Dragonfell Page 9

  “I see it,” Maud says breathlessly. She peers at the cliff face. “There are handholds. . . .”

  Leaving the goats at the base of the cliff, we climb up. When we reach the cave, we crawl in and Maud pulls a candle and matches out of one of the bags.

  Lit by the candle’s wavery flame, the cave is softly pink and circular, and its floor is sandy. There are dusty, leather-bound books stacked along the curve of the walls, all the way up to the ceiling. More books are scattered on the floor, as if they’ve fallen from the stacks, and others are lying open, as if somebody’s been reading them.

  “Oh, Rafi,” Maud says, pointing. Her eyes are sparkling with excitement. “There it is!”

  In the flickering candlelight I see, curled atop a pile of books almost as tall as I am, a narrow strip of darkness as long as my hand. Its eyes are little points of fire.

  The Skarth dragon’s scales are shadow dark, its tiny claws are jeweled, and it has no wings.

  I step closer. The dragon is perched on an open book. Without paying us any attention, it shifts, turns a page with a sharp claw tip, and settles in again, reading. It’s wearing a small pair of spectacles with gold frames.

  “Hello,” I say to it.

  No answer, just a snort that releases a thread of gray smoke that wavers toward the curved cave ceiling.

  I try to think of what Da would want me to say to be polite. “I hope you don’t mind us coming into your cave uninvited.”

  No answer.

  Maud steps up beside me. “Did it say anything?” she whispers.

  “No,” I tell her. “Maybe it’s busy and doesn’t want to be interrupted.”

  “Perfectly understandable.” Maud smiles up at me. “I’m often that way when I’m reading.”

  The dragon’s perch on the open book is at about the same height as my eyes. “Hello again,” I say to it. “I’m Rafi, and my friend here is Maud.”

  The dragon looks up from the page. With a claw, it takes off the spectacles and they fall to dangle from a chain around its scaly neck. Its glowing eyes look me up and down.

  What is it? it asks. Its voice is slithery and rough at the same time.

  “I’m a boy,” I tell it.

  Next to me, Maud leans closer, holding the candle, as if she hopes to join the conversation.

  Tsa, tsa, spits the dragon, with a glare at her. Tell it to go away.

  “Maud,” I say quietly, “it doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

  “Oh.” She blinks a few times, and I know she’s disappointed. “All right.” She goes to one of the piles of books and tilts her head; I think she’s trying to read the titles written on their spines.

  The dragon makes the match-striking sound again. Tsa! Its tail lashes. Keep that flame away from my books. It stands on its four claws, its whole tiny body quivering, its eyes glowing.

  She’s pulled a book from the pile; opening it, she starts to read. A bit of melted wax from the candle drips onto the page.

  Tsa! exclaims the dragon. It perches at the edge of its book pile, then leaps and slithers through the air toward Maud. She looks up and, seeing it coming, drops the book; the dragon swoops down and snatches it up before it hits the floor, sets it on top of another wobbly pile of books, and then rushes like a shadowy whirlwind toward Maud.

  Tsa! Out! it hisses. Out!

  Maud backs away, still holding the candle. “What’s it saying?”

  “It wants us to leave,” I say, and duck as the dragon loops around the room and darts at Maud again, and this time, snarling, it slashes at her face with its claws, barely missing her.

  Maud drops the candle and tumbles to the floor, covering her head with her arms. “Rafi!” she squeaks. “In my pocket! Quickly, before it scratches my eyes out! Propitiation!”

  Chapter 19

  Propitiation?

  Oh, right. Dragons like presents to add to their hoards—that is what a propitiation is. Ducking as the dragon darts past, I crawl closer to Maud and reach into her coat pocket.

  The book is there—the Professor Ratch book. I yank it out and jump to my feet, holding it over my head. “Skarth dragon!” I shout. “We brought this for you.”

  The dragon is a sliver of darkness; it zips past, and the book is snatched out of my hand. Muttering to itself, it returns to its nest, puts on its spectacles, and opens the Ratch book.

  Phew!

