Head issues, multiple titles

Dragons make good stoves if you treat them fairly. One in the Carpathians gave me a warm winter in return for a bag of coal and a kind word. I roasted chestnuts on its nose. In spring it flew off, and my heating bills have been terrible since.

Oysters at Ostend gave me a bright idea. I fed a hundred of them on my finest sand and whispered kind words. Each one made me a pearl the size of a plum. I strung them up for my mother, who used them as doorknobs and for rolling out dough.

Flames froze on my candles during that bitter year in Courland. I snapped them off like carrots and sold them by the dozen. Buyers thawed them on the stove at home. Many a dark cottage was lit that way, and I bought a new sled with the money.

Mapmakers in Genoa begged me to stop moving islands. I only shifted two or three. One was in my way, and one had a bad smell. The third I gave to a girl in Malta as a birthday gift. It fit nicely in the bay outside her house.

Drums can talk if you beat them politely. I had one at Vidin that gave.