The Man Who Dreamed Dragons

At quarter to five in the morning, Mr. Mustard awoke to the sound of birds. He looked around his room. His whole room was filled with inventions from top to bottom. In an emerald pencil holder, which sat on the desk next to the bathroom door, there were pencils that wrote anything you told them to write. Transparent wings, big enough to carry two men, hung from vines that ran along the ceiling. He kept a couple of small pocket laptops next to the window. They were special laptops he'd just invented that floated after you wherever you went. In the far corner of his room, sat a large robotic octopus that, when activated, did most of the work in the house, including the dishes, clearing the table, and vacuuming.

Mr. Mustard scrambled out of bed, shuffled past a humongous tarp-covered machine, and stooped to peer out of his bedroom window. The sky was still gray but a hint of blue was slowly spreading across the horizon. Mr. Mustard twirled his mustache absent-mindedly as he stared at the neighbor’s house. A sign above the door read, "Nobody Come In Unless You Want To Go To Jail."

After a minute a tall, skinny man in a purple suit came bursting through the door, his purple shoelaces flying.

"That Fernwood, always in a hurry. He's probably going to another meeting to ban new inventions," Mr. Mustard murmured. "How silly that Mr. Fernwood wants to outlaw new inventions when he uses technology like his Inter-Stellar-Library."

He watched Mr. Fernwood stuff his ISL into the back of his pyramid. Mr. Mustard turned away from the window, picked up his glasses, and walked down the stairs. Mr. Mustard stopped in front of a mirror that hung at the bottom of the stairs. He looked into it. It reflected an old man with shiny green eyes and untidy gray hair. He licked his finger, pressed down an unwelcome cowlick, then continued toward the kitchen.

On a smooth yellow countertop sat a machine that was shaped like microwave. It appeared to have at least a million buttons covering the top, the sides, and the front. On each button was a picture of a certain kind of food.

"My best invention yet!" said Mr. Mustard, pushing the "coffee" and "buttered toast" buttons on the machine. In the corner of the kitchen, above a tank full of frogs, Mr. Mustard’s electronic calendar read, May 17, 3000.

As he waited for his breakfast, Mr. Mustard heard the gentle rumble of Pyramids zipping over his tree house. It was followed by the papery hum of robotic dragons flies that were on their way to deliver early morning messages. A musical chime rang. Mr. Mustard got a plate out of the cabinet and took his breakfast out of his incredible-edibles machine.

"Ah," said Mr. Mustard, "There's nothing like a good breakfast to start off a great day of inventing."

Part 2

It was late afternoon and Mr. Mustard was having a cup of coffee on his porch. The smell of damp grass mingled with the fragrance of newly sprouted wild flowers. A swarm of multi-colored dragonflies flew over his tree house. The swarm made curly cues against the clear blue sky. Mr. Mustard looked at his watch. The golden minute hand pointed to words that appeared on the watch's face. It read, "Time for a walk. "

Mr. Mustard stood up and whistled. There was a loud clanking, like something metal banging on the floor. A large robotic octopus appeared in the kitchen doorway. Halfway through the doorway, it got stuck. It's arms flailed wildly as it tried to squeeze through the narrow opening. Mr. Mustard carefully placed the empty coffee cup onto a tray held by one of its twitching legs. The octopus shook free of the door and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Mr. Mustard climbed down the ladder of his tree house, picked up his favorite walking stick, and walked toward the edge of the woods where his trail lay, hidden in the weeds and ferns. Some of the dragonflies swooped down from the sky and followed him into the woods. As his shoes hit the moss-covered ground, a smile crept across his face. This trail was magical to him. He hummed as he passed sparkling creeks and ponds. The smell of earth filled his nostrils. He listened to Red-bellied Woodpeckers, Chickadees, and the chirp of young grasshoppers. Every so often, he heard the gentle buzz of a dragonfly as it whizzed past his ear. Mr. Mustard was jumping over some small rocks when a cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello Mustard."

Mr. Mustard whirled around to see Fernwood leaning against a tree.

"Hello," said Mustard not troubling to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"I want to make things clear for you," Fernwood grumbled. "You're to stop making useless garbage. Unless, of course, you want trouble."

"You can't tell me what to do!" said Mr. Mustard, glaring.

"It's just a matter of time before people find out what a kook you are," Fernwood said angrily.

Mr. Mustard stared into Fernwood's cold brown eyes. "I don't care what you think of me. Without inventions Man would never have gotten to the moon."

