The Fire Within

  “I only want to know what’s going on,” he whispered, and gripped the handle as he had before.

  A blaze of fire left the guard dragon’s mouth.

  “YEOW!” cried David, and sat bolt upright.

  Wide awake, flapping his hand.

  In bed.

  Bonnington, curled at the bottom of the blanket, burbled in annoyance and settled again.

  “Sorry,” David muttered. “Dragon dream, Bonners.”

  Bonnington gave a catty yawn. He lifted his head and fastened his copper-eyed gaze on the window.

  David turned to look, anxiously wondering if a dragon wasn’t there peering in through the glass. It was then he remembered that a dragon should have been peering out through the glass. Gadzooks. He wasn’t on the windowsill.

  David pulled on his bathrobe and puttered silently into the living room. Gadzooks was on the table where Lucy had left him. David lifted him into his hands. “You’re a special dragon, aren’t you?” he whispered. Gadzooks chewed the end of his pencil in silence. David ran a fingernail along the dragon’s scales. A series of clinks echoed around the room. Yep, most definitely clay. “I must be going nuts,” the tenant muttered. “Guard dragons. Special people. Hrring noises.” He smiled and tapped Gadzooks’s snout. “You’re beautiful, but how can you possibly be real? Come on, your windowsill awaits.”

  And with that he carried Gadzooks to his room, completely unaware as he set him down of the tiny flash of light in the dragon’s eye. A light that could have been anything at all: a reflection from the reading lamp on his desk, a flicker of moonlight over the Crescent, or, if he’d truly believed in dragons, the gentle glimmer of a fire within.

  DRAGON POX

  The following morning, Liz had to come and shake David awake.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, rise and shine. I’ve been tapping your door for the past ten minutes. Aren’t you going to college today?”

  David opened a bleary eye. He was lying on his bed in his bathrobe, Bonnington camped out on his chest.

  “Wha’timeizzit?”

  “Eight. Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” the tenant muttered, pushing the cat aside. He sat up and shivered. “Dreamt about …” Well, perhaps he wouldn’t say what he’d dreamt about.

  Liz swept to the window and opened the curtains. “Sorry if you felt ignored last night. I had to spend time with Lucy — and Gawain. I’ll make you some breakfast when I finish loading the dishwasher.” She picked a coffee-stained T-shirt off the floor, frowned, and draped it over her arm. “Were you working late?” She tapped the computer. Multicolored fish were darting back and forth across the screen.

  David yawned and ruffled his hair, showering Bonnington with early-morning dandruff. “I wrote another chapter of the Snigger story. Took ages. Like typing through molasses.”

  “Well, at least your fan club will be happy,” said Liz, plucking a pair of boxer shorts off Winston’s head. “When I went in to see Lucy this morning she was already deep into Chapter Six.”

  “Mo-om?”

  A plaintive cry floated down the stairs.

  “Talk of the little dragon.” Liz marched across the room and yanked the door wide. “What?”

  “Can I come down now, please?”

  “No. Go back to bed.”

  A foot stamped hard against the landing.

  “What’s the matter?” asked David.

  Liz sniffed at a crumpled sweater and immediately added that to her haul. “Struck down by the miseries: sore throat, prickly skin. Nothing to worry about. Common complaint in the Pennykettle household. She’s just upset about breaking Gawain. She’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

  David nodded. Should he ask about Gawain? Maybe. Maybe not. “I’ll go up and see her after breakfast.”

  “Actually, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “It’s OK,” said David. “I’ve had every childhood illness there is. And she must be dying to know about Conker.”

  “She is, but I want her to rest. You can see her tonight, when you come home from college. So Conker’s still with us?”

  David tightened the belt of his bathrobe and nodded. “He escaped with Snigger, in Henry’s garden. I, um, reset the trap last night. You weren’t around to ask … I hope you don’t mind?”

  Liz threw him a sideways look. A sock fell off the bundle of laundry. Bonnington sniffed at it and nearly keeled over. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do if, by some chance, you manage to catch Conker?”

  “Dunno. Take him to a vet, I s’pose.”

