The Fire Within

“Oh?” went David. This was news to him.

  Sophie thought carefully for a moment, then said, “If he has a bad eye, you could bring him to us. Our vet will check him over, absolutely free. Shall I give you one of our leaflets?”

  Lucy gave an uncertain shrug.

  Sophie felt in her pocket and pulled out a folded leaflet and a pen. “Our telephone number’s on here. I’ll give you my cell number, too — in case you need me after hours.” She scribbled down the number and held the leaflet out.

  Lucy’s hand went up to take it. Liz intercepted and handed it to David. “Thank you, that’s very helpful.”

  Sophie nodded bashfully and edged toward the door. Outside the rain beat gently on the path. “Well, nice to meet you. Don’t hesitate to call. Thanks again for the donation.” She glanced at David. His gaze dropped to the leaflet. “Bye,” Sophie whispered, and turned up her collar.

  Liz had all but closed the door when David blurted, “Are they intelligent? Squirrels, I mean?”

  Sophie paused on the step. “Hmm,” she said, with a gentle nod. “They’re very resourceful, good at overcoming obstacles and such.”

  “You don’t think we’re wasting our time — trying to catch it?”

  Sophie tilted her head. A dolphin-shaped earring scraped the collar of her coat. “No,” she said in a voice that was little more than a murmur. “You’re doing it because you care about him, aren’t you?”

  There was silence then. Lucy bit her lip.

  “Call if you need me,” Sophie said again, and this time, with a click of her umbrella, she was gone.

  “I like her,” said Lucy as Liz closed the door.

  “Yes,” said Liz. “She’s very unassuming. Lovely smile, too. Didn’t you think so, David?”

  “She’s got interesting eyebrows,” he said.

  “He likes her,” sniffed Lucy. “Can I look at the leaflet?”

  Liz guided her back to the stairs. “No. Let David study it first. Now that he’s met someone from the Wildlife Hospital, I’m sure he’ll want to ask for advice on all sorts of things. Now come on, madam, back to bed. You’re supposed to be resting, remember?”

  Lucy pouted and stomped up the stairs.

  As David turned to go, Liz tapped him on the shoulder. “Make up with him, David.”

  “Who?”

  “Your dragon, that’s who. If you want his spark to stay lit, you have to love him — remember?”

  David pulled a face and dragged off to his room.

  He went straight to the bookcase and crouched beside Gadzooks. “All right, I’m sorry. I love you, really.” He hrred on the dragon’s snout and polished it. “There. You don’t get that every day. Come on, vacation’s over.” And he reached out and picked Gadzooks up off the shelf and returned him safely to the windowsill.

  To look out over the garden once more.

  DO NOT ‘DISTRUB’

  The following day, the rain had slowed to a tolerable drizzle and David did get away to college — not that he really got much done. He played foosball with a couple of friends, collected an essay from the departmental office, and attended a lecture on global cooling in something called the Pleistocene Age. It could have been snowballing in the Plasticine Age. His mind wasn’t much on geography at all.

  It was lost in Snigger and the Nutbeast.

  In total contrast to the previous day, his mind had been buzzing with ideas all morning. So much so that by midafternoon he skipped the Camera Club meeting and practically sprinted home from college.

  Throwing his coat on a hook, he dived into his room, started his computer, and quickly reopened the Snigger file. Chapter Eight, he typed. Conker found. Yes, this was it. He could feel the creative excitement building, sense the ideas flowing again. He could feel — dunk, the weight of a tabby cat landing in his lap.

  “Not now, Bonners.” With an effortless swing he lobbed the cat, underarm, onto the bed. “No interruptions,” David warned him, just as he heard Liz shout.

  “Lucy, can you come into the kitchen, please?”

  Lucy? Up and about again? She really MUST be avoided. Grabbing an orange felt-tipped pen, he scribbled out a message on a large scrap of paper and taped it surreptitiously to the outside of his door.

  Shortly afterward, Lucy clomped downstairs. Her footsteps halted outside his room. “Mom,” David heard her say, “what does ‘DO NOT DISTRUB’ mean?”