Fernwood chuckled. "Oh, Mustard, you old fool! What did Man find when he got to the moon? Nothing but a piece of cold, dead rock. There's nothing left to discover, so there is no need for your inventions. It's a big waste of time. As long as I am around, you won't be spending much time inventing anything."

Mr. Mustard turned on his heel and walked off, infuriated. As he stomped back to his house, a bright red dragonfly landed on his shoulder. It's delicate wings brushed the side of his cheek. It hummed soothingly. He inhaled deeply several times to calm himself. He didn't want to end a gorgeous day thinking of Mr. Fernwood. He was passing Monica TittWit's house, when he noticed that her mailbox was jammed with leaflets. Glancing over the lovely picket fence, he saw Monica working in her garden. She was tugging on a very large weed. When he called out to her, she looked at him and scowled. Mr. Mustard was so startled he nearly dropped his walking stick. The red dragonfly flitted off his shoulder and joined the small swarm that floated over the top of the trees.

Continuing on, Mr. Mustard passed the Riddle Tree House. Tom Riddle was sitting at the foot of his ladder, gazing at the sky. Mr. Mustard waved vigorously. To his amazement, his best friend, Tom, glared and quickly climbed his ladder.

Mr. Mustard was dumbstruck—so dumbstruck that he didn't feel the water running down his neck until his shirt was soaked. He whirled around to face yet another neighbor who was pointing a garden hose at him. Mr. Mustard jumped back and then dashed up the trail. He was walking absentmindedly back home, his shirt stuck wetly to his back, when he spotted a dozen leaflets scattered along the path. He stopped, picked one of the papers up and peered at what was written on the front. It said,

WARNING! A CRIMINAL LIVES IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD! MR. MUSTARD IS SUSPECTED OF CREATING ILLEGAL INVENTIONS. PROTECT YOURSELVES FROM THIS IRRESPONSIBLE INVENTOR. VOTE TO OUTLAW HIS DANGEROUS INVENTIONS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!

SIGNED: RONALD H. FERNWOOD

Mr. Mustard was steamed. He turned around and ran back along the path, dodging another blast of cold water and a bit of dirt, flung by Monica Tittwit. When he came upon Fernwood, he found his enemy tossing more leaflets onto the lawns of more neighbors.

Running up to Fernwood, Mr. Mustard snatched the leaflets from his hands and ripped them to shreds. He tossed the shreds into the air. Tiny bits of paper landed in Fernwood's hair.

"You've been spreading lies about me!" Mr. Mustard bellowed.

"Serves you right!" shouted Fernwood.

Mr. Mustard could not control himself. He flew at Fernwood. The two men tumbled backward, landing in the dirt. They wrestled with each other. All around them, dragonflies dived and spiraled like angry bees. Insults filled the air. Mustard finally broke free of Fernwood's hold. He climbed to his feet. His jacket was torn and muddy.

"Where are you going, you coward?!" panted Fernwood as he struggled to get up. Fernwood's hair was mussed up. His purple bow tie was missing and his shoelaces were untied.

"I'm leaving because this fight is getting us nowhere," said Mustard through a heavy nosebleed. The dragonflies hovered like a rainbow-colored halo over his head.

At that point, Fernwood pointed a dirty finger at Mr. Mustard and said, "I challenge you to a race from Crayfish Lake to Mythical Meadow. The loser has to leave town and never come back!"

Mr. Mustard stood there in the last rays of the day, staring, flabbergasted, at Fernwood's dirt-smeared face.

Part 3

Fernwood smiled a wicked smile. "Is it a Deal?"

"Deal," Mr. Mustard said hesitantly.

Fernwood snickered.

" But I'll pick what we ride on." Mr. Mustard said firmly.

"Fine," Fernwood agreed.

"Dragons, robotic dragons."

Fernwood fidgeted. "Robotic Dragons?" He stammered.

"Yes, robotic dragons. Don't tell me you're scared," said Mustard with a smile.

Fernwood smiled back. "Nothing scares me."

Mustard stepped back, gesturing toward Crayfish Lake. "Let's start now. We should be at Mythical Meadow at about 6:00 this evening."

