the weasel as if they were some kind of show. Flo and Mo pinched each other to keep from laughing. It didn’t work.
“It’s playing with him,” Flo whispered.
“That weasel is smart,” Mo whispered back. “Do you think we could get it to stay with us?”
“I think we should try,” Flo whispered back.
“Okay,” Mo said. After a while he said, “A shell is a little like a tuba. If we had a big one we could lure it inside.”
“Oh come on, Mo, by the time we found a shell that big he’d be gone. We need something in the cave.”
“Well, how about that suit of armor then?” Mo said. It stood rusting under a pile of necklaces and moldy robes. Their grandmother had won it in a fight when their Mama D was young.
“Perfect,” Flo said. “We just need to lure it in there. A suit of armor will be at least as good a home as an old tuba. It can bring in all the bones and trash it wants. No one will shake it upside down or try to blow on it.”
Dreg had given up chasing the weasel. He sat on an old chest and played the tuba. The music echoed off the cave walls and buzzed through Mo’s ears to bounce around in the space between his brain and his skull. He went to help Mama D with the canal.
“Will you stay for lunch with us?” Mama G asked Dreg, pulling half a smoked salmon off a high ledge.
“It looks like I’ll have to, doesn’t it?” Dreg said, motioning to the downpour outside. “I was planning on opening some sardines on a beautiful little sand dune about ten miles past here.”
“I love sardines.” Flo said.
Both the moms turned to stare at her.
Dreg didn’t notice. “Well, if I’m stuck here for lunch, I suppose they can be my contribution. Make sure you eat quickly though. The weasels will steal them from right under your snout.”
Flo didn’t eat quickly. She sat next to the suit of armor with the sardines. Mo sat near her. They waited for the adults to get distracted so they could drop the sardines into the armor. But no one got distracted. It was so unusual for Flo to eat tinned fish that Mama G watched every bite that went into her mouth.
Mo was getting desperate. Flo couldn’t pretend to eat sardines forever. The weasel had been clever enough to get in Dreg’s tuba before he left home. It would be clever enough to make sure that it didn’t get left behind this time too, unless they got it into the armor first.
He couldn’t stand it any longer. Mo pushed his way past the grown ups to Dreg’s basket, slammed one of the crowns on his head, and blew as hard as he could on the tuba. It didn’t make a sound.
Dreg rushed over to him. “What are you doing?” he shouted. He grabbed the tuba and yanked, flapping his wings furiously.
Mo hung on to the tuba.
Dreg yanked harder, pulling Mo from side to side. The mouthpiece kept hitting Mo in the face.
Mama D and Mama G were both talking at once and getting in each other’s way. They pulled at Dreg, trying to get him to calm down enough to let go.
Mo could hardly see anything with the tuba and all the feathers and Dreg’s hot, fishy breath in his face. He craned his head around. Finally he caught a glimpse of Flo dumping the sardines into the armor.
A bit later, when he and Flo were building islands in the puddle, he heard the sound of claws scraping down the sides of the hollow legs. He nudged Flo.
“Yeah,” she said. “I hear it. Now if Dreg would just leave before it’s back in the tuba...” She suddenly wrapped her tail around Mo’s legs and gave him a shove. He fell in the puddle with an enormous splash. A wave of sludgy water splattered Dreg from head to toe.
“Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it,” he sputtered, trying to wipe himself off and ignoring Mama D and Flo’s apologies. “I might as well go flying through a rainstorm. At this point it can only make me cleaner. Help me with my basket. I didn’t mean you,” he added, as Flo moved toward him.
Mama D helped him load the tuba, the crowns, and the sardines. She strapped the basket to his belly.
“I can’t say I hope I’ll see you again,” Dreg said at the entrance, “but I’m sure I will. That’s always how these things seem to work. Good-bye.” He headed into the rain.
“That was sure rude,” Flo said.
“Yes, it was. But he did come in here to get dry,” Mama G said.
At that moment there was a loud scratching. A brown weasel face and a black weasel face poked out from under the suit of armor’s visor.
“Hey, there’s two of them,” Mo said.
“Oh no,” Mama G said, stalking over to the suit of armor. “The most unpleasant visit ever, and he leaves us with weasels.”
“Well, if you can catch them, you can have them for dinner,” Mama D said.
“No!” Flo and Mo shouted.
“Why does this armor smell like sardines?” Mama G asked, turning to look at the kids.
Flo looked at the floor. Mo kicked some dirt into the puddle.
“Fine,” Mama D said. “I’m sure they’ll be infesting the place anyway, so they’re officially your pets. You can clean up after them. I’m sure it’ll be more disgusting than you can possibly imagine. Mammals are gross. Do you remember when we had bats?”
“Oh, come on,” Mo said. “You like them too, don’t you? They’re not like the bats. They’re much smarter and more fun.”
The weasels crawled down the armor to the cave floor. They sat up on their hind legs and looked at the dragons as if they knew what they were talking about.
“You know,” Mama G said, arranging her wings across her back, “I think they might grow on me.”
“Do you think they might grow on you too, Mama D?” Mo asked.
Mama D cleaned her front claws with her teeth.
Mo held his breath.
She spread her claws out and examined each one individually. “I suppose. They’re pretty cute when they sit up like that.”
“Let’s think up names,” Flo said.
“You think up names,” Mama D said. “I’m going for a fly. That rain’s finally stopped.”
Copyright © 2007 by Sarah Matanah. Published by Rainbow Rumpus. All rights reserved.
Sarah Matanah likes to write fantasy and science fiction. She is learning how to play the guitar, but so far she can only pick and not strum. She works in day care and lives in Minneapolis with her wife, children, and adorable Houdini-like mutt. She has told many stories about Flo and Mo, but she can’t remember most of them.