  A few paces away, Maud peers out from under her arms. She reaches over and picks up the fallen candle, which is still burning, and sets it upright in the sand. “I hoard books, too,” Maud says, giving me a shaky smile, “when I’m at home.” She sits up, digs in her other pocket, pulling out her red notebook and pencil. “I just have to write a few things down,” she says. “And then we can ask the dragon our questions.” She cocks her head. “You can ask it our questions, I mean.”

  While she writes, and the dragon reads, I have another look around. There are hundreds of books in here. Maybe thousands. A short passageway leads to another cave that is completely stuffed with more books. The air is dry and dusty, and I can see why the dragon is so careful about open flames. As I come back into the main cave, the two sparks that are the dragon’s eyes watch me. It makes little grumbling noises to itself.

  I go and lean against the cave wall near its stack of books. “My name is Rafi,” I tell it. “I’m from a village called the Dragonfell. Our dragon has been gone for a long time. It hoarded teacups painted with blue flowers.”

  The dragon makes a sound like hmmmph. It pushes its spectacles higher on its tiny snout and peers down at a page in the Ratch book about dragons.

  “Is the propitiation we brought all right?” I ask.

  It doesn’t answer. I wait. Maud is watching with her pencil poised over her red book, ready to take notes.

  Tsa, it complains at last. This book. It crouches, curling its tail around itself like a cat. Has it read this book, Rafi of Dragonfell?

  “Have I read it, you mean?” I shake my head. “No.” And even though Maud is listening, I add, “I can’t read.”

  Rafi sees far, the dragon says.

  “Yes,” I tell it, and I don’t say anything more because Maud can hear me.

  Tsa, it says, as if disgusted. Cannot read. Cannot see to read. With a curved claw it taps the spectacles that are still perched on its snout.

  I have no idea what it’s talking about.

  Tsa. The dragon nestles into the open book. Was library in Skarth. Big library, many, many lovely books. This one laired there. Then, library closed.

  “Closed?” I ask. “Why?”

  A ripple passes down its length—a shrug. Factories come. No more library. This dragon take book out, bring here. It raises a claw and gestures at the cave. Take, bring, take, bring.

  “You stole all of these books from the Skarth library?” I ask. I get a sudden picture in my head of the little streak of shadow that is the dragon flying back and forth between this cave and a big building in the city, carrying books even larger than its whole body in its tiny claws.

  Not steal. It glares at me. Rescue. It snorts an annoyed puff of smoke from its tiny nostrils. No flame, though. Library closed, it says again. Then, library burn.

  “The library burned down?” I ask. And then I realize what must have happened. “And you were blamed for it, weren’t you?”

  The dragon doesn’t answer. Perched on its book, its tiny face looks ancient and strangely wise.

  From the corner of my eye I can see Maud, wide-eyed, scribbling rapidly in her red notebook.

  “It’s the same in Coaldowns,” I say. “They blame the dragon there for burning the mineworks.”

  And me. I was blamed for a fire I didn’t set.

  I take a deep breath. “Old Shar—she’s a friend from my village—she says there’s no room in the world for dragons because things are changing, and an old lady in Barrow told me the same thing. She said that things used to be different, many years ago, and the Coaldowns dragon showed me what dra
gons used to be like. It was powerful, and beautiful.” I shake my head. “But it’s not just that things are changing. The dragons are being driven out, aren’t they?”

  And the dragon-touched, like me, are, too. But I don’t say that part of it out loud.

  The tiny dragon looks at me for a long moment. Driven out of lair, it says. Then hunted.

  “Hunted,” I repeat. “Why?”

  As an answer, the tiny dragon flicks the spectacles off its nose and glares at me, its eyes like tiny sparks. Suddenly it leaps to its feet, and with a sharp claw it rips a page out of the Igneous Ratch book. In a flurry and a frenzy, it tears out more pages, shredding them until the air is filled with scraps of paper floating around us.

  The dragon perches at the edge of what is left of the book. Opening its tiny maw, it makes a snarly sound and then spits out a sharp needle of fire that darts to one of the scraps of paper, which bursts into flame. One by one it ignites all the scraps, and they burn, turning to ash as they fall to the sandy floor.

