The Knot in Kai's Tail

The tower was humming again. Kai pressed one ear flat against the velvet wall and counted the sounds: hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, then one small high hmmmm, like a bee standing on tiptoe. Kai was a young unicorn, with a silver horn no longer than a spoon and a tail that had a mind of its own.

It was late. Out in the corridor the candles were waking up one by one, small gold dots in a long dim line. At the foot of Kai's bed, Pip the little dragon slept curled up like a cat, breathing out smoke rings the size of bracelets. And Kai's tail had tied itself into a knot at the very tip, the way it always did when something big was coming.

"There you are," said Grandmother Sami from the doorway. She carried one candle, and the velvet curtains turned gold as she came through. "You should be dreaming by now."

"I'm practicing being asleep," said Kai. "It isn't working." Grandmother Sami sat down on the edge of the bed, and the mattress leaned over the way grandmas' mattresses do. "Doctor Fern comes in the morning," she said. "Just for a check-up, to see how you're growing."

"Where will it happen?" asked Kai. "Not in the tower?"

"In the little round room at the bottom of the tower," said Sami. "The one with the window and the yellow chair. You can bring your blue blanket, if you like."

The knot in Kai's tail pulled tighter. "What will she do?"

"First she'll look in your ears with a tiny lantern," said Sami. "Then she'll tap your knees with two fingers and watch how your hooves swing. Then she'll put her round listener on your chest and count your heartbeats."

"Round listener?" said Kai.

"It's a button on a soft tube," said Sami. "Cool as a spoon from the pantry. It goes bump-bump, bump-bump, and she writes the number down in her little book."

"Does she count my teeth too?" asked Kai.

"She counts them and says, 'Very good, very good,' and that's the end of it," said Sami.

"What if I laugh when she taps my knees?" said Kai. "My knees are very ticklish. It isn't my fault."

"Then she waits till you've finished," said Sami. "She's waited for a great many ticklish knees."

"Will it be sharp?" asked Kai.

"Not one sharp thing in her whole bag," said Sami. "Nothing sharp, nothing loud, and nothing that lasts longer than a minute."

Kai was quiet for a moment, watching the little gold flame of Sami's candle. "What if my heart runs too fast?"

"Then she'll count faster," said Sami. Kai laughed, just a small one, but it was a real one.

Kai thought about the round room, and the yellow chair, and the blue blanket. The knot in Kai's tail loosened by half a turn.

"When I was a filly," said Sami, "I was so nervous on check-up day that I hid behind the tall clock and wouldn't come out. Doctor Fern's grandmother found me. She sat right down on the floor and hummed till I came out, and I've gone to every check-up since."

"What did she hum?" asked Kai.

"Three low hums and one high," said Sami. "The very same one your tower hums every night. You know it already, I expect."

"I'm still a bit scared," said Kai.

"Good," said Sami. "Scared is allowed, and tails knot, and hearts go tap-tap. You can still go in. That's the whole trick of it."

Down at the foot of the bed, the snoring stopped. Pip slid off the quilt, scooted behind the tall clock, and hid there with both wings over that small nose.

"Pip?" said Kai. "What are you doing back there?"

"Not coming," said Pip, in a voice like a kettle not quite boiling. "I don't like the round listener. I don't like the bump-bump."

"You've never even had one," said Kai.

"I heard about it," said Pip. "From a moth."

"Moths don't know about round listeners," said Kai. "Moths don't even have chests." "This moth did," said Pip, very firmly.

A small smoke ring puffed out from behind the clock and drifted up to the ceiling. Pip's nose poked out after it, then disappeared again.

Kai looked down the corridor, to the part the candlelight hadn't reached yet, and then at Grandmother Sami. Sami didn't hurry, and she didn't say there was nothing to be scared of. She just lifted her candle a little higher so the light reached further.

Kai's heart went tap-tap, quick and silly. Kai got up anyway. Past the tall clock with its slow tick, tick, tick, past the smell of beeswax and old books, Kai went and sat down on the floor beside Pip.

"Hello, Pip," said Kai. "I know a hum. It goes like this." And Kai hummed it: three low hums and one high, the same hum the tower hummed every night. Pip's wings came down a little. Kai hummed it again, and Pip's wings came all the way down, and Pip crept out and sat on Kai's hoof.

"Was that the tower?" asked Pip.

"The tower taught me," said Kai. "And a doctor's grandmother taught Sami. It's a very good hum."

"Tomorrow Doctor Fern will put the round listener on me," said Kai. "I'll hum it then. You can sit on the chair and watch, and if my heart goes bump-bump fast, you can hum along."

Pip thought about this for a long time, which for a dragon is about four seconds. "I could hold your tail," said Pip.

"You could hold my tail," said Kai. And that was when Kai noticed: the knot at the end of it had come undone, all by itself, somewhere between the humming and the holding.

Then Kai practiced. "I'm the doctor," said Kai. "Here's my round listener." Kai set an empty acorn cup on Pip's chest. "Bump-bump," said Kai. "Bump-bump-bump." Pip giggled so hard that a smoke ring floated up and landed on the tall clock like a little gray hat.

"Very good, very good," said Grandmother Sami. "Now, bed. Both of you."

They went back along the corridor together, Sami first, then Kai, then Pip, three pairs of feet on the velvet. The candles went sleepy behind them, one by one, and the castle grew quiet enough to hear the tower humming through the wall.

Halfway along, Pip's tail reached out and wrapped twice around Kai's tail, which is the dragon way of saying thank you.

Kai climbed into bed. Pip climbed up after and curled at the foot of the quilt like a warm loaf of bread, smoke rings and all.

The tower hummed. Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hmmmm.

"You'll hum it tomorrow," said Sami from the doorway, "and Pip will hold your tail, and I'll be right outside the door with my book."

"And I'll go first," said Kai. "So Pip can see."

Kai's eyes went heavy. The tall clock ticked its slow tick. The candles folded their light away, one by one, until the corridor was all velvet and quiet. Kai's tail lay loose and soft on the quilt, not one knot in it. Somewhere near Kai's hooves, Pip hummed three low hums and one high, and Kai followed the hum all the way down into sleep.