The Fire Within (The Last Dragon Chro) (15 page)

S
NOOP

 

S
ophie named her dragon Grace.

“Very apt,” said Liz.

“I like it,” said Lucy.

“It’s not very magical,” David grumbled.

“Ignore him, he’s in a funny mood,” said Liz.

Sophie turned her wrist and glanced at her watch. “It’s time for me to go. Thank you for the tea — and Grace; she’s lovely. I’ve had a super day. I’m glad I was able to help with the squirrels.”

Lucy threw her arms around Sophie’s waist. “You will come back again, won’t you?”

“I’d love to,” said Sophie. “When you go and visit Conker, I’ll come along, too — if that’s all right?”

“Oh, I hope we see you before then,” said Liz, prodding a finger into David’s back.

“Um, what? Oh, I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

As they stepped outside into the cold, crisp air, Sophie was the first to speak. “What was all that about in the den? You were acting really weird.” She put Grace on the roof of the car and rummaged around in her bag for her keys.

“There are things going on in this house,” said David. “Odd,
unworldly
things.”

“You’re not telling me you’re hearing bumps in the night?”

“No, growls in the night.”

Sophie’s mouth twitched into a grin. “David, all houses make peculiar noises. Ours creaks and bloggles and gloops all the time.”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re normal noises. This one
hrrrs.
Liz says it’s the central heating, but she doesn’t have any radiators.”

Sophie gave it a moment’s thought. “I guess it’s the dragons snoring.”

David threw up his hands in despair.

“Well, what do
you
think it is?” she laughed, throwing her bag onto the passenger seat.

“Don’t know,” he said, resting on the hood. “But they’re keeping
something
secret. It all has to do with Liz’s glazing process. She keeps making these dragons, but she hasn’t got a kiln. How can she fire them without an oven?”

“Perhaps she doesn’t need to,” Sophie said, shrugging. “Maybe she uses a special kind of clay?”

David shook his head. “She heats them somehow. While she was mending Gawain she put a sign on the den saying ‘
KILNING — NO ENTRY.
’ I tried to sneak in to see what was happening, but when I touched the doorknob it burned my hand.”

“Serves you right,” Sophie said primly. “That was your conscience trying to warn you.”

“No, it was
Gruffen,
keeping guard. He flamed the handle when I tried to turn it. Just now upstairs, when I breathed on him, he scorched my neck. Take a look if you don’t believe me. There must be a mark.”

Sophie frowned and took a look. “All I can see is a spot the size of Everest.”

“A spot?” said David, feeling for it.

“Yeah. How’s this for a burning sensation?” Sophie breathed on it, making him wince. “I think you’ll find it was Lucy who
hrred.
Speaking of whom …” She tilted her head toward the house. Lucy was standing in the front room window, waving and pulling a smoochy face.

David stuck out his tongue.

“Hey, be nice to her,” Sophie clucked. “She’s going to need you now. Life will be quiet without the squirrels. She’ll miss them. So will you.”

David folded his arms and shrugged.

“At least you’ve got the story,” Sophie continued. “That should keep both of you happy. ‘Conker’s Dad.’ That’s the next chapter, isn’t it?”

“No,” David said firmly. “It’s ‘Conker went to the library gardens, lived happily ever after, and the nutbeast was never pestered by the little girl again. The End.’ I’m
going to write it tonight and give it to her tomorrow. Then it’s ‘really’ finished, as she likes to say.”

Sophie smiled and got into her car, throwing an empty potato chip bag off the seat. “I hope Conker lives a good while. I think if I were Lucy’s age it would be sweet to read about him enjoying himself in the library gardens, even if I knew he was ultimately going to kick the bucket.”

“No worries about that,” David grunted. “I’m under strict instructions to write a happy ending. Rule number ninety-seven: You’re not allowed to make a dragon cry.”

“Right,” said Sophie, starting the engine. “Tears might quench their fire.”

“Go away,” David sighed. “You’re as bad as they are.”

“Thank you. I will now go home and sulk.”

The tenant grimaced and chewed his lip. “I didn’t mean it. I was only teasing. You will come back again — won’t you?”

“Possibly,” said Sophie, turning her cheek.

David took a breath. Was this an invitation to kiss her good-bye? He said a quick prayer and puckered his lips …

… just as Lucy pounded up the driveway. “Stop!”

“Oh, Lucy! What—? OW!” David bellowed, banging his nose on the frame of the door.

“Grace,” she cried, pointing.

“Hhh!” gasped Sophie. “She’s still on the roof!”

Grumbling, David snatched her down.

Lucy took her and handed her to Sophie. “She didn’t like it when the car went
vroom.
She thought you were going away without her.”

“No way,” Sophie whistled. “Thanks, Luce.”

“Yes,
thanks,
Lucy,” David added. “You can go inside again now.”

“I’m staying here, waving bye-bye,” she said, resisting all attempts to be shoved aside.

