It was a brownie. He looked almost like Sorrel, except that his coat was paler and thicker. And he had four arms. He was resting his paws on the rock where he stood.
“Twenty fingers, Twigleg,” whispered Ben. “He has twenty fingers, just as the djinn said.”
The homunculus could only nod.
The strange brownie looked down suspiciously, inspected the humans briefly, and then stared long and hard at the dragon.
“Well, fancy that!” he cried in the language of fabulous creatures, which can be understood at once by any other living creature, human or animal. “Thought better of it after all, have you? After so many years! I thought you’d all moldered away in your hiding place by now!” The strange brownie spat scornfully on the rock. “So, what’s happened for them to send you here all of a sudden to ask us for help? And what weird kind of brownie is that you have with you? What’s it done with its other arms?”
“I’ve only got two arms,” snapped Sorrel, looking up at him. “Which is quite enough for any self-respecting brownie, you pathetic puffball. And no one sent us. We came of our own free will. The other dragons didn’t dare come, but they haven’t moldered away.”
“Ooh!” said the strange brownie, grinning. “Pathetic puffball, eh? At least you know your mushrooms. My name is Burr-Burr-Chan. What’s yours?”
“She’s Sorrel,” replied Firedrake, taking a step forward, “and you’re right about one thing: We’re here because we need help. We have come a long, long way to find the Rim of Heaven, and a djinn told us you could guide us there.”
“A long, long way?” Burr-Burr-Chan wrinkled his furry brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“We mean,” said Sorrel, “that we’ve flown halfway around the world just to listen to your smart-alecky remarks.”
“Calm down, Sorrel,” said Firedrake, nudging her aside with his nose. Then he looked up at Burr-Burr-Chan again.
“We come from a valley faraway to the northwest, a place where my kind went many hundreds of years ago when human beings were beginning to take over the world. Now they are reaching out their greedy hands to steal our valley, too, and we must find a new home. So I set out to seek the Rim of Heaven, the home of all dragons. I am here to ask if you know it.”
“Of course I know it!” replied Burr-Burr-Chan. “I know it as well as I know my own fur, although it’s been a long time since I was last there.”
Ben held his breath.
“Then it exists?” cried Sorrel. “The Rim of Heaven really exists?”
“What did you think?” Burr-Burr-Chan wrinkled his nose and looked distrustfully at Firedrake. “Are you sure you don’t come from the Rim of Heaven yourself? Are there really other dragons in the world?”
Firedrake nodded. “Will you guide us?” he asked. “Will you show us where to find the Rim of Heaven?”
For a few long moments the four-armed brownie did not answer. Sighing, he sat down in the hole in the rock where he had appeared and dangled his legs.
“Well, why not?” he said at last. “But I can tell you now, you won’t get much joy from your relations.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Sorrel.
Burr-Burr-Chan shrugged his shoulders and crossed his four arms over his chest. “It means they’ve turned into pathetic, sniveling, cowardly weaklings. It’s been more than fifty winters since I was there, but that’s how it was when last I saw them.” He bent down toward Sorrel. “Imagine, they don’t leave their cave anymore! Not even by night! When I last saw them, they were limp as withered leaves for want of moonlight. Their eyes were cloudy as puddles because of the darkness, their wings were dusty for lack of use, and they had fat bellies from eating lichen instead of drinking moonlight. Yes, you may well look shocked.” Burr-Burr-Chan nodded. “It’s very sad to see what’s become of the dragons.” The brownie leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Do you know who they’re hiding from? Not from human beings, no, they’re hiding from the golden dragon. They’ve been hiding ever since the night he came up out of the sea to hunt them.”
“We know that story,” said Ben, stepping up beside Firedrake. “But where are they hiding? In a cave, you said?”
Burr-Burr-Chan turned to him in surprise. “And what sort of creature are you? White as a milk-cap, and in the company of a dragon. Don’t tell me you rode here on his back!”
“Yes, indeed he did,” replied Firedrake, nuzzling Ben.
Burr-Burr-Chan whistled through his teeth. “So you’re the dragon rider! It was you who broke the moonstone that summoned me?”