  “What about that envelope on the hall shelf? Couldn’t those wildlife people help?”

  David thought about the picture of Frankie the fox. Take Conker to a hospital? “Maybe,” he shrugged.

  “You could always talk to them when they call for the envelope.”

  “Um. Got to catch him first.”

  “Maybe they could give you some useful advice.”

  “The trap works,” said David, sounding slightly irked. “We just have to lure Conker into it, that’s all. I have Snigger on the case.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow.

  “Where one squirrel goes, another follows — probably.”

  “You’d better go and look,” said Liz.

  David checked the trap immediately after breakfast. A snail had slithered over one of the acorns and the box was covered with fallen leaves, but there was no sign whatsoever of squirrel activity. To make matters worse, it was raining again.

  Disappointed, he headed back to the house, whereupon the bathroom window opened. “David. Psst! Up here.”

  David halted on the patio and raised his eyes. “Lucy, go to bed. You’re supposed to be ill.”

  “It’s only dragon pox,” she said, sounding hoarse. She stuck out her tongue and made a rasping hrr-urrkkk! “Didn’t Mom tell you?”

  “Not exactly,” David muttered, blowing a raindrop off his nose. Dragon pox: another little Pennykettle joke, no doubt.

  “What happened to Conker?”

  “He ran away with Snigger. Look, I’ve got to —”

  “Shush!” Lucy raised a hand for silence. “Phone! Come up and tell me, while Mom’s gabbing.”

  “Lu-cy, I have to go to college. Besides, your mom said I wasn’t allowed.”

  “She won’t know,” Lucy pleaded. “The man from Scrubbley Market calls today to tell Mom how many dragons he wants. They gab for ages. Please. I’m bored. Just five minutes.”

  David sighed and looked at his watch. “All right, five minutes.”

  “Great!” croaked Lucy, and banged the window shut.

  She met him on the landing in her teddy bear pajamas and beckoned him eagerly into her room. “Come on, tell me what happened to Conker.”

  David plunked himself on the end of the bed and quickly related all the events in Mr. Bacon’s garden. Lucy laughed out loud at the mower incident, but her face paled sharply at the mention of Caractacus.

  “That crow?” she gasped. “That horrible crow?”

  David nodded. “They’re frightened of him. I think Caractacus might have attacked Conker once, and that’s how his eye got hurt. It’s just a wild guess, but I think a squirrel might have taken some eggs from his nest.”

  Lucy’s gaze narrowed. “They wouldn’t do that.”

  “They might, Luce, if they were desperate for food. No acorns, remember, when the oak tree was chopped down?”

  “But Conker’s a nice squirrel.”

  “I know,” said David, in a comforting tone. “In the story, you never find out who raided the nest; Conker is just the unfortunate squirrel that Caractacus takes his revenge on.” He reached into his coat and brought out several sheets of manuscript. “You can read it when I go to college. It’s not true, remember, just … speculation.”

  Lucy took the papers and skimmed them excitedly. “You read it,” she said, handing them back.

  “Luce, I don’t have time.”

  “Oh, please. Gr
uffen and Gwendolen want to hear.”

  David’s gaze drifted to the far bedside table. In the space where Gawain normally sat, another dragon was perched beside Gwendolen. It was smaller than the female dragon and its wings were up as if poised to fly. With the curtains drawn and the table lamp on, Gruffen’s features were lost in shadow, but David thought he remembered the name.

  “Gruffen? Haven’t I heard of him?”

  “He normally sits by the door in the den.”

  Door, thought David, remembering keyholes and blazing fires. “He doesn’t have violet eyes, does he?”

  Lucy’s gaze shifted sideways. “They’re green,” she whispered. “Read the story.”

  David glanced at his watch. Whatever happened now, he’d be late for his lecture. “All right. I’ll read you the part where Conker tells Snigger what happened to his eye. This is just after they’ve escaped from the mower and they’re sheltering themselves in their hiding place. This is what Conker says:

  “ ‘I was on my way home to my drey in the roof when Caractacus saw me coming. He was on me before I knew it, pecking at my head with his thick, blunt beak. He was flapping his wings and cawing like crazy, screaming that I was a thief and a killer. He dug his sharp claws into my back. I twisted and bit his foot. I got one of his toes, I think.’

