Books with title The Dragon Flyers

Jack is only sixteen years old and he has believed that for the last six years that his father was dead, that he had died saving the kings life. Now Delph, who is the kings very own dragon, has told him that maybe his father could be alive, held captive by the Pukka Tribe.This is ultimately a story of Delph and Jack and their mission to save Jack’s father. A story of friendship and bravery.Only a hero can save a hero. Find out if Jack and Delph can save more than just one man...

The text of this fairy tale was found as a manuscript, near a very old oak, while traveling through the endless fields and forests of Britain. The tale was written in several ancient European languages, alternating between each from one sentence to the next without any apparent logic, though there was probably some fabulous meaning hidden in it. The last sentences were written in modern Russian. Translators and linguists easily translated the manuscript, and, after reading the fairy tale, one teenaged girl painted pictures for it. But all this was probably not in such way, and perhaps everything had happened completely in another way....

There was once an old, old castle--it was so old that its I walls andtowers and turrets and gateways and arches had crumbled to ruins, and ofall its old splendour there were only two little rooms left; and it washere that John the blacksmith had set up his forge. He was too poor tolive in a proper house, and no one asked any rent for the rooms in theruin, because all the lords of the castle were dead and gone this many ayear. So there John blew his bellows, and hammered his iron, and did allthe work which came his way. This was not much, because most of the tradewent to the mayor of the town, who was also a blacksmith in quite a largeway of business, and had his huge forge facing the square of the town,and had twelve apprentices, all hammering like a nest of woodpeckers, andtwelve journeymen to order the apprentices about, and a patent forge anda self-acting hammer and electric bellows, and all things handsome abouthim. So that of course the townspeople, whenever they wanted a horse shodor a shaft mended, went to the mayor. And John the blacksmith struggledon as best he could, with a few odd jobs from travellers and strangerswho did not know what a superior forge the mayor's was. The two roomswere warm and weather-tight, but not very large; so the blacksmith gotinto the way of keeping his old iron, and his odds and ends, and hisfagots, and his twopenn'orth of coal, in the great dungeon down under thecastle. It was a very fine dungeon indeed, with a handsome vaulted roofand big iron rings, whose staples were built into the wall, very strongand convenient for tying captives up to, and at one end was a brokenflight of wide steps leading down no one knew where.. Even the lords ofthe castle in the good old times had never known where those steps ledto, but every now and then they would kick a prisoner down the steps intheir light-hearted, hopeful way, and, sure enough, the prisoners nevercame back. The blacksmith had never dared to go beyond the seventh step,and no more have I--so I know no more than he did what was at the bottomof those stairs.John the blacksmith had a wife and a little baby. When his wife was notdoing the housework she used to nurse the baby and cry, remembering thehappy days when she lived with her father, who kept seventeen cows andlived quite in the country, and when John used to come courting her inthe summer evenings, as smart as smart, with a posy in his button-hole.And now John's hair was getting grey, and there was hardly ever enough toeat.As for the baby, it cried a good deal at odd times; but at night, whenits mother had settled down to sleep, it would always begin to cry, quiteas a matter of course, so that she hardly got any rest at all. This madeher very tired. The baby could make up for its bad nights during the day,if it liked, but the poor mother couldn't. So whenever she had nothing todo she used to sit and cry, because she was tired out with work andworry.One evening the blacksmith was busy with his forge. He was making agoat-shoe for the goat of a very rich lady, who wished to see how thegoat liked being shod, and also whether the shoe would come to fivepenceor sevenpence before she ordered the whole set. This was the only orderJohn had had that week. And as he worked his wife sat and nursed thebaby, who, for a wonder, was not crying.

There was once an old, old castle—it was so old that its I walls and towers and turrets and gateways and arches had crumbled to ruins, and of all its old splendour there were only two little rooms left; and it was here that John the blacksmith had set up his forge. He was too poor to live in a proper house, and no one asked any rent for the rooms in the ruin, because all the lords of the castle were dead and gone this many a year. So there John blew his bellows, and hammered his iron, and did all the work which came his way. This was not much, because most of the trade went to the mayor of the town, who was also a blacksmith in quite a large way of business, and had his huge forge facing the square of the town, and had twelve apprentices, all hammering like a nest of woodpeckers, and twelve journeymen to order the apprentices about, and a patent forge and a self-acting hammer and electric bellows, and all things handsome about him. So that of course the townspeople, whenever they wanted a horse shod or a shaft mended, went to the mayor. And John the blacksmith struggled on as best he could, with a few odd jobs from travellers and strangers who did not know what a superior forge the mayor's was. The two rooms were warm and weather-tight, but not very large; so the blacksmith got into the way of keeping his old iron, and his odds and ends, and his fagots, and his twopenn'orth of coal, in the great dungeon down under the castle. It was a very fine dungeon indeed, with a handsome vaulted roof and big iron rings, whose staples were built into the wall, very strong and convenient for tying captives up to, and at one end was a broken flight of wide steps leading down no one knew where.. Even the lords of the castle in the good old times had never known where those steps led to, but every now and then they would kick a prisoner down the steps in their light-hearted, hopeful way, and, sure enough, the prisoners never came back. The blacksmith had never dared to go beyond the seventh step, and no more have I—so I know no more than he did what was at the bottom of those stairs.John the blacksmith had a wife and a little baby. When his wife was not doing the housework she used to nurse the baby and cry, remembering the happy days when she lived with her father, who kept seventeen cows and lived quite in the country, and when John used to come courting her in the summer evenings, as smart as smart, with a posy in his button-hole. And now John's hair was getting grey, and there was hardly ever enough to eat.As for the baby, it cried a good deal at odd times; but at night, when its mother had settled down to sleep, it would always begin to cry, quite as a matter of course, so that she hardly got any rest at all. This made her very tired. The baby could make up for its bad nights during the day, if it liked, but the poor mother couldn't. So whenever she had nothing to do she used to sit and cry, because she was tired out with work and worry.One evening the blacksmith was busy with his forge. He was making a goat-shoe for the goat of a very rich lady, who wished to see how the goat liked being shod, and also whether the shoe would come to fivepence or sevenpence before she ordered the whole set. This was the only order John had had that week. And as he worked his wife sat and nursed the baby, who, for a wonder, was not crying.Presently, over the noise of the bellows, and over the clank of the iron, there came another sound. The blacksmith and his wife looked at each other."I heard nothing," said he."Neither did I," said she.