Fernwood followed Mustard to his house. He waited outside in the shade of the tree's leaves as Mr. Mustard climbed the ladder and disappeared into his house. After twenty minutes, a large door high in the tree's trunk opened and two gigantic, ferocious-looking dragons flew out into the open sky. One was pitch black with flaming red eyes and gleaming white teeth; the other was a dark pine green with yellow eyes and red teeth. Each one had a leather collar around its neck. As Fernwood stared, amazed, at the two dragons that landed only a few feet from where he stood, Mr. Mustard climbed back down the ladder and went to stand next to the dragons.

"This one is Redtooth," Mustard said, as he pointed at the pine green dragon. "And this is Midnight." Mustard added, patting the black dragon's hindquarters. Midnight snorted and flexed his mighty wings. Suddenly, Mustard jumped on Midnight's back, took hold of the leather collar, and gave the command, "UP". The dragon spread its wings, launched himself into the air, and rocketed upward.

Fernwood walked slowly up to the remaining dragon. Redtooth crouched down. His yellow eyes glittered. Fernwood swung his leg around the dragon's neck and tightly grasped the worn collar. The dragon leaped into the air. Before Fernwood knew it, Redtooth was speeding upwards in hot pursuit of Midnight.

When they were as high as a fifty-six-story building, the two dragons halted in midair. They were hovering high above Crayfish Lake.

" Let's race on the count of three!" Fernwood bellowed, "One…. Two…Three!"

The two dragons shot away at such a high speed they cut through the air like bullets. Fern wood was holding on for dear life. Mr. Mustard was urging his dragon on faster and faster. At first, Fern wood kicked Redtooth vigorously to get the dragon to fly faster. Then he tried lying flat on Redtooth's neck and screaming in the dragon's ear. But soon, Fernwood realized his methods didn't work. In fact, Redtooth seemed to slow down. Fernwood looked over and saw Mr. Mustard stroking Midnight's scaly neck and speaking words of encouragement in the dragon's ear. Leaning once more upon Redtooth's neck, Fernwood gently rubbed the sensitive skin – right behind the dragon's ear. Redtooth rumbled with delight and flew faster. Soon, the two dragons were side by side.

Mustard could see Mythical Meadow was near. Looking down at the countryside he saw a huge, colorful cloud of robotic dragonflies. Despite his success in getting Redtooth to fly faster, Fernwood was not enjoying the daring ride. With each swipe of Redtooth's wings, Fernwood went up and down. His stomach was beginning to feel queasy.

Mr. Mustard skillfully guided Midnight downward to avoid a strong gust of wind. Sometimes, when a dragon hit a powerful thermal, it lost its balance and dropped out of the sky like bomb. Fernwood didn't know this, so he paid no attention when the gust of wind struck Redtooth head on and the dragon began to falter. Fernwood was focused on the golden meadow ahead of him. If he could just get a little closer he'd steer the dragon downwards, whiz toward the ground, and win the race.

The wind hammered Redtooth's chest and the dragon was hurled higher into the air, his wings flapping helplessly. Fernwood lost his hold on Redtooth's collar. He slipped off the dragon's back and onto Redtooth's lashing tail. The gust diminished. Redtooth hung in the air for one second then plummeted down to earth.

Mr.Mustard didn't realize that Fernwood and Retooth were in trouble – that they were falling down to greet a painful death – until Midnight shrieked piercingly. Mr. Mustard looked over his shoulder in time to see a black dot falling…falling against an orange sky. Midnight veered sharply and then sped directly at Redtooth's falling figure. They blasted forward as fast as the speed of light. It was not fast enough. Mr. Mustard knew he couldn't reach them in time. Without thinking, Mr. Mustard screamed into the onrushing wind.

"Dragonflies, Dragonflies, save them!"

Thousands of gold, purple, blue, green, red, black, silver, violet, and white dragonflies zoomed toward Redtooth and his rider. They flew beneath the crumpled figures of Fernwood and Redtooth. The dragonflies clung to another, forming a large net. As Fernwood and his dragon hit the net of dragonflies there was the sound of scraping metal. Slowly the dragonflies lowered their burden to the ground. They hovered above the dazed pair, their transparent wings glinting in the setting sun.

Midnight landed next to Fern wood and Redtooth. Redtooth greeted Midnight's curious nose with a soft rumble. Mr. Mustard jumped off Midnight's back and ran over to Fernwood's motionless form. Mr. Mustard pulled a polka-dotted hankerchief out of his pocket. He walked over to Crayfish Lake and soaked the cloth in the cool water. Then he returned to Fernwood and laid it on his forehead. Mr. Mustard whispered to a nearby dragonfly, " He looks okay, but his skin is cold. Go alert flying clinic. Bring them here."