  ‘Toes?’ said Snigger.

  ‘I bit it off,’ gulped Conker.”

  “Ugh!” said Lucy.

  David turned a page. “ ‘After I bit him, he squawked and flew away. I scrambled down the branch as fast as I could, but my eye was blurry and I couldn’t see where I was going. I heard Caractacus coming again. He swooped and I lost my balance. I fell through lots of leaves and branches and the next thing I knew, everything went dark. When I woke up I was on the ground. I couldn’t see anything out of my bad eye. I tried to climb the sycamore tree, but I got dizzy and kept falling. I knew then that I’d never see my drey again.’ “

  “That’s terrible!” Lucy shouted. “I hate that Caractacus!”

  “Calm down,” said David, holding her wrist. “It’s just a story. You’ll make your throat sore.”

  “It’s not just a story!” Lucy insisted. “Where’s he hiding?”

  “Hiding?” said David, releasing his grip. He flexed his fingers. His hands felt … prickly.

  “You said Conker had a hiding place! Where?”

  David rubbed his brow. Now that felt prickly. “Um, they’re hiding in a watering can in a pile of junk near Mr. Bacon’s shed.”

  “Go and look,” said Lucy. “You’ve got to look, now.”

  But David was busy looking at his hands. “What’s this?” he said, jumping to his feet. His skin looked scaly and … green. “Oh no!” he squeaked. “I’ve got dragon pox!”

  WRITER’S BLOCK

  Well, that’ll teach you not to go where you shouldn’t,” said a voice.

  Liz, arms folded, appeared in the doorway.

  “Oops,” went Lucy, sliding under the blanket.

  “I thought I told you she was resting, David?”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was only … Liz, help. My skin is all scaly.” He held out his hands for Liz to inspect.

  She flicked them a cursory glance.

  “Let me look,” said Lucy, sitting up.

  “You stay there,” Liz scolded. “I’ll have a word with you in a moment. I’m sure David didn’t get up here by chance.”

  Lucy shrank back, protesting loudly.

  “Shouldn’t we call the doctor?” David gulped.

  “A doctor couldn’t do much for that.”

  David blinked in panic. “You mean … normal people can’t be cured? I’m going to turn into a dragon?”

  “What’s he going on about?” said Lucy, wrinkling her nose.

  “This,” sighed Liz. She licked a finger and pressed it into David’s palm. The “scales” lifted off with ease. She switched on the room light and showed him the result.

  “That’s glitter,” said Lucy, checking her arms. “And he thought it was dragon scales!” She threw back her head and cackled with laughter.

  “Time that someone went to college,” said Liz.

  David’s worry lines morphed into a scowl.

  “No, he has to look for Conker!” coughed Lucy, just as a thunderclap rattled the windows.

  “Well, he’d better wear a good pair of boots,” said Liz.

  David frowned and parted the curtains.

  Rain was bouncing off the rooftops.

  It hammered on the trash cans and overflowed the gutters. It pelted the windows and swamped the drains. David watched it from the kitchen window. There was no going to college in a downpour like this. And certainly no hope of searching for Conker. He clomped off to his room and shut himself inside.

  It was lunchtime before he emerged. Liz was in the kitchen, preparing a salad. The tenant tramped in and yanked the fridge open. He swigged a drink from a carton of juice, banged it back, and slammed the fridge shut.

  “Is it me,” said Liz, shaking drops of water from some lettuce, “or do I sense an atmosphere around you today?”

  “It’s this weather,” David grumbled, sinking into a chair. “Can’t get anything done.”

  Liz glanced through the window. The rain was still teeming. “The weather doesn’t stop you from doing homework, does it?”

  “I did my work,” David said glumly. “It’s all about weather fronts, anyway.”

  “Well, write some more of your story, then. That usually makes you happy.”

  “Been trying to. Nothing will come. It was like this last night, but not as bad. I think I’ve got writer’s block.”