There was once an old, old castle--it was so old that its I walls and towers and turrets and gateways and arches had crumbled to ruins, and of all its old splendour there were only two little rooms left; and it was here that John the blacksmith had set up his forge. He was too poor to live in a proper house, and no one asked any rent for the rooms in the ruin, because all the lords of the castle were dead and gone this many a year. So there John blew his bellows, and hammered his iron, and did all the work which came his way. This was not much, because most of the trade went to the mayor of the town, who was also a blacksmith in quite a large way of business, and had his huge forge facing the square of the town, and had twelve apprentices, all hammering like a nest of woodpeckers, and twelve journeymen to order the apprentices about, and a patent forge and a self-acting hammer and electric bellows, and all things handsome about him. So that of course the townspeople, whenever they wanted a horse shod or a shaft mended, went to the mayor. And John the blacksmith struggled on as best he could, with a few odd jobs from travellers and strangers who did not know what a superior forge the mayor's was. The two rooms were warm and weather-tight, but not very large; so the blacksmith got into the way of keeping his old iron, and his odds and ends, and his fagots, and his twopenn'orth of coal, in the great dungeon down under the castle. It was a very fine dungeon indeed, with a handsome vaulted roof and big iron rings, whose staples were built into the wall, very strong and convenient for tying captives up to, and at one end was a broken flight of wide steps leading down no one knew where.. Even the lords of the castle in the good old times had never known where those steps led to, but every now and then they would kick a prisoner down the steps in their light-hearted, hopeful way, and, sure enough, the prisoners never came back. The blacksmith had never dared to go beyond the seventh step, and no more have I--so I know no more than he did what was at the bottom of those stairs.John the blacksmith had a wife and a little baby. When his wife was not doing the housework she used to nurse the baby and cry, remembering the happy days when she lived with her father, who kept seventeen cows and lived quite in the country, and when John used to come courting her in the summer evenings, as smart as smart, with a posy in his button-hole. And now John's hair was getting grey, and there was hardly ever enough to eat.As for the baby, it cried a good deal at odd times; but at night, when its mother had settled down to sleep, it would always begin to cry, quite as a matter of course, so that she hardly got any rest at all. This made her very tired. The baby could make up for its bad nights during the day, if it liked, but the poor mother couldn't. So whenever she had nothing to do she used to sit and cry, because she was tired out with work and worry.One evening the blacksmith was busy with his forge. He was making a goat-shoe for the goat of a very rich lady, who wished to see how the goat liked being shod, and also whether the shoe would come to fivepence or sevenpence before she ordered the whole set. This was the only order John had had that week. And as he worked his wife sat and nursed the baby, who, for a wonder, was not crying.

There was once an old, old castle, it was so old that its I walls and towers and turrets and gateways and arches had crumbled to ruins, and of all its old splendour there were only two little rooms left; and it was here that John the blacksmith had set up his forge. He was too poor to live in a proper house, and no one asked any rent for the rooms in the ruin, because all the lords of the castle were dead and gone this many a year. So there John blew his bellows, and hammered his iron, and did all the work which came his way. This was not much, because most of the trade went to the mayor of the town, who was also a blacksmith in quite a large way of business, and had his huge forge facing the square of the town, and had twelve apprentices, all hammering like a nest of woodpeckers, and twelve journeymen to order the apprentices about, and a patent forge and a selfacting hammer and electric bellows, and all things handsome about him. So that of course the townspeople, whenever they wanted a horse shod or a shaft mended, went to the mayor.

There was once an old, old castle, it was so old that its I walls and towers and turrets and gateways and arches had crumbled to ruins, and of all its old splendour there were only two little rooms left; and it was here that John the blacksmith had set up his forge. He was too poor to live in a proper house, and no one asked any rent for the rooms in the ruin, because all the lords of the castle were dead and gone this many a year. So there John blew his bellows, and hammered his iron, and did all the work which came his way. This was not much, because most of the trade went to the mayor of the town, who was also a blacksmith in quite a large way of business, and had his huge forge facing the square of the town, and had twelve apprentices, all hammering like a nest of woodpeckers, and twelve journeymen to order the apprentices about, and a patent forge and a selfacting hammer and electric bellows, and all things handsome about him. So that of course the townspeople, whenever they wanted a horse shod or a shaft mended, went to the mayor.

Nesbit's children were Paul Bland (1880–1940), to whom The Railway Children was dedicated; Iris Bland (1881-1950s); Fabian Bland (1885–1900); Rosamund Bland (1886–1950), to whom The Book of Dragons was dedicated; and John Bland (1898–1971) to whom The House of Arden and Five Children and It were dedicated. Her son Fabian died aged 15 after a tonsil operation; Nesbit dedicated a number of books to him such as The Story of the Treasure Seekers and its sequels as well as many others. Nesbit's adopted daughter Rosamund collaborated with her on the book Cat Tales.