The Fire Within

  Nine

  It appeared slowly, letter by letter, as if it had been an effort to write.

  “Nine?” David queried. “Can’t be Chapter Nine, I wrote that.” With one finger, he typed the letters.

  N … I … N … E.

  Then added another word to it … BONGS.

  Nine bongs. Doom and gloom.

  A horrible feeling began to creep over him. A strange unnerving realization of what Gadzooks was trying to say. David sat back and stared at the ceiling. “No,” he whispered, “I can’t write that.” He waved his hands in front of the dragon. “No, anything but that.”

  At that moment, Sophie entered the room. “Hiya,” she announced, knocking gently. She walked her fingers over David’s shoulders and left a feather-light kiss on his head. “Came a bit early ’cause I had to take the bus.” She glanced at the screen. “Ooh, nine bongs. Spooky.”

  David switched the computer off.

  “Hey, it’s OK,” Sophie said, prodding him. “Go on, if you’re in the middle of something. I’ll go and have a cup of tea with Liz. I wouldn’t want to come between a man and his dragon.”

  “Don’t feel like writing,” David said tautly.

  “Aah, poor Zookie,” Sophie simpered. “He looks all crestfallen now.”

  “Sophie, he’s made of clay,” David snapped. “He can’t look any different from the way he always does.”

  “Yawch, OK, Mr. Bear. I’ll come back when you’re not so grumpy.”

  “Wait. I’m sorry.” David held her arm. “I’m having a few problems with the story, that’s all. I have a little headache, too. Would you like to take a walk? Fresh air helps.”

  Sophie nodded. “OK. Where?”

  David raised his head and stared out the window. “How about the library gardens?”

  THE SPOTTING GAME

  Great,” said Sophie. “Let’s all go.”

  “What?”

  “To the gardens — all of us. I promised Lucy ages ago. She’ll be terribly upset if she knows we went and didn’t invite her.”

  “But—?”

  Sophie jumped up and strolled toward the door. “I’ll check with Liz. It’ll be fun to go back and try to find Conker. That was what you had in mind — wasn’t it?”

  Half an hour later the four of them were walking down the library path when Liz said, “Is it me, or is someone sucking cough drops?”

  “David’s feeling a little under the weather,” said Sophie.

  “I’ve got a headache and a slight sore throat,” he said.

  “I bet it’s dragon pox,” Lucy diagnosed.

  “What?” said Sophie.

  “Our term for sneezes and sniffles,” said Liz, casting a momentary glance at David. He sighed and looked away into the trees.

  “Don’t worry about him. I want to play a game.” Lucy pulled a bag of mixed nuts from her pocket. “It’s called the spotting game and these are the rules. The first person to see a squirrel is allowed to feed it … a peanut.”

  “What if it’s way up a tree?” said her mom.

  “Mom, you wait till it comes down, of course. And if someone guesses at a place and a squirrel is there, they’re allowed to feed it a … what are these knobby ones called?”

  “Walnuts,” said Liz. “Come on, hurry up. It’s chilly, standing around.”

  Sophie clapped her gloved hands together and said, “I guess the wall where we let Conker go.”

  “It’s not your turn,” Lucy frowned. “I made up the game. I have to start. I guess … the wall where we let Conker go!”

  And she turned and scooted down the path.

  Half a minute later the adults caught up. Lucy was sitting on the wall, idly swinging her feet.

  “Any luck?” asked Sophie.

  “No,” came the rather glum reply. “I wouldn’t have picked this spot if you hadn’t said to.”

  Sophie laughed and threw a length of scarf across her shoulder. “OK, you can have my turn.”

  “OK,” said Lucy, jumping to her feet. Her ponytail bumped against the hood of her coat. She pulled up her socks and narrowed her gaze. “I guess … the wishing fountain.”

  “Race you to it,” said Sophie. And together they skittered down a track through the trees, Lucy squealing with delight all the way.

  “Oh, to have such energy,” said Liz. She looped her arm through David’s and tugged him closer. “How long have you had this throat infection?”

  “It’s nothing. Don’t fuss. I’m fine.”