  “It really, really doesn’t like that book, does it?” Maud asks.

  “I guess not,” I agree.

  Ratch book, the dragon says scornfully. Is lies lies lies more lies. It glares at the ashes that are all that are left of the book.

  “This doesn’t exactly answer my question,” I point out. “Why are the dragons being hunted?”

  Tsa. The dragon settles down again. Book says dragons are evil.

  I remember what Maud read aloud from the Ratch book. “Ratch said dragons are huge, destructive, greedy, foul . . .” I try to remember the rest of it.

  “. . . entirely treacherous beasts,” Maud finishes for me.

  Is lies. Book is lying reason for hunting, say dragons treacherous. Book is treacherous. The Flitch and his ashy one. They hunt dragons. They are thieves. They drive dragons from lair, they burn, they hunt.

  The ashy one must be Gringolet. “Why?”

  Not know human reasons, the dragon answers scornfully.

  I’m a human, and I don’t know the human reasons either.

  I turn to explain it all to Maud. “The Skarth dragon just told me that the dragons are not just being driven out, they’re being hunted by Flitch.” And by Gringolet, but Maud still doesn’t know about her, and I’m not telling her now.

  “We have to help,” Maud says. She looks strangely grim. “We have to stop my—that Mister Flitch, I mean, from hunting any more dragons. Rafi, do you think he’s killing them?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “He must be.” I have a sudden realization. “Maybe that’s what happened to the Dragonfell dragon.” I turn back to the dragon. “What can we do to help?”

  The tiny dragon’s tail is twitching, making it look like an annoyed cat. It leans forward. Is book, it says.

  “A book?” I ask, blinking in surprise.

  “What book?” Maud interrupts.

  “Shhh,” I tell her. “What book?” I ask the dragon.

  Is true dragon book. Is maps and list of all dragons and lairs. Is map where to find greatest of all dragons. Glass dragon. Youngling Rafi must find glass dragon. It sees. It knows.

  “The book has a map in it,” I tell Maud, “of where to find a glass dragon.” I ask the Skarth dragon, “Why can’t you just come with us?”

  Dragon not leave lair.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  The dragon’s tiny face crinkles, making it look even more fierce. Is LAIR.

  “All right,” I tell it. The Coaldowns dragon wouldn’t leave its lair, either. It must be a dragon thing. “Then will you give us the book with the map in it?”

  Not have. Stolen from library.

  “Who stole it?” I ask, even though I’ve already guessed the answer.

  Is Flitch has book. Rafi youngling must steal it back.

  Chapter 20

  Maud and I sit cross-legged on the sandy floor of the dragon’s lair and plan what we’re going to do.

  “You really can’t read?” she asks me.

  “No,” I say. “I’m . . . well, I’m too stupid.”

  She makes a scoffing sound. “Oh, stop. You stupid? You’re the cleverest person I know, Rafi!”

  I shake my head, but don’t argue with her any more about it. I turn to check on the dragon. It is curled on its stack of books like a cat, watching us with its ember eyes. “Can’t you just tell us what’s in the book?” I ask it.

  As an answer, it opens its tiny mouth and emits a soundless snarl.

  “Never mind,” I say quickly, and turn back to Maud.

  “It’s not a very nice dragon, is it?” she whispers.

  “No,” I whisper back. “But I’m not sure nice is the right word to use when talking about dragons.”

  She gives a surprised half laugh, as if she’s forgotten how tired and hungry she is. “You’re right, of course.”

  “Anyway,” I go on, “the fact that I can’t read means we’ll both have to search for the book. I wonder where Flitch is hiding it.”

  “It’s not at home,” Maud says slowly, “. . . at Flitch’s home, I mean. Um.” She frowns. “The book must be in his office in his factory. That’s the most likely place. Don’t you think?”

  “Sounds right to me,” I tell her. Then I call out, “Skarth dragon, can you show us where Mister Flitch’s factory is?”

  As an answer, the dragon flits over to a pile of loose papers, paws through them, and pulls one out, which it drops in front of us and then goes back to its books.