  “Lovely,” Liz muttered, grating a carrot. “One with dragon pox; the other with writer’s block.”

  “But it was going so well last week. I can’t understand what I’m doing wrong. I’m right at the exciting part where Snigger is going to get Conker to the nutbox, but whenever I start, I just get … stuck. I can’t get a single good idea.”

  Liz blew a wayward curl off her brow. “Isn’t Gadzooks any help?”

  “Pff!” went David. “He deserted me.”

  “Don’t be silly. A special dragon wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well, how else do you explain his pencil breaking?”

  Liz gave him a quizzical look.

  “Last night, when I was stuck with my chapter, I closed my eyes and imagined him writing — and he ground his pencil till the tip snapped off! I tried again just now and he threw down his pad and disappeared in a puff of green smoke!”

  “Oh dear,” Liz sighed, “that’s really unruly. What have you done to upset him?”

  “Nothing,” said David, as if the suggestion was ludicrous anyway.

  Liz frowned and shook her head. “Well, we can’t have dragons having tantrums. Something needs to be done about that.”

  “I banished him to the bookcase,” David muttered.

  Down the hall, the doorbell rang.

  Liz reached for a towel and wiped her hands. “Well, that’s not right, punishing him. He loves that window. He won’t like being stuck in a dark corner.”

  “Liz, he’s made of clay,” David sighed. “He doesn’t know the difference between a bookcase and a windowsill.”

  Elizabeth Pennykettle bristled noticeably. “Well, if that’s what you think of him, no wonder he won’t help you.” She took off her apron and went to the door.

  David buried his face in his hands. I’m living in a madhouse, he told himself. I’m living with people who get dragon pox and think clay things enjoy a garden view. What am I doing here?

  “Oh yes,” said Liz, down the hall. “Step in for a minute, you must be soaked.”

  “Thank you,” a female voice replied.

  David slid his hands away from his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and peered down the hall. A young woman, about his own age, was wiping her feet on the coconut-fiber mat. Her caramel-colored, thigh-length jacket was damp with several patches of rain. Her dark green tigh
ts looked uncomfortably clammy. The small umbrella she was fighting to close was dripping water all over the carpet. She sneezed and the sudden jerk of her head made her look up and catch sight of David. She blushed and offered him a little smile. David forced himself to grimace back.

  “What a time to be collecting these,” Liz said, opening the envelope from the Wildlife Hospital. She rifled through her purse. “David, have you got any change?”

  David rose from his seat and ambled down the hall. The visitor shifted her weight to one hip, angling one knee across the other. David glanced at her ID badge, held to her coat with a safety pin. Sophie Prentice, wildlife volunteer. He raised his eyes and had a good look at her. She was tall and slim with copper-blonde hair that framed her plain, but attractive face. Her eyes had a gentle, inquisitive look, as if everything she saw were slightly unfocused. She coughed uncertainly and flicked her head. A raindrop glistened on her strong, dark eyebrows.

  David delved into his pocket for coins.

  “Well done,” said Liz, and tipped his hand so that every last coin poured into the envelope.

  “Liz-zz? That’s all I’ve —”

  “He’s very giving,” Liz said, sealing the flap. “Especially when he’s in a good mood.” She handed Sophie the envelope.

  “Thank you, that’s very generous,” Sophie said shyly, dropping it into a plastic bag.

  David sighed in defeat and pushed his hands into his pockets.

  “It sounds like a very good cause,” said Liz.

  “It is,” said Sophie, glad to have the chance to justify David’s grand donation. “We take care of lots of sick animals at the hospital. Badgers, birds —”

  “Squirrels?” said a husky voice. “Do you take care of them?”

  Lucy was sitting in the middle of the stairs.

  “Yes,” said Sophie, smiling at her. “Any kind of wildlife.”

  “There’s an injured squirrel in our garden,” said Liz.

  Sophie’s gray eyes flickered with interest.

  Lucy clomped downstairs to stand by her mom. “His name is Conker and he can’t see well. We’re going to catch him and take him to the library gardens.”