The Saint of Dragons

A Manhattan Dragon

THE WHITE DRAGON WAS, indeed, purely white. Its leathery skin was
white with tiny cream speckles, and it had small white plates on its back
that stuck up in the air like the plates of a miniature stegosaurus. Its long
fingers were tipped with white claws. Its teeth were white. Its amber-
white eyes had a protective translucent white eyelid. Even when it closed its eyes, it saw whiteness.

It lived in a luxury building in New York City that overlooked Central Park. Everything in its very large apartment was white: the
floors, the walls, the ceiling, the drapes. The furniture, including the
chairs, the tables, the sofa, the bookcases (and the books in them), as well as the telephone, the television, all of the furnishings everywhere, all were shades of white. The kitchen and all of its tools were white. The bedroom and the bed and the nightstands were all white. So was the bathroom.

Nothing was ever written down in the home of the White Dragon. The White Dragon liked blank white paper.

Nothing was ever dirty. The White Dragon made sure anything dirty
was thrown out unless it could be made clean and white.

Nothing was ever eaten that was not white. The White Dragon ate
white cream soup or white clam chowder, stone-white crackers, white bread, white vanilla ice cream, white mashed potatoes. White meat. His favorite: white goats, swallowed whole. If the Dragon was eating a
human being, he used his magic to grind it up until the person was a
white powder that could be sprinkled easily over nice, white food.

It took great pride in its appearance. It spent most of its time in a
massive white bathtub filled with white bubbles. The one reason it
enjoyed going out into the world was to return home and wash it all
away with white soap.

The White Creature had grown rich from criminal activity, mostly
from the art world. Its human partners spent all day stealing money from people through art forgeries, and forcing other people to steal money from still more people. The White Dragon gave the orders, then all it had to do was sit back and receive reports of how much money it had made that day.

The rest of its day was spent contemplating whiteness.

All about the place were small white boxes with small white cloths
inside that the creature could use to clean up tiny bits of dirt or dust that
might somehow have fallen onto his pristine skin.

It spent hours polishing its teeth. It even scrubbed its eyes with soap,
no matter what the pain. It had read somewhere that harmful dust can
collect in the corner of the eyes and go unnoticed. It did not go unnoticed
in the home of the White Dragon.
The creature stood eight feet tall, and could hide easily under heavy
clothing and a long trench coat.

It walked on two feet. Its head was fairly small, and though its neck was a bit longer than a human’s, it could
retract.

The Dragon had a white tail, long, full, and strong. It kept its tail
curled up against its back so it could be hidden under a coat. Its white
wings could also be kept hidden, but it rarely flew. That required too
much energy, and dirt particles would fly into his eyes.

When at home, naturally, the creature hid nothing. It stretched out its
long tail and its baggy old body and lay around in its pricey little
kingdom, listening to the radio tuned to no particular station. White
noise, of course. The ultimate lounge lizard.

The only matter that troubled the Dragon was that it liked to sleep in
flames. He would spew fire into the massive fireplace, and sleep inside
of it, with fire all around him. This was delightful to him. In the morning, however, there would be all that mess to clean up. Fire makes things
black.

To keep things clean, a small army of workers was employed at all
times. They did not know for whom they worked. They only knew that
the fireplace must be kept perfectly clean at all costs, every single day.
Only white ash was allowed to remain.

Even the creature’s fire was white. It was magic fire. The old Serpent
liked to make the fire grow like a white vine, like ivy, in long strings that would crawl on the wall and branch out in thin, glowing strands. He thought fire was lovely. He could make it come out of his mouth or his
eyes or his hands or his fingers, but after that, it might do whatever it
wanted.

Dragonfire is an unpredictable thing. After a few seconds in the air, it can actually come to life. From time to time, the Dragon would unleash a fire just to have someone to talk to. The living fire would laugh with him, and speak of rotten things. It sometimes took the shape of a blobby man with no real face, and it would walk around the room, scorching everything. The Dragon hated the messes it made.

The creature had other ways of making messes. It had developed an
interest in art. Its new joy was painting pictures. They were pictures of the color white. If his paint should ever drip off the canvas, it only added to the white in the room.

The painting he was currently working on was a pride and joy. Like
the others, it used various shades of white to create a subtle white
abstract effect. Blobs of colors from white to off white, to egg white, to
cream, to vanilla, to ivory, to almost-a-color, to tannish white to grayish white, all fell together on a big canvas. A white canvas. It was
wonderful. The creature was certain he was on the verge of something
brilliant. Art is white. Anything else distracts from the art.

The creature cheated at his art, as he cheated at everything in life. No
one else in the world would be much interested in a painting of shades of
white. So as he worked, the White Dragon touched the art with magic.
Anyone who looked at a White Dragon painting saw exactly what he
wanted, dimly reflected under the white paint, and everyone saw
something different.

The artwork was just enchanted enough to capture
your heart, without a drop of extra enchantment left behind.
Each one was worth a small fortune.
The Dragon smiled at its work. Captivating, even to him.

The only thing more marvelous was the work of that delicate woman across town, at the modern art gallery.

You see, the Dragon had one other interest. A lovely lady, an art
collector. To him, she was as beautiful as the art that surrounded her.
The White Dragon had made himself somewhat well-known with his
own paintings, and the woman had placed many of his art pieces in the
gallery where she worked. She was a painter herself, so the two had much to talk about.

The pity was that no one else saw the quality of her paintings. The
woman had displayed them in her office discreetly, and the Dragon
passing through the gallery one day had taken note of them. Her
paintings were scratchings of green colors laid out over odd symbols,
runes that were brushed in with shades of gold. Most people thought her works were quite strange. Not the Dragon. He loved them. He made a
habit of calling her to tell her how much he loved them.

The two had only spoken on the telephone. He had seen her only
from afar. He decided it was time to introduce himself formally.
But he was low on energy. He had used his magic quite a lot recently
and needed to rest. The White Dragon had been to a town called Ebony
Hollow, looking for a boy named Simon St. George. An amazing
discovery: The Dragonhunter had a son.

The White Dragon’s dying
brother had sent him word through one of his spies. An unusual act of
cooperation, but they were brothers, after all. It’s a shame the spies
weren’t up to the task of destroying the Knight, but that was a pleasure
the Dragon wanted for himself anyway. Always hunting each other, they were. The game went round and round.

The St. George family was a curse to Dragons. St. Georges were faster, smarter, and stronger than other humans. They could see through
Serpentine magic.

The true power of the child was not known. But it did not matter,
thought the Dragon; the boy will no doubt amount to nothing. His
Dragon spies remained on the job. They’d find him.

Or, better yet, he thought, maybe he will come right to me. Across the City of New York, this was precisely what was going to happen.

Simon St. George was preparing for battle.

 

(An) Please make sure to leave a comment and vote if you liked the chapter.