Fire Star

  “To the vet’s?” she joked.

  “No, to steal this.” He dangled the tooth on its leather strip.

  Now Zanna’s dark eyes narrowed to a point. “I thought he was coming to have his shoulder healed?” “Yeah, that’s the deal. If he succeeds, she’ll —” “She?” Zanna said. She brought the truck to a halt beside a tall wooden sign which read:

  WELCOME TO CHAMBERLAIN

  POLAR BEAR CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

  Farther ahead lay a cluster of single-story cabins, dressed overhead by telephone cables. David pulled on his gloves. “Slip of the tongue. Come on, drive in. Let’s find the store.”

  Zanna thought for a moment, then yanked on the hand brake. “What ‘deal’? She who?”

  Me and my big mouth, David thought. He steepled his fingers around his nose. “Gwilanna,” he confessed. “She’s in the story.”

  11 THE FLOWER AND G’RETH

  Mom!” squealed Lucy. “Hurry up! Quick! Gretel’s escaped and she’s trying to kill Grockle!”

  Liz burst breathlessly into the den. She glanced at the cage and Gruffen’s dizzied body, then placed a staying hand on Lucy’s arm. G’reth and Gadzooks both landed on the bench, one on either side of the hissing Gretel.

  “The fire,” Lucy wailed as the flames began to lick around Grockle’s ears.

  “It’s all right,” Liz whispered. “Fire can’t hurt him.”

  “But what if the house burns down!”

  Gadzooks seemed to take this view as well. Hooking up his ridges to protect his eyes, he dipped forward to fight the flames. Gretel spiked her tail and forced him back. A shred of crackling, burning wicker broke off from the basket in which Grockle lay. Nearby stood a jam jar full of brushes, their hairs soaking in methylated spirits.

  “Gretel.” Liz spoke to her in soothing dragontongue.

  The potions dragon flexed her claws.

  “We have to put the fire out,” Liz said calmly. “I promise you, no harm will come to you. But if we don’t stop this, we’ll have nowhere to live.”

  Gretel mantled her wings and stared keenly at the flames. One or two more seconds was all she needed. The petals of the flower were almost consumed. Once they went up, then —

  Hrraaarr! Gadzooks dived forward again.

  Instantly, he and Gretel locked jaws, wings whipping, tails thrashing, claws fully out.

  Lucy squealed and covered her face. In all the eleven or so years of her life she had never seen her mother’s dragons fighting before. The noise, the aggression, the smoke was terrifying. “Mom, make it stop,” she cried.

  That was also G’reth’s intention. If he quenched the fire, there would be nothing to fight about. With Gretel distracted, he quickly swept in. In one deep breath he sucked at the blaze and took every last flicker of flame into his throat.

  Gretel, hearing the deep inbreath, threw Gadzooks aside and turned to look. Charred straw. Rising smoke. Purple flower gone.

  She roared and went for G’reth.

  But by now Liz was there and clamping her wings. “Gretel, it’s over. Don’t struggle. Calm down. I don’t want to have to use dragonsong on you.”

  Stupid Pennykettle dragons! Gretel hurred, catching G’reth with a spark of hot spittle. He staggered away, into the shadows beneath the wooden turntable where Liz modeled most of her dragons.

  “You’re a Pennykettle,” Liz reminded Gretel. “Made by my hand. Cooled by it, if necessary.” She took a chance and let her loose.

  Lucy’s eyes grew round with terror.

  But Gretel did no more than slump by Grockle’s snout, stroking the ashes off his blackened nose and singing dragon lullabies into his ear.

  Gadzooks, by now recovered from the brawl (a sore foot where she’d spiked him; a chipped scale where she’d bitten) approached with caution. Hrrr? he said. A simple question: Why?

  “How did she get out in the first place?” said Lucy. She went and got Gruffen. He was shaking all over and his eyes were swimming.

  “Well?” asked Liz, crouching down beside the bench.

  There was a dragon, said Gretel with a spiteful hurr.

  Dozens of scaly ears pricked up. Gretel told them faithfully what had happened.

  “Invisible?” gasped Lucy, running to the fireplace and peering up the stack.