  More footsteps announced Liz’s presence in the hall. “It looks to me like a note written in haste by a person who would not appreciate another person bursting into his room right now — even if she knocked extremely politely.”

  “But the rain stopped. That means the person can go squirrel hunting.”

  “No,” said Liz, her voice growing fainter as she moved toward the kitchen. “It means that one particular person is going to help her mother hang out some laundry.”

  “Oh, but my dragon pox is really bad now.”

  “Lucy, don’t lie. Get the clothespins.”

  Lucy’s voice trailed off with a glum-sounding, “Ohh …”

  David clenched his fists in triumph and swung his chair around to face the computer.

  Within minutes he had typed his opening paragraph:

  At last, the rain had stopped hammering on the watering can. Snigger woke with a start and crept toward the light. He poked his whiskers out of the hole. The world dripped with the scent of warm, moist air. Sparrows twittered. Trees rustled in the breeze. An eager spider was spinning its web between the handle of the can and the spout itself. Snigger took a deep and nervous breath. He knew that the time had come. The time to make the dangerous journey to the nutbox. He reversed his body back into the can and gently nudged Conker awake.

  “We’re in business,” David said to Gadzooks.

  Gadzooks stared silently into the garden, where Liz and Lucy were hanging out the laundry.

  David’s fingers flew across the keyboard. With every sentence, every word, the two squirrels moved closer to the Pennykettles’ garden …

  Snigger led the way to the garden fence. He quickly found the panel with the hole at the bottom and anxiously waited for Conker to catch up. The one-eyed squirrel was limping badly. His thin gray body, weak with hunger, was barely able to drag along the ground. As he reached Snigger’s side he almost collapsed.

  “Leave me,” he whispered. “Please. Get away. You’re in danger, too, if Caractacus comes.”

  At the mention of that name every hair on Snigger’s body bristled with fear. But from somewhere deep within he found the courage to say, “No, we’re going together,” and he nudged Conker headfirst through the hole.

  “Get the support, please.”

  David paused and glanced into the garden. Liz was hanging out a red wool sweater. The line was almost filled with laundry. He watched Lucy bring the clothes support over and saw the clothes hoisted like a row of flags. Wondering what a squirrel would make of that, he turned his fingers to the keyboard again …

  “What’s that?” said Snigger, following Conker through the hole.

  Conker looked up with his one good eye. A line of clothes was flapping in the breeze. “Don’t know,” he shrugged. “My mother said that my father could run along that wire. She said he escaped from Bonnington once by going up that wooden thing, there, in the middle. Bonnington followed, but he fell right off.”

  Snigger flagged an eager tail. He wouldn’t mind having a turn on that wire. But games could wait until Conker was safe. He squinted at the sycamore tree, trying to pick out the shape of a crow. The sycamore’s branches struggled in the wind. Caractacus wasn’t among them.

  “Which way?” Conker asked.

  Snigger turned his attention to the pile of rocks on the far side of the garden. Behind those rocks lay food and shelter. One good run and Conker would be safe. All they had to do was cross the lawn …

  “Hmm,” muttered David, sitting back, frowning. He drummed his fingers on the mouse pad a moment. Crossing the lawn would be dangerous
in daylight. A sharp-eyed crow would spot them with ease. They’d go around the borders, wouldn’t they? Take cover among the leafier plants? Then again, Liz’s garden was long and narrow. So maybe a quick dash would be better? Despite the risk of sudden attack? Undecided, he consulted Gadzooks.

  The dragon seemed to have sharpened his pencil. In a flash David pictured him scribbling something. Something unexpected:

  Bonnington

  David glanced over his shoulder at the cat.

  Bonnington was staring rigidly at the window. His ears were pricked, his copper eyes wide on full alert.

  “What’s the matter?” David said, reaching out to stroke him.

  Bonnington snaked away. He leapt off the bed, scuttled to the door, and immediately started to paw the frame.

  David frowned. This was very odd. Why would Gadzooks write Bonnington’s name when Bonnington had nothing to do with the story? He started to type again.

  “I think we should go across the lawn,” said Snigger.

  Conker’s whiskers started to twitch. He studied the long expanse of grass.