  “OK, but you’re very quiet. It’s almost as if you’d rather not be here.”

  David shrugged and looked away. “I feel a little weird coming back, that’s all.”

  Before Liz could comment, they heard Lucy shout: “Mom! Mom! Down here, quick!”

  “Sounds like she spotted one,” David said. He uncoupled himself from Liz’s arm and hurried away before she could stop him.

  As it happened, Lucy had not seen a squirrel — she’d found a horse chestnut tree instead. When David arrived, he had to wade through a sea of chestnuts to reach her.

  “Look,” said Lucy, resting a spiky green shell in her palm. She put her thumbnail into a split and pried the shell open. A shiny brown nut gleamed out like a jewel. “I’m going to feed this to Conker.”

  “He’ll only spit it out if you do,” said Sophie. “I think chestnuts are poisonous to squirrels.”

  David flinched and closed his eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Sophie, feeling him shudder. She removed a glove and pressed a hand against his brow. “You’re warm. I think you’re running a temperature.”

  “Dragon pox makes you warm,” said Lucy. “And grumpy — doesn’t it, Mom?”

  “I don’t have dragon pox,” David said gruffly, pushing away before Liz could get involved. “Are we going to the wishing fountain or not?”

  Sophie caught up with him and poked him in the ribs. “Hey, what’s with the tantrum? You were the one who wanted to come out.”

  “Sorry,” he whispered, close to her ear. “I just feel a little strange; I can’t talk about it here.” He shook his head as if banishing a cloud. “Let’s go and see if Snigger is by the fountain.”

  But Snigger wasn’t by the fountain.

  They sat on the wall and waited for ages.

  Lucy made a wish.

  Sophie made another.

  Liz produced a thermos of tea and some cookies. But even a shower of cookie crumbs, sprayed around the roots of the beech itself, couldn’t drag a single squirrel into view.

  It was the same at the bandstand.

  And the great oak.

  “Where are they?” Lucy pined, joining the others on the bench that circled the trunk of the tree.

  “We could always try splitting up,” said David.

  “Splitting up?” said Lucy. “What does he mean?”

  “I have no idea,” said Sophie, looking puzzled and annoyed.

  “If you two want to be alone …?” said Liz.

  “We don’t,” Sophie bristled. “We came here together and we’re staying together. I don’t know what’s gotten into David today. He’s being very dull and boring and gloomy.” She snatched her hand away from his arm and pushed it into the pocket of her coat.

  David tried to explain: “I just thought if we searched in pairs we’d have a better chance of spotting one, that’s all.”

  “But that’s not playing the game,” said Lucy.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Sophie. “Whose turn is it?”

  “His.”

  Sophie swallowed a sigh. “Well? Where do you think?”

  David picked at a button on his coat. “It’s impossible to know. They could be anywhere.”

  “Maybe we should just go home,” said Liz.

  “No,” said Sophie. “Not until David joins in the game.” She stared at him darkly.

  “All right,” he said, covering his eyes. “I guess …” Where? he asked himself, and saw Gadzooks write:

 
George

  on his pad. Go away, growled David, tightening his fist. Just leave me alone, OK? Gadzooks dropped his pencil and slowly disappeared. Even so, it didn’t stop David from saying, “… the gardener’s hut.”

  “Yes!” exclaimed Lucy, running around to stand in front of Sophie. “They go and steal the gardener’s sandwiches sometimes!”

  “Aha,” said Sophie. “No wonder they don’t want our measly peanuts.” She stood up and flicked a leaf at David. “Come on, Mr. Misery, you can lead the way.”

  He took them back to the duck pond. They followed the water around in an arc, passing through a corridor of weeping willows and a slippery patch of wild bird droppings, before climbing through several conifer beds, then out again onto level ground.

  As they were passing a memorial stone, rising from the earth like a granite finger, the library clock began to strike.

  David counted nine slow bongs. He stopped in his tracks as the others walked on.

  Just ahead of them now was the gardener’s hut, tucked away in a small enclosure framed by a waist-high hedge. At the rear of the hut was a mound of old cuttings. David sidled toward it as Lucy rapped her knuckles on the base of a wheelbarrow. The noise brought the gardener into the open.