Ben nodded. The lama said something in a quiet voice.
“Yes, yes, I know.” Burr-Burr-Chan scratched his head. “That old story: Silver will be worth more than gold when the dragon rider returns.” The brownie narrowed his slanting eyes and looked Ben up and down. “Yes, the dragons are hiding in a cave,” he said slowly. “A wonderful cave deep within the mountain range known as the Rim of Heaven. We dug that cave for them — we, the Dubidai, the brownies of these mountains. But we never meant for them to bury themselves alive in it. When they hid there after the golden dragon had hunted them, we withdrew our friendship and came back here. As we left, we told them there was only one way to make up the quarrel: We would return to them on the day they summoned us with a moonstone to help them overcome the golden dragon.” He looked at Firedrake. “I will take you to them, but I will not stay, for they still haven’t summoned us.”
“The golden dragon is dead,” replied Firedrake. “Dead and buried in the sand of a distant desert. They needn’t hide anymore.”
“No, no, he isn’t dead!” cried Guinevere.
Everyone turned to look at her. Burr-Burr-Chan pricked up his furry ears.
“You have no proof of that, Guinevere!” said Barnabas Greenbloom.
“I tell you, I saw him!” Guinevere stuck out her chin obstinately. “With my own eyes. I didn’t imagine a single scale of him. And I don’t care what you all say, I didn’t dream up the dwarf perched on his head, either. The golden dragon is not buried in the sand. He followed us along the river. And I bet you my collection of fairy shoes he’s somewhere very close, waiting to see what we do next.”
“Interesting!” said Burr-Burr-Chan. With one bound, he jumped down from his hole in the rock and landed on the stone dragon’s head.
“Listen,” he said, raising all four paws, “I will take you to the Rim of Heaven. It’s closer than you may think. We have only to fly over this mountain,” he continued, tapping the rock, “and then ahead of you, just where the sun rises, you will see a chain of mountains as beautiful as white field mushrooms in the moon-dew. The dragons are hiding in the valley beyond those mountains. You wouldn’t spot the entrance to their cave even if your nose was right up against it. Only the dragons and the Dubidai know where it is, but I will show you. All of a sudden I have a very strange itch in my fur. The kind of itch I get only when some great deed lies ahead, something adventurous and exciting.” Burr-Burr-Chan licked his lips and looked at the sky. “Right, we’ll set off as soon as the sun sets.”
Then he leaped into the nearest hole in the rock — and was gone.
42. A Farewell and a Departure
“Dubidai! Huh!” muttered Sorrel as soon as Burr-Burr-Chan had disappeared. “Calls himself a brownie, does he? I’m not so sure about him. He might lead us straight into Nettlebrand’s jaws.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Ben pulled her pointy ears. “Cheer up and stop moaning! We’ve done it! He’s going to take us to the Rim of Heaven! And if Nettlebrand shows his ugly mug there we’ll chase him back to the sea!”
“Oh, yes?” Sorrel wrinkled her nose. “You know something, little human? You’re crazy.”
The lama whispered something to the Greenblooms.
“What did he say, Twigleg?” Ben asked.
“The small will defeat the great,” replied the homunculus, “and the gentle will defeat the cruel.”
“Well, let’s hope so,” muttered Sorrel. S
uddenly she turned her head and sniffed. “Yuck, what a disgusting whiff of mountain dwarf. You can’t get away from it! Go to any mountain in the world and you’ll find dwarves in their silly hats hammering away.”
“What did you say?” asked Guinevere in alarm.
“I said the place smells of dwarf,” repeated Sorrel.
“Why?”
“Where?” asked Ben, grabbing her arm. “Where exactly did you pick up the scent?”
At that very moment, a small figure shot out of a rocky crevice and scurried away like lightning.
“Gravelbeard!” screeched Twigleg, almost falling headfirst off Ben’s shoulder. “It’s Gravelbeard! Nettlebrand’s new armor-cleaner! Catch him! Quick, catch him! He’ll give everything away!”
