In Part 1 of The Treasure of Manjucatus, a young dragon saves a monk from a vicious metaleater worm. The dragon Manjucatus knows his parents would disapprove of helping humans, so he takes the injured man somewhere safe. And now, part two of The Treasure Of Manjucatus.
Flying slowly, the dragonling carried the monk and his heavy bag to a hidden cave. He laid the human on some worn-out cushions. The man did not move.
Shredding a moth-eaten cloak, he wrapped a strip around the human’s injured leg. That should stop the bleeding. A healer would add a few herbs and oils. He searched the barren cave. Nothing here. He would have to fly home.
His father was away on dragon business, and his mother lay snoring on her bed. Manjucatus crept past her towards the large chest against the far wall. The lid creaked as he raised it, and he froze. The rumbling from the ledge stopped and continued as his mother fell into a deep sleep. Digging through silk scarves, jewelry, and horn ornaments, he found a sack of dried leaves. It was one of the many herbs and remedies his mother kept for her imaginary ailments. He opened the bag and stirred the fragrant herbs with a claw. Maybe he should ask first? No, dragons take what we want. At least, that’s what his father was always lecturing him about.
Back in his cave, Manjucatus mixed a poultice of water and herbs. He slit the torn stocking on the monk’s leg and tore away the material. Unwinding the bandage, he saw that the wound no longer bled. Good. He packed the entire leg with the gooey mess. With a satisfied nod, he wiped the drips on the floor with the leftover stocking. A spicy, minty smell filled the room.
He hummed as he wound a fresh bandage over the man’s leg. He wrapped the claw, or foot as they called it, just in case. Holding up leftover cloth, he wondered if he should wrap his cut head. The clay bowl still had some herbal mush left.
Brother Cassius groaned and stirred. His eyes widened at the sight of a dragon leaning over him.
“Don’t be scared. It’s just me, Manny, the dragon who saved you.”
“Yes, the dragon child. Where am I?”
“This is my secret cave. I hide my treasure here.”
The monk sat up and looked around the empty cavern. A few tattered tapestries hung on the wall. A shelf held a dented silver goblet, a bronze mirror, and a few gold coins. He raised an eyebrow.
Manjucatus cleared his throat. “I just started collecting, you know. It’s not easy finding treasure.”
“Indeed not. What a fine collection for such a young dragon. You will be rich and powerful someday.” Cassius prodded his tightly wrapped leg. “Where’s my bag?”
He reached for the man’s bag. “Here, I was keeping it safe for you.” Something inside the heavy sack clanked. The faint smell of gold and tarnished silver made his nostrils flare. He dropped the sack in surprise. Silver and gold objects spilled onto the stone cave floor. There was not a single copper pan. Manjucatus stood staring down at it, his mouth open.
Red-faced, the man struggled to stand. “Clumsy fool, give me that!”
The dragonling reached out a claw and picked up the beautiful silver candlestick. Heavy, elaborately wrought. He studied a gold and silver crucifix. “The metaleater was right. You did have gold.” He sorted through a few gold and silver, jewel-encrusted books. This was real treasure—enough for a prince or a dragon.
Sputtering and swearing, the monk hobbled towards him, dragging his injured leg. “Leave that alone,” he said.
“You lied to me.” Manjucatus looked up. “And you probably stole this. You’re a thief and a liar.”
Brother Cassius eyed the dragon’s clenched claws. He backed away, palms up before him. “Yes, I lied. I had to. This treasure is meant for the holy abbey of Saint Risely. I was entrusted to get it there safely. These all belong to God.”
Manny scratched his head. He studied the monk’s averted eyes. Brother Cassius sounded like his mother when she was lying to him about her aches and pains. He wanted to believe the monk, but he had been fooled before. Dragons, at least his clan, were expert liars. He frowned, dragon eyes narrowed.
The monk smiled. “You’re too intelligent for me to fool, I see.” He staggered back to his cushions and lowered himself down. “I am a liar and a thief. There is no hiding that from a wise dragon. I stole these treasures from my monastery. I was fleeing north to find a ship to take me west when I got lost in the highlands.” He shrugged. “The treasure is yours, now. You might as well eat me since I’m no longer a holy man.” He dropped his eyes, peeking at the young dragon under heavy lids.
“What are these?” Manny flipped through one of the books, admiring the beautiful paintings.
“Those are books. That is a manuscript of the gospel of Luke. Books are what we humans use to communicate and record our history.”
“I know what books are.” Manjucatus picked up the silver book and turned its pages. “Dragons write too, you know. We use runes to write our tomes.” He looked up. “My gran taught me to read and write runes. I’m good at it. Not that my family cares.”
The monk adjusted his weight and made himself comfortable. “I like reading, too. As the head clerk at the monastery, I read and wrote Latin and a little French.
Manny squinted at the page. “Latin, that’s what your writing is called. It looks a little like runes.” He smiled. “My grandmother used to talk about the Maker, church, and even human books.”
Brother Cassius grinned back. “Young Manny, would you like to learn to read Latin? I’m sure your gran would approve.”
“She died during the great plague.” The tip of his claw lightly traced the bright painting of a fiery phoenix.
“I’m sorry. Yet all would surely respect a dragon who knows human writing.”
Manny shrugged and closed the book. “My father wouldn’t like it, though. He says I read too much and should practice fighting more.”
“That one is about Greek and Roman fighting techniques. Imagine what you could learn.”
Manny stroked his scaly chin. “Yes. None of the other dragonlings can read human.” He nodded. “Let’s strike a bargain, Cassius. You teach me to read and write human, and I’ll tend to your leg, bring you food, and let you heal here. I can even carry you to the nearest port when you are well enough.”
The monk pointed at the gold and silver. “And this?”
He looked at the candlestick and crucifix, then back at the books. He sighed. “Very well, keep your treasure. Just teach me to read human.”
Will the crooked former monk teach the young dragon to read human? Join me next month for the conclusion of The Treasure Of Manjucatus.