  Maud inspects the paper. “This is a map. See the river, here?” She points.

  I shrug, not bothering to look.

  “And here’s the factory,” she goes on. “We’ll have to sneak in at night.” Then Maud looks straight at me, her eyes wide, because she’s thinking the same thing that I am.

  “Tonight,” I say.

  “I might die of hunger before then,” Maud says seriously.

  The tiny dragon makes a scoffing sound and launches itself from its pile of books. It zips away, deeper into the cave. A moment later it returns with a paper-wrapped package gripped in its claws, which it drops on the sandy floor between me and Maud. Opening it we find dried fruit, and hard biscuits, and a bottle of water.

  We both tear into the food, and then Maud writes some more in her book, and I pace around the cave waiting for night. I can feel my spark burning away inside me. It feels brighter, hotter, as if I might burst into flame. As if I’m getting closer to learning what it really means to be dragon-touched.

  After sunset, we climb down the cliff face, from one handhold to the next, until we get to the stony shore of the river. The moon has come up, so it’s not entirely dark, and a glow of streetlights comes from the city, not far off.

  The goats crowd around, pressing their faces against my legs.

  And there’s a new goat. He’s a big billy with curved horns, thick brown fur, and a long beard that frames his face and straggles from his chin. He’s standing by himself on a chunk of rock at the edge of the river watching me and the other goats, but not coming any closer.

  “Hello!” I call to him. Even Maud won’t mistake this one—it’ll be obvious even to her that he’s not a female goat.

  In answer, he raises his upper lip and sneers at me. Not friendly.

  I decide to call him Gruff.

  “That’s four goats,” I say to Maud, feeling unaccountably happy.

  “Ah, your goats,” Maud murmurs, and pulls the notebook out of her coat pocket. “Very interesting.” Using the moon for light, she writes something down with a pencil, then snaps the book closed. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Feeling slightly sick that I still haven’t told her that I can see in the dark, or that Mister Flitch has reasons of his own for sending his hunters after me, I lead her along the river path to the docks. Followed by the goats, we clatter through the alleyways, as Maud leads us toward the factory.

  When we get there, the goats go silent. That’s the way they are at night, because they are prey,
and they know that when it gets dark they have to be small and quiet so somebody—like a wolf—doesn’t eat them. The new goat, Gruff, puts himself between the rest of them and the street, and they settle onto the cobblestones of the alley.

  Maud and I peer around a corner at the end of the alleyway. Across cobblestones that gleam in the moonlight, the factory is silent and dark, except for a glow in a window near the main door. There’s a night watchman on guard.

  “I know how we can get in,” Maud whispers. I see the flash of her teeth as she grins. “This is fun, isn’t it?”

  “Not entirely,” I say, checking the street. It’s empty.

  “We’ll go around the back,” Maud says. “There should be a door to the steam-engine room.”

  “It’s all clear,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”

  Stealthily, we slip out of the alley and around to the back of the factory. To Maud it must look dark, but I can see right away where the back door is, a few steps down from street level. I point to it and Maud nods. We have to cross an open area to reach it, so I put my hand on her arm, holding her still while we listen. The city is never quiet—there’s always a hum and a distant clatter, a glow of lights and fires, a smell of chimney smoke and sewers. But nobody is near the factory, except us.

  Quickly we dart across the road to the back, and down the three steps to the door.

  Locked.

  “Oh drat!” Maud whispers. She leans close and breathes into my ear. “We’ll have to go down the coal chute. It should be near here.”

  I scan the wall of the factory and spot it at once. A hinged metal door about my height.

  The door is heavy, and as I open it the hinges make a rusty creaking sound that I’m sure the night watchman is going to hear.

  “Climb in, quick!” I tell Maud, holding open the door.

  She does, and makes a sound like meep as her feet slip out from under her and she tumbles away. A second later I follow her, zooming down a chute that leads from the door to a huge coal pile at the bottom. She’s waiting for me there, smudged all over with coal dust, but still smiling. “That was fun,” she whispers.