  Liz made a guttural sound in dragontongue to calm the nerves of the onlooking dragons. “Why was it here, Gretel? What did it want?”

  Gretel shrugged. Truthfully, she did not know.

  “Who sent it?” asked Lucy.

  Gretel snorted in frustration and stomped her feet.I was just about to find that out! she hurred. When the foolish wishing dragon stuck his fat snout in!

  “So … you weren’t trying to give Grockle fire?” asked Lucy.

  The potions dragon looked away, sullenly.

  “Why set fire to his basket?” asked Liz.

  A spark or two flew from Gretel’s nostrils as she tossed her head like a petulant puppy. Because the straw burned fast and the potion was fading. Breathing it in fire was the way to know its source.

  Liz lengthened her gaze to seek out G’reth. He was still under the table, whimpering slightly. “What effect would it have on a wishing dragon?”

  Almost at once, G’reth let out a bone-chilling whine and fell back, writhing, tossing his head.

  “What’s happening?” Lucy gasped, rushing to the bench.

  Her mother moved her quickly aside and cradled the wishing dragon close to her breast. Supporting his wings in the cup of her hands, she tried urgently to calm him with dragonsong. G’reth’s eyes were fixed on a point in space, and it didn’t look as though they were about to return. Liz lifted his spiky head, making the dragon splutter and cough. “He’s having some kind of fit,” she said. “Go to the bathroom and bring me a towel. I want to wrap him up to protect him.”

  Lucy ran from the room as if she’d chartered a jet.

  She was halfway along the landing, when she heard her mother give a startled yell. She paused at once, unsure of what to do. “Mom, what’s the matter?”

  “Come quickly,” cried Liz. Lucy pounded back, in time to see G’reth hovering in midair, held by a force that had cloaked his body in a blaze of blue light.

  On the shelves, the dragons shuddered in fear. Gadzooks tried to fly to his brother dragon’s aid, but Liz cried, “No!” and pulled him back.

  It was just as well she did. Suddenly, the den was flooded with light. Violet eyes fast became ultraviolet, blinded by the sheer intensity of the beam. Then it was done. The light returned to its source in the heavens, and barring the stained glass clinking at the window, the room returned to normal.

  With one exception.

  The wishing dragon had completely disappeared.

  12 AT THE TRADING POST

  You’re writing about Gwilanna?”

  David shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, finding all the old springs in the fading upholstery. He presented one foot to the dashboard again and retied the yellow-flecked laces of his boot. The wipers sawed. The engine throbbed like a panting dog. Below the hood, a cooling fan kicked in. There was no such relief for Suzanna Martindale. Her heated disbelief was rising up in waves.

  “It’s just the way it came to me, Zanna. Sometimes when I’m writing, the story takes over. I let it run because it felt like the right thing to do.”

  Zanna dragged her bobble hat off her hair, making spiderweb veils of the static-charged ends. “What’s her role?”

  “She’s evil.”

  “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know, David. What does she want with your polar bear tooth?”

  “It’s a book, Zanna. A work of fiction. I can’t answer that question, ‘cause I don’t know what the plot is. I haven’t gone that far into it yet.”

  Zanna frowned and tapped her foot against the throttle. The engine responded with an irritated rev. “Did Gadzooks send you any of this?”

  “No. He’s had no input whatsoever — apart from the G I told you ab
out.”

  She blew a deep sigh and shook her head. “This is spooky, David.”

  “It’s just a story,” he said.

  “Yeah, right. David’s answer for everything. ‘It’s just a story, Zanna.’ Just a lie, you mean.” She dropped the parking brake and gunned the truck forward. Its rear wheels squealed as they bit the road. Snowflakes as large as lemons hit the screen and were quickly swept aside into a layer of slush. Zanna shifted her gaze to the east. Out toward open water, surrounded by dirt stacks and rusting junked machinery, lay the moody hulk of the grain elevator, a large white ocean liner of a building, blackened with smoke from a nearby chimney, splashed against the bleak gray Manitoba sky. For eight months of the year, when the bay was clear of ice, Chamberlain fed the north with grain. The sight of it reminded her why they’d come. “Got your list?”