  “Aft’noon,” he grunted. “Mrs. Pennykettle, isn’t it?”

  “Hello, George,” said Liz, shaking hands. “Nice to see you again. How’s Mrs. Digwell?”

  “Still dustin’ that dragon you sold her. It’s got pride o’ place on the mantelpiece, I tell you. What can I do for you?”

  “This is my daughter, Lucy,” said Liz, guiding her forward by the shoulders. “And our friend, Sophie. And David, our tenant … who seems to have disappeared for the moment. We were hoping to see some squirrels, George, but there don’t seem to be many around today.”

  “Oh, they’re around,” George said frostily. “Diggin’ in my roses all yest’day. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Pennykettle, I’ve only seen the one this mornin’, over by the big horse ches’nut tree.”

  “We’ve been there,” said Lucy.

  “We didn’t see one,” Sophie added.

  George ran a hand around his bristly chin. “Well, no, you wouldn’t. The squirrel I saw ain’t there anymore.”

  “How do you know?” asked Lucy.

  George gave a backward tilt of his head. “I dropped it yonder not two hours since. Over there, where the boy is lookin’ around.”

  Sophie shot a worried glance at David.

  He looked up from the side of the mound. His eyes were staring and his face was pale. Slowly, he brought his hands into view. A still, gray body was lying across them.

  It was Conker.

  The little squirrel was dead.

  NATURE’S WAY

  Lucy quivered and her bottom lip started to shudder.

  “Oh dear,” said Liz, gathering her in her arms.

  “He’s dead,” bawled Lucy. “Conker’s dead.”

  David rested Conker in the crook of his arm and picked a seed pod out of the squirrel’s tail.

  “Sssh,” Liz soothed, hugging Lucy tight. “We knew it would happen. We knew he was ill.”

  “But why did it have to happen today?”

  “Oh heck,” said George, looking rather bewildered. “I seem to have started a bit of somethin’. I’m sorry, Mrs. Pennykettle. Do you know this animal?”

  “Yes,” said Sophie, getting in first. She took a purse from her pocket and pulled out a card. “I’m a volunteer with the Wildlife Hospital. I’m involved in a project that’s tracking the migration of gray squirrels from urban areas to woodland — I mean parkland — no, library land! These people are my helpers. This squirrel used to live in their garden.”

  George added another crease to his face. “You mean it’s a sort of pet?”

  “Yes,” said Sophie, fighting back a tear.

  “Waah!” wailed Lucy.

  George shook his head and slid back his cap. “I know you, don’t I?” he said to David.

  David nodded. “I came here once to ask about squirrels. Would it be all right if we buried him, Mr. Digwell? Here, in the gardens? Anywhere … here?”

  Liz gave George a plaintive look.

  “Bear with me,” he said, and popped into his hut. He emerged seconds later, tapping a trowel against his palm. “I dunno if it helps but I’m go in’ to say it anyway: I’ve seen a lot of creatures die in these gardens and the way I always look at it is this …”

  Liz turned Lucy around.

  “… these thievin’ rascals,” he nodded at Conker, “will eat anythin’ they can lay their graspin’ paws on. Mostly they take from that oak in the clearin’. That big tree feeds them all their lives. But trees need feedin’ too. They need to take nutrients out o’ the ground.” George looked kindly into Lucy’s face. “It’s not pleasant, I know, to think of your squirrel lyin’ dead in the soil, but his body will help these trees survive. So I s’pose, by rights, he should be buried here. That way, he’s doin’ his pals a favor. What you take from the earth, you must give back. That’s nature’s way.”

  Liz put a hand on Lucy’s brow. “I think we understand that, don’t we?”

  “Yes,” said Lucy, with a little squeak.

  “Ah, well, I’d best get back to work,” said George. He nodded at Liz and tugged his cap, then handed the trowel to David. “Here, you’ll be needin’ this. Plant him where he can do some good.”

