The Fire Within (The Last Dragon Chro) (5 page)

Snigger

 

David’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. Liz prodded a sausage or two with a fork. Lucy bit a fingernail. Bonnington yawned. The whole Pennykettle household waited for an answer.

“Snigger,” David whispered.

From somewhere came a gentle
hrring
noise.

David’s dark blue eyes blinked open. “Yes,” he said, “his name is Snigger.”

S
OMETHING
T
RAPPY

 

I
like it,” said Lucy, smiling at her mom.

The doorbell rang before Liz could begin to offer an opinion. “Terrific timing,” she muttered, turning things down to a lower heat. “Lucy, set the table while I see who that is.”

Lucy grabbed the placemats and plopped them down. “Tell me some more about Snigger and Birchwood.”

David shrugged. “They went up a tree. That was it.”

“Nooo,”
said Lucy. “Make up a story.”

“Lucy, I told you, I don’t tell stor — hang on.” David cocked an ear toward the hall. He could have sworn he had just heard Henry’s voice. Now that he’d tuned in, he could certainly hear Liz.

“No,” she sighed loudly. “Thank you. Good night.”
The door banged shut. She bustled back into the kitchen. “Well, I’ve heard everything now.” She whipped the oven door open. “That was Henry, wanting some gorgonzola.”

“That horrible smelly cheese?” said Lucy.

“Why did he want gorgonzola?” asked David, suddenly aware that the hairs on the back of his neck were rising.

“He didn’t say,” Liz muttered, sliding the potatoes out of the oven. “But, knowing Henry, it’s bound to be something typically trappy.”

“Oh, no,” David gasped, standing up suddenly. His chair legs squealed against the kitchen tiles. “That’s it. He’s building a … Oh, no!” Without another word he was away down the hall.

“Da-vid? What about your dinner?” Liz threw up her hands in despair.

“I’ll get him,” offered Lucy and went scooting down the hall before her mom could stop her. Ten seconds later, she joined David at the doors of Mr. Bacon’s garage.

“Lucy, what are
you
doing here?”

“Why did you run away so fast?”

David gritted his teeth. “Does Mr. Bacon like squirrels?”

“No. He hates them — especially Shooter.”

David turned away with a hand across his face. He pushed his hair back hard at the roots. “Go home.”

“Why?”

“Because —”

“WHO’S THERE?!”

With a bang, the garage doors opened and Henry leapt out, wielding a golf club.

Lucy squealed and hid behind David’s back.

“Stop, Mr. Bacon!” David cried.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Henry, looking disappointed. He let the club flop tamely to his side. “What are you lurking for, boy? Thought it might be robbers.”

David glanced through the open garage door. On the workbench he could see a long narrow box. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at it.

A smile touched the corners of Henry’s mouth.

“Bacon’s patented rodent remover. Come and have a look, boy. Work of genius.”

“What’s a rodent?” asked Lucy, tugging David’s sleeve.

“Another name for a rat,” he said. “Stay here, Luce. No arguments, OK?”

Lucy looked a little disappointed, but planted herself by the doors anyway.

David followed Mr. Bacon inside.

Henry tapped the box with the heel of his club. “Knocked it out in a couple of hours. Had a little trouble with the spring at first. Works great now. Want to see it in action?”

David crouched down and peered at the contraption. It was made from solid sheets of plywood and was big enough to catch a dozen rats. At the front of the box was a sturdy, hinged door, with a window made from wire mesh. Mr. Bacon pulled it open. It swung upward with a gentle chafing sound. Mr. Bacon hooked it in place with a slim strip of metal screwed to the inner wall of the box. David peered inside. In the
far top corner was a covered light, with a small red motion sensor underneath. The only other object was a fine metal wire, dangling from the center of the ceiling of the box. David raised a finger to touch it, and got a golf club across his knuckles for his trouble.

“Safety first,” Mr. Bacon hissed. “Finely tuned system. Hair-trigger response. Wire sets it off, boy. That’s for the bait. Going to dangle a smelly chunk of cheese on that. Pity Mrs. P. didn’t have any. See that?” He pointed the club at the covered light. “Stays on all night to attract the rodent. When Ratty sneaks in, the light blips off. Ratty gropes around in the dark for the bait and …” Mr. Bacon prodded the wire with his club. The door came down with a spiteful snap.

Lucy gasped loudly and flapped her fists.