They all dashed off in hot pursuit, falling over one another and getting in each other’s way, but by the time they reached the courtyard outside the prayer hall, the dwarf had vanished.
Sorrel snuffled around in every nook and cranny, muttering crossly. A couple of monks coming back from gathering firewood looked at her in amazement. When the lama asked if they had seen a small creature running away they just pointed at Lola Graytail, who was still asleep on the wall, snoring beside her plane.
Ben and Guinevere ran to the wall, leaned over it side by side, and peered down into the depths below. But there was no suspicious movement on the steep mountainside.
“Oh, no!” groaned Ben. “He’s gotten away!”
“Who?” asked Lola, sitting up drowsily.
“A spy,” replied Ben. He turned to Firedrake. “Now what? What are we going to do? He’ll tell Nettlebrand everything.”
“A spy?” asked the rat disbelievingly. “What sort of a spy?”
“The one you failed to spot on your famous reconnaissance flight,” snapped Sorrel, raising her nose to the wind. “But I can’t seem to pick up the scent of that poisonous panther-cap. There’s something much stronger blocking my sense of smell.” She looked around her and pointed to a pile of brown things like cowpats stacked by the wall. “What’s that?”
“Dung,” said Barnabas Greenbloom. “Dried yak dung, to be precise.”
The lama nodded and said something.
“He says,” Twigleg translated, “that they burn the dung for heating because wood is scarce here.”
Sorrel groaned. “Then how am I supposed to pick up a scent?” she said crossly. “How do you expect me to get on the trail of that wretched dwarf if the whole place stinks of yak dung? Whatever a yak may be.”
“Shall I climb down the rocks, young master?” asked Twigleg.
But Ben shook his head. “No, far too dangerous.” He sighed. “He’s gotten away, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Imagine anyone being able to run so fast on such short legs,” said Vita Greenbloom. “Amazing. Well, dwarves are certainly quick on their feet, especially in the mountains.”
“So long as no one takes away their hats.” Twigleg crawled up on the wall and looked down. For a split second, he thought he heard a soft panting sound, but the sight of the abyss below made him giddy, and he withdrew his head quickly.
“What happens if you take away their hats?” asked Ben, curious.
“They get all dizzy,” replied Twigleg, climbing back onto Ben’s arm.
“This is what comes of not believing one’s children!” muttered Barnabas Greenbloom gloomily. He put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I apologize, Guinevere. You were right, and I’m an old fool.”
“That’s okay,” replied Guinevere. “I only wish I hadn’t been right.”
Firedrake stretched out his neck over the wall and looked down at the river. The sun was reflected in its brown waters. “We must move faster than Nettlebrand, then,” he said. “That dwarf must have heard everything Burr-Burr-Chan said, and they’ll be setting off at once.”
“You mean you’ve found out where the Rim of Heaven is and that spy overheard!” Lola Graytail jumped up. “Well, so what? Didn’t you say this golden dragon can’t fly? It will be child’s play for Firedrake to shake him off.”
But Twigleg shook his head, looking unhappy. “You needn’t think it will be as easy as that. Nettlebrand knows many cunning tricks.” Angrily he slapped his bony knee. “Oh, why did Burr-Burr-Chan have to describe in such detail the place where the dragons live?”
“He won’t be able to find the entrance to the cave,” Guinevere pointed out. “Burr-Burr-Chan said no one could.”
“Just as long as we don’t lead Nettlebrand to it,” Sorrel growled grimly.
They all fell silent.
“It would have been really good if he had been buried in the sand,” muttered Ben, looking downcast.
The lama put a hand on his shoulder and said something. Ben looked inquiringly at Twigleg.
“That would have been too easy, dragon rider,” the homunculus translated.
Ben shook his head. “Maybe,” he said, “but I wouldn’t mind having it easy for once.”
Ben and the others had become acclimatized quite quickly to the thin air of the Himalayas, the Roof of the World, but the monks insisted on giving them provisions and warm clothing for their flight. Even Sorrel realized that she would have to wear human clothes over her fur to keep out the cold above the clouds. A boy of Ben’s own age took Ben and the professor to a building on the outskirts of the monastery where the monks kept food and clothing. Only on the way there did Ben realize how large the monastery complex was, and how many people lived in it.