  At Sophie’s suggestion they took Conker back to the horse chestnut tree. David laid him down around the back of the tree where the soil was dry and easier to dig in. With the tip of the trowel he traced a line around Conker’s body, then moved him aside and started to dig.

  Lucy stroked Conker and talked to him constantly. She told him she loved him and always would. She chattered about the garden in Wayward Crescent, the felling of the oak tree, David coming, the drey in the roof, Mr. Bacon’s trap, Caractacus’s claw, the ongoing story of Snigger and the Nutbeast (the best birthday present ever, she said), and how everyone, Snigger especially, would miss him. David dug in time to her words, stabbing and scooping at the dark brown earth. He dug until the hole was as deep as his forearm and the sides were steep and smooth and square. When it was done he dropped the trowel and sat back on his heels, panting lightly.

  “What now?” said Lucy.

  David looked into her wide green eyes. “Now we have to put him to bed.” And he picked Conker up, gently but securely, and lowered him into the ground.

  One single green leaf fluttered into the hole.

  David stood up, brushing down his coat, triggering a minor avalanche of soil.

  Sophie crumpled, uncrumpled, and recrumpled a tissue.

  Lucy started to weep again.

  “Don’t be sad,” said Liz. “Look how pretty and peaceful he is.”

  Conker’s slim gray body lay curved across the grave, sort of like a miniature rainbow.

  “Did anything hurt him?” Lucy asked, almost having to hiccough the words.

  “No, I don’t think so,” David said quietly.

  Lucy knelt down. She kissed one finger and touched it to the scar above Conker’s eye. “He looks like he’s sleeping — doesn’t he, Mom?”

  “Yes,” said Liz. “He wuzzled off nicely.”

  David’s blue eyes filmed with tears. He picked up the gardener’s trowel and cleaned it doggedly with his thumb.

  “Come on, let’s tuck him in together,” said Liz. She crouched down, scooped up a handful of soil, and let it tumble into the grave.

  Sophie hunkered down and joined in, too. “Bye-bye, Conker. I hope this tree grows bigger and stronger with you beside it and brings happiness and joy to everyone who sees it.” She squeezed Lucy’s hand. Lucy threw in some soil.

  Steadily, the hole began to fill, until there came a moment when Conker was almost completely covered and all that could be seen was the outline of his face. Lucy leaned back, not wanting to continue. She and Sophie both looked at David.

  David
found a suitable lump of soil and broke it slowly in his fist. Whispering a last good-bye, he moved his hand over Conker’s body. The dry earth trickled through his fingers. Pitter, patter. Dust to dust. He shuddered and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Conker was gone.

  From that moment on, Lucy took over. With Sophie’s help, she pushed the remaining soil into the grave and patted it down with her gloveless hands. While they were covering the site with underbrush, Liz drifted away to talk to David. He was sitting alone on a low brick wall, rolling a dead leaf through his fingers.

  “Are you OK?” Liz whispered, rubbing his arm.

  “Not really,” he said in a voice that carried the faint shudder of despair. “All I wanted was a happy ending. Now, I don’t know what to do.”

  Liz sat down and covered his hand. “You could cry if you want to. That would be a start.”

  David gritted his teeth and looked away.

  “No one’s going to think you’re a softy,” Liz told him. “It won’t help, you know, holding it in. Maybe Gadzooks —”

  “I don’t want to know about Gadzooks!” David stood up suddenly, throwing out a hand. “I’m fed up of hearing about your stupid dragons!” He waved the trowel in the air and turned away. “I have to take this to the gardener, OK?”

  “What’s happening?” said Sophie, hurrying over with Lucy. “What’s going on? Where’s David going? David, come back!” She started after him.

  Lucy looked worriedly at her mom. “Why was he shouting about the dragons?”

  Liz pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and did her best to clean Lucy’s hands. “He’s upset about Conker, and confused about the dragons. I think he is in a fight with Gadzooks.”

  Lucy’s mouth fell open in shock. “Gadzooks won’t make a fire tear, will he?”

  Liz flicked a speck of soil off Lucy’s bangs. “Gadzooks is a very proud young dragon. It would take a lot of shouting to put out his fire.”