  David unflapped a pocket.

  “Why’d you do it?” she muttered.

  “It’s just a story,” he repeated.

  “David, don’t be dumb. You found out when you were writing Snigger what a fine line there is between what you imagine and what you create. Something’s going on here. I can feel it in my blood. That witch is up to something.”

  David folded his arms and turned to watch the scenery. As Zanna had remarked, it was all pretty bleak. The romantic in him had wanted to see a bygone time of people in furs outside their igloos, chewing skins and dressing kayaks. But the latter-day reality wasn’t even close. The “igloos” were rows of painted wooden buildings, mostly squat residential cabins. The only suggestion of a native heritage was a parka-clad figure attending a dog team. The man had a cigarette hanging off his lip and two curtains of black hair sprouting shabbily from under his cap. The dogs, despite the unflagging cold, seemed as happy as a small flock of sheep in a summer field.

  As they turned into the center of the town, David was reminded that one of the principal attractions of Chamberlain was its tourist industry. People came here to photograph bears. There were several gift shops testifying to it, plus an Inuit museum he’d heard Russ and Dr. Bergstrom talk about. On its wall was a sign declaring, FIVE CITIZENS FOR EVERY BEAR. He took this to mean that the town’s population was approximately one thousand, as he knew from his studies that somewhere around two hundred bears passed through Chamberlain annually. Yellow warning signs were everywhere, reminding people of it.

  BE ALERT!

  POLAR BEAR SEASON

  October thru November

  Memorize this number

  The number in question was the polar bear “police.” If any bad guys lumbered in, Chamberlain, it seemed, was ready to run them out of town.

  The trading post, when they found it, didn’t quite match David’s expectations either. He’d been hoping to see an old log cabin hanging with pelts and a pig’s tail of black smoke curling out of a tilting iron chimney. Instead, they found a stocky, modern building, more a warehouse than a trapper’s retreat. Wide and gray, with double-glazed windows, thick brown eaves, and a double gable front, it reminded him of the mobile homes he’d seen carried on huge transporters back in America.

  Zanna parked out front behind a Cherokee jeep. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” she groused. “I’ll talk to you later about Gwilanna. For now, let’s go trade.”

  Collars up, they climbed a short flight of steps to a fenced-off landing, before opening the door on a room warmly lit by two clusters of spotlights. A jangle of wind chimes followed them in as their footsteps echoed off the polished wooden floors, answering high into the heavy beamed ceiling. The cloying smell of worked leather hung in the air.

  “Wow,” went Zanna, immediately entranced. She turned a full circle, gazing in awe at the Inuit wall-hangings and other forms of traditional artwork. “Aw, look, mukluks,” she said, and shot into a side room where a large assortment of the arctic boots were on display on a tier of shelves.

  Typical, thought David. You bring a woman to the last store before the North Pole and what does she do? Heads straight for the shoes.

  “Howdy,” said a voice.

  From behind a counter stacked with candies, tobacco, and smoked arctic char, stepped a middle-aged man with ash-white hair. He was wearing a red-check lumberjack shirt and heavy blue jeans, turned up at the ankle. “Where you from?” he asked, with a welcoming smile.

  “The research base just down the road,” said David.

  The man nodded freely, shaking hands. “Yar, shoulda guessed. You look kinda sharp. You up here long?”

  “A few weeks, that’s all. We’re on a college trip.”

  “Oh yar,” the man crooned, picking up a soft broom and sweeping the floor. He spoke in the happy, laid-back accent that some of the workers at the base possessed.

  David brandished his list. “We’ve been sent here to buy a few regular supplies, but I can’t see any of the stuff I need.”

  “O-kaay, let’s see what you got.” The man took the list and ran a finger check down it, reading off the items one by one. “Yar, we can give you all of that. We got general goods farther back, beyond the pelts. Why don’t you take a look around here, buy your pretty girl some boots, maybe. I’ll have this bagged up and put in your truck.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure thing. Or I’m not Albert Walbert the third. That your pickup, right there?”

  “The red one, yeah.”

  “On the way,” he said. He disappeared, whistling, into the rear of the store.