“Don’t fight,” said Sophie. “I’ll see you both soon.” She blew both of them a kiss and reversed down the driveway. The car roared away in a cloud of blue smoke.

As it disappeared around the Crescent, Lucy swung her hips and said to David, “Did you mean it? Will you really finish
Snigger
tonight?”

“Possibly. I’ll — hang on. How did
you
know I might do the story tonight?”

Lucy’s face turned fire-engine red.

“You were snooping,” David accused her. “You had that window open, didn’t you? You shouldn’t listen in on private conversations.”

“I didn’t!”

“Don’t lie. It just makes things worse.”

Lucy stamped an indignant foot. “I wasn’t listening in on your
private conversations.
”

David glared at her and walked away.

“I wasn’t!” she shouted. “Don’t you
dare
tell Mom!”

David wagged a finger. “You were listening. Don’t deny it.”

“I
wasn’t,”
Lucy said again, almost in tears. She kicked a stone along the driveway. “Grace was.”

T
HE
F
INAL
W
ORDS

 

A
s a punishment, David didn’t complete the story that night. Or the next. Or the next. Or the one after that. No amount of pestering could make him type a word. Lucy told him she hated him more than cold oatmeal. He replied that her nose would grow for telling lies and threatened to
stir
his oatmeal with it. Lucy said she’d tear the story up and throw it in the trash. David said, Fine, it was in the computer anyway.

It took a phone call from Sophie to turn things around. “Don’t be mean,” she said when she learned what was happening. “I don’t remember the windows being open. How could she have heard us? Write the story — or I’ll set Gruffen on you.”

The hairs rose on the back of David’s neck.

He decided to end the feud.

The following evening, he was lying on the sofa watching TV when Lucy slipped into the room. She was wearing her pajamas and bathrobe.

“I found this under my pillow.” She flapped two sheets of paper at him.

“Gosh, that squirrel fairy is quick,” he said. (Lucy had visited the dentist that day.)

“I read it.”

“I gathered. Did you like it?”

Lucy shuffled her feet and flopped into a chair. “When are you going to write some more?”

David threw her a glance. “There isn’t any more. They’re the last two pages.”

“You mean this is it?” She held up a page and started to read:
“For the rest of that week, the library gardens were alive with the drama of the nutbeast.”

“Lu-cy.”

“Snigger told his story so many times that he couldn’t remember who’d heard it and who hadn’t and received
several dark looks from irritated squirrels who all seemed to have a drey to build.”

David turned up the TV sound.

Lucy turned up her voice:
“Snigger could not remember a time when there had been so much construction work going on, but at least it reminded him of the urgent need to find Conker somewhere to sleep. So, joining forces with Ringtail and Birchwood, he began to search out a good place for Conker’s new home.”

“Lucy, buzz off. I know what I wrote.”

“Taking into careful consideration Conker’s climbing difficulties, they opted for a hollow in the trunk of an ash. The ash stood next to a notice-board, supported from the ground by two metal legs and a sloping wooden strut. The strut was a perfect approach to the tree. In no time at all, Conker was able to reach his hollow without any fear of falling.”

“I’m not listening.”

“And so it was that the little squirrel settled into his brand-new home and lived a happy and contented life. The End.”

“Thank you. Can I watch soccer now?”

Lucy found the remote control and muted the sound.

David gave her a very hard stare. “What’s wrong with that ending?”

“It’s not very
interesting,
is it?”

“It’s not meant to be ‘interesting’. It’s supposed to be happy.”

“But nothing
happens.
It ends too soon.”

David threw up his hands. “There’s nothing else to write.”

“There is,” said Lucy, widening her eyes. “You can write about Conker’s adventures in the gardens!”

“No chance,” David snorted. “That’s another book entirely.”

“Yes!”

“No! One story was enough.”

For once, Lucy knew that the tenant meant it. “Well, finish this one the right way, then. Ask Gadzooks, he’ll know what to do.”

“I’m perfectly capable of writing it myself.”

Lucy gave him a doubtful look.

David groaned and snatched up the manuscript. “All right, I’ll ask the dragon!”

He got to work on it the following Sunday afternoon. “Okay,” he muttered, firing up the computer. “This is it. The final words.” He grabbed Gadzooks while the screen was clearing. “Sharpen your pencil and clear your pad. We’re finishing this today.”

Gadzooks chewed the end of his pencil in silence. “No, wait,” David said, plunking him down. “I’ll do it myself. I’ll show her.”

And he started to type.

Then erase.

Then type.

Then cut.

Then mutter.

Then fiddle with the mouse.

Then mutter some more.

After fifteen minutes on one short sentence, he stood up and started to pace the room.

“This is stupid,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustation. “All I want is a nice, happy, believable ending.” Sighing loudly, he turned to the window. Outside, in the garden, shadows rolled across the empty lawn.
What’s really happening at the library?
he wondered. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine. Without prompting, Gadzooks wrote a word on his pad.

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?”

T
HE
S
POTTING
G
AME

 

G
reat,” 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: