Chapter 3: Friendship (Part 1)

Snow returned to the earth twice and melted away again, and Alf shot up like a sapling in spring. She was now seven years old and could barely remember a time before the dwarves were family. She also couldn't remember her three Rs. Back when she was a princess, Alf had been taught by the very best tutors starting at an early age. At Drakemarsh, however, her learning was sparse and unstructured at best.

Wednesday was in charge of keeping the books for the family business, and when he had the patience for it he enlisted Alf's help. The most learned of the seven brothers, he took it upon himself to educate her to the best of his ability. Under his stern supervision Alf learned the basics of Dwarven Runes and practiced reading in the Human tongue, as well as some simple arithmetic. All of this was exceedingly boring, as most of Wednesday's learning material was gleaned from accounting books detailing the kinds of dragons bought and sold, how much gold was spent on feed in a particular month, letters written in cramped cursive from Mr. So-and-so asking about certain business transactions.

It soon became apparent that Wednesday lacked the capacity for keeping his easily distracted pupil entertained; his rigid teaching style and bland course material made lessons tedious for both of them. It was in the interest of Alf's education, therefore, that she find another teacher.

This is how it came to pass that on a crisp fall morning Alf donned her prettiest dress, carefully packed a lunch, kissed six of the seven dwarves good bye, and then joined Wednesday on the back of a common green.¹ Their destination was the village of Dellwick, the nearest human settlement, ten miles away by wing. Drakemarsh was fairly isolated, as a training ground for flammable reptiles ought to be, but long distances on foot became much shorter with the power of flight. Dellwick and Drakemarsh were separated by a tendril of the Black Forest which marked part of the northern border of Cerulea, the greatest human empire of that age.

The tiny village quickly appeared below them, nestled at the edge of a lush green wood that gave way to the Black Forest after one or two miles. Wednesday directed the dragon to circle low over the cluster of log cabins until he spotted the primary school, then banked neatly and touched down in the school yard. Dragons were as common as horses in Dellwick, so the handful of children weren't much interested when one dropped out of the sky next to their ball game. Their curiosity was excited when they saw who the riders were: a dwarf and a new playmate.

Wednesday tethered the dragon to a post and went inside the one room school house to speak with the teacher, leaving Alf alone with her new classmates. The ball rolled away unnoticed as the children mobbed the newcomer.

“Who're you?”

“Was that a real dwarf?”

“Are you a dwarf?

“What's your name?”

“Of course she's not a dwarf, stupid!”

“Are you gonna be in our class now?”

“Who are you calling stupid, you poop-face!”

A brash cow bell signaled the beginning of class, abruptly disbanding the assault of questions. Alf waved goodbye to Wednesday and joined the troop of kids heading inside. At the door the teacher, a spindly woman with a massive amount of hair piled on top of her head, introduced herself as Mrs. Saltalamacchia (“But you can call me Mrs. S!”) and showed her around the classroom while the rest of the students settled down. Alf was given a desk next to a pale girl who looked to be about her age. Her books and pencil were arranged square with the desk top, and she sat with her back straight as a ruler. Her name was Emer, and she spoke so softly Alf almost had to lean closer to hear her. Presently Mrs. S called for attention and lessons began.

Within the first five minutes Alf was glad to be sitting next to Emer because she had no clue what was going on. She just followed her lead. First they were talking, then everyone was quiet, then they were standing, and reciting something, and sitting again. The teacher was talking about old dead guys or something, and she kept pointing to a large map tacked to the wall. Something about a... wait a test?! Alf fidgeted uncomfortably, she wanted to go home. Emer smiled comfortingly and moved her notes so she could read along.

There were about thirty children in Dellwick's lower school, aged five to twelve, and Mrs. S exercised strict control over them all. They simultaneously loved and feared her, obeying her commands with unquestioning rapidity and beaming with delight if they received praise for a correct answer. Alf immediately found herself devoted to her teacher, and stretched her hand up high despite the fact that it was her first day and she didn't know anyone and she was scared – she wanted Mrs. S to think she was a good student. Fortunately, Alf was only a week late starting the school year, and she soon caught up with others her age. She even knew more than them in some areas, thanks to Wednesday's tutelage.

During lunch and recess Alf and Emer swapped stories – although Alf may have left out a few details. Emer begged to see the dragons at Drakemarsh, and Alf was eager to eat more of the brownies Emer's mother put in her lunch. They agreed to have a sleepover as soon as possible, to seal their friendship with late night giggling and pillow fights.