  David went to seek out Zanna. “Result. I traded with Albert the third.”

  “These are cool,” she said, not hearing a word. She pulled on a pair of beige colored mukluks with bearded insteps and fox-fur trim.

  “Two hundred and forty-five dollars?” said David, somewhat alarmed by the size of the price tag.

  “Rich daddy,” she reminded him. “And I have plastic. Besides, the fun is in the trying on.”

  David glanced at the shelves. There were thirty pairs or more, plus mittens for later. Zanna was on her fifth and not coming up for air. “Gonna have a look at the carvings,” he said, and drifted back into the main craft area, toward a velvet-covered table arrayed with an assortment of soapstone figures.

  There were several of bears and other arctic animals, but the one which caught his eye was of the sea goddess, Sedna. She was sculpted in the shape of a common mermaid and made from the black variety of the stone. The detail was impressive. Her body shape flowed in graceful lines, but her face was twisted and tormented with grief. David turned the figure over to read the inscription on the green onyx base. Legend had it that Sedna had married a hunter, who had really been a raven and taken her to his nest. She had cried to her father to save her. He had rescued her and paddled her away in a kayak. But the raven and many seabirds had followed, raising the waves until the father feared the boat would capsize and he would drown. So he had thrown his daughter overboard to save himself. When Sedna clung to one side of the boat, her father had cruelly cut off her fingers and thrown them in the sea, where they became —

  “Seal,” said a voice.

  Startled, David almost let the carving drop. He turned to his right and found his way blocked by a short dark man with a face like crumpled leather. “Seal, walrus, whale, and fish.” The man flicked up a stubby finger for each.

  “Tootega, what are you doing here?”

  “Trade,” said the Inuk. He nodded at a small clutch of furs on the counter, then at the carving in David’s hands. “You buy?”

  David put the figure back. “No, just looking.”

  “Um,” Tootega grunted. “You ever see raven?”

  Hairs rose all over David’s body. “What?” he said.

  “Raven. Bad spirit. Angry bird. Evil. He fool Sedna. Make her marry. You buy. She protect against harmful ravens.”

  “I don’t need any protection, thanks.”

  Tootega spat on the floor. “Why you got a bear’s tooth ‘round your neck?”

  This rattled David more than the talk about ravens. I
n all this time, he had no idea Tootega knew about the tooth. He zipped his parka up to the chin. “Gotta go. See you.”

  “Where’s the girl?” Tootega put a hand on his chest. David felt his stomach muscles tighten. Somewhere in the hidden depths of his mind, the spirit of the great bear Ragnar roared. “Let me go,” he said.

  And the Inuk backed away. But though his movements were jerky and filled with apprehension, they did not seem related to the tone in David’s voice. When David looked at him again, Tootega was staring wildly at the door.

  “He is come,” he said, in a voice rasping fear from the bottom of his lungs.

  “Who?” said David. The outer door was closed.

  Tootega stepped backward, shaking his head. He bumped against a table full of woven baskets, spilling them.

  Outside, a dull thump started up.

  “We only got the blue cheese,” Albert announced. He came in, tucking a pencil behind his ear. His gaze suddenly fixed on the far bay window. “Oh jeez. Just when you thought it was safe to walk the streets.” He dipped behind the counter and came up with a rifle.

  In the road, with its paws raised, pounding the tail of the pickup, was a bear.

  13 AN UNWELCOME SURPRISE

  Gadzooks immediately flew to the window and spread his paws against the cold, dark night. The stars were out and winking faintly. He must record their pattern. He must. G’reth might be lost forever if he failed. He reached for his faithful pencil and pad, realizing with some bother that he’d left them on the windowsill in David’s room. No matter. He would count instead, carefully record the pattern in his head, and check it against the others for the delicate changes that might indicate where G’reth had gone. His gaze panned left. One, two, three, four … sixteen … twenty … thirty-one, was that? He rubbed the glass clean and tried again. One, two … The dots began to blur. On his third attempt, he let out such a cry of frustration that Lucy felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She reached for her mother. Liz was shaking and speechless. She patted Lucy’s hand and went to Gadzooks.