The dragonfly hummed reassuringly and flew across the lake.

Fernwood's eyes snapped open. He looked up at Mr. Mustard.

"Did I win? " Fernwood asked.

Part 4

Mr. Mustard hesitated." You won," He said firmly.

Fernwood sat up with a little groan. He looked around. His eyes bulged as he saw the thousands of dragonflies flying across the sky like living fire works.

"Wait, the last thing I remember is that you were ahead in the race, then Redtooth somehow lost his balance and we fell." Fernwood looked Mr. Mustard straight in the eye.

"You still won," Mr. Mustard said, his face red.

"Fish Feathers!" Fernwood cried.

Mustard turned to look at a large, rectangular machine, half the size of a house, floating across the shore toward him. Along side it, a robotic dragonfly fluttered excitedly. The clinic landed a few feet from the two men, then the robotic dragonfly zoomed toward Fernwood. It flitted around Fernwood's head, darting in next to his ear, his nose and his eyes.

Fernwood swatted the robotic dragonfly, stood up, and brushed away the dirt and leaves sticking to his purple suit.

"I don't need medical attention," Fernwood grumbled at the flying clinic.

The clinic rose slowly until it hovered above the trees. The men watched as the machine turned west and glided away.

Fernwood walked toward Mr. Mustard and pointed at a nearby dragonfly. "I know you must have made them rescue me. I see those things hanging around your house all the time. Why do they listen to you? They seem to know you as a friend."

"That is because I am the maker of the dragonflies." Mr. Mustard said softly. There was a few moments of silence, before Mr. Mustard added, " And they aren't just robots, they're much more. They have feelings. I won't let you destroy them. I'll take them with me when I leave. You'll never have to see another dragonfly again."

Fernwood lifted his head and watched the gorgeous rainbow of dragonflies swarming in the dusk. His eyes went to Redtooth. "You made the big dragons too? But why did it respond to my touch instead of my command during the race?"

"I told you. My dragons have feelings. Redtooth only listened to you when you asked nicely for more speed. When I first began creating my dragons they obeyed any command. I worried someone might use my inventions to hurt others, so I placed a special program inside each one. Because of this, each dragon has its own personality. Sometimes that can be inconvenient, but I think it even you will agree that if a friendship has to be earned, there is bound to be greater respect between the friends."

Fernwood blushed.

"I guess I haven't shown much respect," Fernwood mumbled, "but then I don't have much practice when it comes to friendship."

"Then you're a perfect candidate for dragonfly ownership," Mr. Mustard said. "Choose one."

"Really? You'd give me one of your inventions?" Fernwood looked excitedly up into the sky.

As if on cue, a single dragonfly soared down from the swarm and landed on the top of Fernwood's head. He reached up to grab the dragonfly but it darted away and landed on the tip of his right shoe.

"Of course, you'll have to teach it to trust you," Mr. Mustard said. "I think you've got a good start. After all, it came down to you by itself."

"I've never thought about befriending a dragonfly," Fernwood smiled. " But before I do, I guess I better apologize. I didn't realize your dragons could be so much fun." He leaned forward and whispered to Mr. Mustard so as not to scare away the blue dragonfly that was picking at his purple shoelace. "I'm sorry, Mustard. I should have taken the time to get to know you before I started spreading rumors. I promise I'll picked up every pamphlet and tell everyone that you are not dangerous."

"That would be great," Mr. Mustard said, relieved that he wouldn't be leaving town anytime soon. He really liked his tree house. Besides, he didn't think he could get his robotic octopus through the kitchen door. " Why don't we start off our new friendship with a pizza?"

"Pizza?" Fernwood exclaimed. "Real pizza?"

"Fresh from my incredible edible machine," Mr. Mustard stated proudly.

"Sounds terrific!" Fernwood laughed.

Mr. Mustard waved at the dragonflies overhead and the swarm made big curly cues in the air. They sparkled and shimmered like stars. Fernwood and Mr. Mustard walked over to the larger dragons. Redtooth and Midnight happily flapped their wings.

"I guess we all agree," Mr. Mustard laughed. "It's a very good way to end the day."

Fernwood and Mr. Mustard mounted the dragons. The huge dragons sprang into the air carrying their riders toward home. Following closely, the swarm of dragonflies twinkled, like gems against the velvet night.