“We’d love to come with you,” said Barnabas Greenbloom as they followed the young monk. “I mean Vita, Guinevere, and I. But I’m afraid human beings have no part to play in this adventure.” He patted Ben on the shoulder. “Except the dragon rider, of course.”
Ben smiled shyly. The dragon rider. Every monk they met bowed to him. He hardly knew where to look.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do afterward?” asked the professor, without looking at Ben. “I mean, when you’ve found the Rim of Heaven, and if everything goes well, and …”He cleared his throat, running a hand through his gray hair. “And if Firedrake flies back to the north to fetch his relations. Will you stay with the dragons for good?”
He looked at the boy almost shyly.
Ben shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. At the moment there’s no before and no after, if you see what I mean.”
The professor nodded. “Yes, I know the feeling. It’s common at moments of crisis. But,” he said, clearing his throat again, “but if you should feel like, I mean,” he added, wiping his nose with a large handkerchief, “I mean, if you’d like to be back with ordinary people after all these adventures …” He looked up at the sky. “Vita is very fond of you, and Guinevere’s often told me she wished she had a brother. Perhaps,” he concluded, looking at Ben and turning quite red in the face, “perhaps you’d like to think of us as your family for a while. What do you say?”
Ben stared at Barnabas Greenbloom, speechless.
“Only a suggestion,” the professor made haste to say. “Just one of my eccentric ideas. But we would —”
“Oh, I’d like to,” Ben interrupted. “In fact, I’d love to!”
“You would?” Barnabas Greenbloom sighed with relief. “I’m so glad. Well, that’ll make the wait here even harder for us. You may remember,” he said, smiling down at the boy, “that on our next field trip, we’re going to search for Pegasus.”
Ben nodded. “I’d love to come along and search, too,” he said and shook the professor’s hand.
All was ready for their departure by the time darkness fell over the mountains. Ben and Sorrel were well muffled up, with warm caps on their heads, gloves, and fleecy jackets. Twigleg sat on Ben’s lap, wrapped in a piece of lambskin, with the thumb-piece of a glove on his head for a cap. Sorrel’s backpack contained dried apricots and a thermos flask of “hot buttered tea — just in case,” as the lama said with a smile when Sorrel snif
fed it suspiciously.
Firedrake did not mind the cold, and the monks didn’t seem to feel it, either. Wearing only their thin robes, they accompanied the dragon through the bitter cold of the night to the Dubidai caves. In the light of their torches, Firedrake shone as brightly as the light of the moon. Lola Graytail flew just ahead of him, her plane buzzing along. The rat had decided to accompany the dragon and was now waving to the monks as if she were the center of all the excitement.
Burr-Burr-Chan was waiting for Firedrake in the same hole in the rock face from which he had emerged earlier, but this time he was not alone. More Dubidai were peering out of other holes. They had all come out to see the strange dragon, and when Firedrake stopped beneath the caves and looked up an excited whispering arose. Furry heads both large and small gazed at the silver dragon.
Burr-Burr-Chan swung a sack over his shoulder, scrambled down the rocks, and climbed onto Firedrake’s crest as if he had been doing it all his life.
“Any room left for my luggage?” he asked as he sat down in front of Sorrel.
“Hand it over,” grunted Sorrel, hanging his sack beside her own backpack. “What on earth have you got in there? Stones?”
“Mushrooms,” Burr-Burr-Chan whispered in her ear. “The most delicious mushrooms in the world. I bet you’ve never tasted anything like them.”
“Oh, yeah, I can just imagine,” sniffed Sorrel, strapping herself into place. “If they grow on these mountains, they’ll probably taste of grit.”
Burr-Burr-Chan just grinned.
“Here,” he said, pressing some tiny mushrooms into Sorrel’s paw. “They may not be particularly tasty, but they’re good for altitude sickness. Give one to the small human, and let the two little creatures have one each, too. The dragon won’t need anything of that kind, but the rest of you should definitely eat them, understand?”