Merlin's Booke by Jane Yolen Page B

no stream of fire, only a hazy smoldering light from the back of the cave. Feeling a little braver then, he said, “I shall need to take the pot back with me. Sir.”
    â€œYou shall take a bit of wisdom instead,” came the voice.
    Artos wondered if it would make him wise enough to avoid Mag’s sweaty embrace. Somehow he doubted it.
    â€œTomorrow you shall have the pot. When you bring me more.”
    â€œMore?” This time Artos’ voice squeaked.
    â€œMoooooooore,” said the dragon. “With meat!” The nail extended, just as it had the day before, and caught under the pot handle. There was a horrible screeching as the pot was lifted several inches into the air, then slowly withdrawn into the recesses of the cave. There were strange scrabbling noises as if the dragon were sorting through its possessions, and then the clanking resumed. The claw returned and dropped something at Artos’ feet.
    He looked down. It was a book, rather tatty around the edges, he thought, though in the cave light it was hard to be sure.
    â€œWissssssssdom,” said the dragon.
    Artos shrugged. “It’s just a book. I know my letters. Father Bertram taught me.”
    â€œLettersssssss turn matter into sssssspirit,” hissed the dragon.
    â€œYou mean it’s a book of magic?”
    â€œAll bookssssss are magic, boy.” The dragon sounded just a bit cranky.
    â€œWell, I can read,” said Artos, stooping to pick up the book. He added a quick, “Thank you,” thinking he should seem grateful. Old thorns and old dragons … he reminded himself.
    â€œYou can read letters, my boy, which is more than I can say for your castle contemporaries. And you can read words. But you must learn to read inter linea, between the lines.”
    Edging backward to the cave’s mouth, Artos opened the book and scanned the first page. His fingers underlined each word, his mouth formed them. He turned the page. Then he looked up puzzled. “There is nothing written between the lines. Sir.”
    Something rather like a chuckle crossed with a cough echoed from the cave. “There is always something written between the lines. But it takes great wisdom to read it.”
    â€œThen why me, sir? I have little wisdom.”
    â€œBecause … because you are here.”
    â€œHere?”
    â€œToday. And not back at Ector’s feeding his brachet or cleaning out the mews or sweating in the smithy or fighting with that pack of unruly boys. Here. For the getting of wisdom.” The dragon made stretching noises.
    â€œOh.”
    There was a sudden tremendous wheezing and clanking and a strange, “Oh-oh,” from the dragon.
    Artos peered into the back of the cave nervously. It was all darkness and shadow and an occasional finger of firelight. “Are you all right? Sir?”
    A long silence followed during which Artos wondered whether he should go to the dragon. He wondered if he had even the smallest amount of wisdom needed to help out. Then, just as he was about to make the plunge, the dragon’s voice came hissing back. “Yessssss, boy.”
    â€œYes what, sir?”
    â€œYessssss I am all right.”
    â€œWell, then,” said Artos, putting one foot quietly behind the other, “thank you for my wisdom.”
    A furious flame spat across the cave, leaping through the darkness to lick Artos’ feet. He jumped back, startled at the dragon’s accuracy and suddenly hideously afraid. Had it just been preparation for the dragon’s dinner after all? He suddenly wished for the sword he had not yet purchased, turned, and ran out of the cave.
    The dragon’s voice followed him. “Ssssssssilly child. That was not the wisdom.”
    From a safe place alongside the outside wall of the cave, Artos peeked in. “There’s more?” he asked.
    â€œBy the time I am through with you, Artos Pendragon, Arthur son of the dragon, you will read