“You know, you’re looking a bit...healthier than usual.”

“Oh.” Barnabas had not expected to run into the wizard so early in the morning.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice all those rutabagas you’ve been eating?” He grinned wickedly.

Barnabas understood the implication and felt sick, but betrayed nothing. “Rutabagas are delicious. You’re missing out.”

“Go feed the dragon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Barnabas headed to the kitchen, where he grabbed a pail and opened the ice box. His stomach turned over as he scooped the current pile of refuse meat into the pail. And down into the dungeon he went. He had never seen anyone down there, but was starting to suspect that that didn’t mean the wizard didn’t use it. It would explain some of the mysterious screaming. The dungeon was deep, there were a lot of stairs, and despite having made the trip several times before, Barnabas nearly tripped twice. After a long walk down a long hallway, he and the bucket finally made it to the dragon’s cage.

Barnabas looked at the sickly looking dragon in the last cell and wondered, again, if it could ever survive in the wild. Not that Barnabas would ever be able to free it, considering he couldn’t even free himself.

“Hello,” he said.

The dragon opened its eyes, but did not lift its head. Barnabas opened the hatch and pushed the pail in with a pole. The dragon ate and pushed the bucket back; Barnabas pulled it out and closed the hatch.

“See you later, I guess.”

After washing out the pail, Barnabas made the long trek up to the place he slept and lit some incense. Black balsam. He felt a little bit better, but not really. Like a sap, he couldn’t stop thinking about pear tarts, and rutabagas, and Vincent.