  “We’ll run to the bird feeder first,” Snigger added. “And hide in the shadows until you’re ready.”

  A-row-row-oo! Bonnington yowled. His claws screeched against the painted door. David winced but continued typing.

  Snigger hopped onto the edge of the lawn. The sky was a swimming, cloudy blue. He checked the chimney holes, the treetops, the gutters, the fence posts. All the places where a bird might perch. He couldn’t see Caractacus anywhere. Warily, he started to make his move …

  From somewhere in the garden Lucy shouted: “Mom! Quick! Look over there!”

  “Oh yes,” said Liz. “Well, I never …”

  David paused and glanced through the window. Lucy and her mom were out of sight — somewhere near the kitchen, by the sound of it. Unable to see what it was that they’d spotted, he shrugged and went back to the story again.

  Snigger turned back toward the flower bed.

  “Oh no, he’s going,” Lucy said faintly.

  “If he comes,” said Snigger, “I’ll lead him away.”

  “No!” cried Conker. “He’ll get you for sure!”

  Snigger glanced at the clothesline. “I’ll run along the wire.”

  “No!” chattered Conker, panting with fright.

  “He’ll follow me first — then you can escape. Just look for the rocks — and the acorns in the grass. You can scent your way from there.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Conker protested.

  But Snigger was already on the move, heading for the bird feeder in the middle of the lawn …

  In the garden, Lucy clapped her hands. “Look, Mom! See! I told you! I told you!”

  “Run and get David,” David heard Liz say.

  “Oh, please, not now,” he groaned. “Not when I’m at the crucial —”

  Agggghhhhhhhh!

  A scream rang out like a fire alarm.

  David was on his feet so fast his chair toppled over and hit the floor. He turned to the window. Liz’s face filled the pane. “Quickly!” she beckoned, rapping the glass.

  David whipped around. By the door, Bonnington was hissing and spitting as if a large gang of tomcats had invaded the room. Suddenly, Lucy burst in, gasping so much she could hardly speak.

  Bonnington shot past her, into the hall.

  “What’s going on?” David asked.

  “He’s here,” Lucy panted, heaving at the effort.

  “Who’s here?”

  “Caractacus!”

  David’s shoulders turned to ice.

  “He saw Snigger on the lawn! He’s trying to get him!”

  David’s mouth tried to spill the words. “But that’s impossible. I’m just writing that …”

  “Come on!” Lucy screamed. “He’s going to kill him!”

  She shook her fists and ran.

  For a moment, David was too stunned to move. He stared at the computer, then at Gadzooks.

  “You knew,” he said. “You were trying to warn me.”

  And he turned and hurtled after Lucy.

  CONKER FOUND

  Oh, thank goodness!” Liz exclaimed, as David skidded to a halt beside her. She pointed urgently up the garden. Caractacus was perched on the roof of the bird feeder. He was stepping sideways along the ridge, his head making downward jerking movements, his sharp eyes scanning the lawn for movement.

  “Where’s Snigger?”

  “We’re not really sure,” said Liz. “We saw two squirrels near the garden fence and watched them hop out onto the lawn. Lucy was running to get you when the crow swooped down — off the shed, I think. In the panic, I didn’t see what happened next. The squirrels might have fled.”

  “No, Snigger’s there!” Lucy shouted.

  David followed her pointing finger, in time to see Snigger hop out from the fins that formed the feet of the bird feeder. Caractacus spotted the movement right away. His wings went out like big black parachutes. Snigger made a nervous, darting run — then stopped, perilously, to peek over his shoulder. Caractacus dropped with devastating speed. “No!” squealed Lucy as Snigger made a terrified chattering noise and narrowly escaped the lunging claws. He dashed back to the safety of the feeder legs. Caractacus rasped and spat in anger. One swift beat of his powerful wings took him back to the bird feeder roof.

  “Go away!” screamed Lucy, charging forward.

  Caractacus turned and screeched at her.

  “Lucy, get back here!” David cried. He snaked an arm around her waist and scooped her up, kicking and punching, off the ground.

  “Let me go!” she railed. “I have to save Conker.”

  “If Caractacus attacks you, you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Lucy, you stay right here!” Liz ordered, gathering her up and clamping her tight. In the same breath she shouted: “David, look!”

  To David’s horror, while Caractacus had been distracted by Lucy, Snigger had made another dash from the feeder. This time he was well into the middle of the lawn, chattering and flagging his bushy gray tail as if he were inviting the crow to come.

  Caractacus took to the air once more.

  Snigger twitched in fright — and ran.

  Not to the bird feeder. Not to the rock garden.

  “I don’t believe it,” said David. “He’s going for the clothesline!”

  “My laundry!” Liz exclaimed as Snigger scuttled up the angled clothes support.

  “What’s he doing?” Lucy fretted, shaking her fists. “Caractacus will easily get him there.”

  He’s drawing him away, thought David. Just like the story. He wants Caractacus to follow so Conker can escape. He’s trying to save Conker’s life.

  “Watch the bird feeder!” David shouted to Lucy. “See if Conker runs to the rock garden.”

  “What are you going to do?” Liz asked, looking worried.

  “Cover Snigger’s back,” the tenant said, rapidly uncoiling the garden hose.

  By now, Snigger was on the line, scrambling and tumbling over the clothespins. Caractacus banked and came swooping in again. But as David took aim with the nozzle of the hose, another character entered the scene.

  Bonnington shot out from under the bench. With a spiraling leap the cat stretched upward and clawed at the crow’s soft underbelly. Caractacus screeched in fear. A cluster of his feathers fluttered to earth. He beat his wings and tried to change course. Too late. With a squawk, he plowed into Liz’s bright red sweater, claws catching and tangling in the loose woolen threads. Bonnington turned and leapt again, this time taking a tail feather.

  David immediately switched his aim. Although Caractacus was technically the villain of the piece, David had no desire to see him dead. “Sorry, kitty,” he muttered, and fired at Bonnington.

  Click. No water left the spout.

  Idiot! He’d forgotten to turn on the faucet!

  He hurled the hose aside — and ran.

  By now, Caractacus was back in the air
, but was stuck on the line by Liz’s sweater. No matter how hard the big bird flapped, his claws would not break free of the threads. Suddenly, he crashed to a vertical position, one foot swinging free of the wool. And there he dangled, on one snagged leg, tired and helpless, and at Bonnington’s mercy.

  The cat prepared to spring.

  “No!” yelled David.

  With one decisive lunge he grabbed Bonnington by the scruff of the neck and yanked him clear. “Good guard cat. Time for some cat treats.” The cat hissed and bared his teeth. David beckoned Liz and Lucy forward.

  “Is he dead?” hissed Lucy, glancing at the crow as David handed Bonnington to Liz.

  “No,” said David, “he’s frightened and in pain. I’ll need your help to free him.”

  “But he tried to kill Snigger.”

  “I suppose he was defending his territory,” said Liz. “He’s going to break a wing if you don’t untangle him.”

  “Right,” said David, cupping his hands around Caractacus’s body and lifting the bird to take the weight off his foot. He twisted his hands to keep the daggerlike bill away from Lucy’s fingers. “Come on, he won’t hurt you.”

  Lucy stepped forward, biting her lip. Bravely, she gripped one wrinkly toe. Caractacus let out a high-pitched caw and flicked his wedge-shaped tail in protest. Lucy squealed but didn’t let go. She slipped the wool off the claw with ease.

  As she moved to the next toe, she stopped again. “That’s where Conker bit him, look.” She tilted the foot for David to see. Caractacus had a shortened toe.

  “Oh yes,” said David. “Gosh, how strange. I must have noticed it subconsciously when I saw him on the fence post.”

  “What does subconsciously mean?”

  “Oh, you might just say Gadzooks told me.”

  Lucy looked puzzled. “I thought he did.”

  Before David could comment, Liz called out: “How are you doing? I can’t hold Bonny much longer.”

  “Finished,” said David, righting Caractacus as Lucy unraveled the last few threads.

  The crow’s dark eyes darted hopefully at the sky. “Be good,” David whispered and opened his hands. Caractacus flapped off with a moody squawk.