David stood up straight. “Mr. Bacon, stop this. Now.”

Henry knitted his wispy eyebrows. “What are you talking about, boy? We can’t have Ratty and his chums in the garden.”

“But it was Conker!” Lucy shouted, storming in. “David didn’t see a rat, he saw a —”

“Cat,” said David, clamping a hand across Lucy’s mouth. “Conker the cat. Lives four doors up. Slim, gray animal. Easily mistaken for a large rat.”

“Cat?” Mr Bacon scoffed. “The only cat around here is the girl’s awful beast.”

Lucy stamped on David’s foot and worked herself free. “I’m going to tell Mom!” She dashed from the garage.

“Lucy, wait!” David called, skipping sideways after her. “Don’t do it, Mr. Bacon,” he said from the door.

“It’s my garden,” barked Henry. “I’ll do what I like.” He swished his golf club to show he meant business.

David hurtled after Lucy. He caught up with her in the hall.

“Get off,” she shouted, as he grabbed her shoulder.

“Lucy, listen!”

“Why did you stop me from telling him it was Conker?!”

“Because he doesn’t like squirrels! It would only have made things worse!”

“Wrong,” said a voice, “it’s already worse.” The kitchen door opened and Liz was part of the argument as well. “Would someone like to tell me
what
is going on? I don’t cook these meals for fun, you know. Your dinner is on the table. If it sits there much longer there’ll be frost on it!”

“Mr. Bacon made a rat trap,” Lucy wailed. “But there
isn’t
a rat! He’s going to catch Conker! He’s going to kill him! And David
doesn’t care!”
She slapped the tenant in the chest, then pounded up the stairs, crying loudly.

Liz folded her arms and glared at him, hard.

“I can explain.”

“Don’t bother, David. Put a baked potato in it instead.” She swept upstairs after Lucy.

It was half an hour before Liz came down. By then, the kitchen was empty. The table was cleared, the dish
washing done, and two untouched meals put back in the oven on a very low heat.

Taped to the breadbox, Liz found a message.

Gone for a walk. Took bottles to the recycling bin. Bonnington threw up a hairball. I cleaned it up. Hope Lucy’s OK. It’s my fault. Sorry. Won’t happen again.

David

 

 

It was eight before he returned. Liz was in the kitchen, making a drink. “Long walk,” she said.

The tenant hovered sheepishly in the hall.

“David, hang your coat up, for goodness’ sake. If I wanted you out, you’d have found your teddy in pieces on the step.”

David sighed with relief and slipped off his coat. There was a slight clacking sound as he put it on the hook.

“What was that?”

“Oh — my knee against the telephone stool. How’s Lucy?”

The kettle clicked off. Liz filled a mug. “Fretting, as you might expect. Actually, you arrived home just in time.”

The tenant furrowed his brow.

Liz handed him the mug. “Hot chocolate, for her. Go and make a happy house again. Hmm?”

“Who is it?” said a slightly surprised little voice.

David took his knuckles away from the door. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

A blanket rustled. “All right.”

David stepped in. Lucy was sitting up in bed, wearing a pair of blue pajamas. Her eyes were red, her cheeks a little blotchy. David put the hot chocolate on her bedside table and sat down on the end of the bed.

“Did you come to read me a story?” she sniffed.

David shook his head. “Not tonight, Luce.”

A few seconds passed. Lucy dabbed her nose with a tearstained tissue. “Conker’s in danger, isn’t he?”

David glanced across the room. The eyes of Gawain stared rigidly back. In the pale yellow glow of the bedside lamp the dragon might well have had fire in its jaws.

“I want to save him,” Lucy sniffed. “I don’t want Mr. Bacon to catch him in his trap.” Her bottom lip shuddered and she started to sob.

David found another tissue and handed it over. “We are going to save him. I’ve got a plan.”

Lucy looked up, her eyes like pools.

“Promise me you won’t say a word to your mom?”

Lucy swallowed hard and looked at Gawain. “What are we going to do?”

David glanced away into the corner of the room. “I haven’t worked out all the details yet. A lot depends on whether I can find a good box or not.”

Lucy’s mouth fell open slowly.

“Yes,” said the tenant, guessing her thoughts. “If Henry can set a trap, so can we. We’re going to try to catch Conker ourselves….”

I
N THE
A
TTIC

 

T
he next day, David got his box.

“A rabbit hutch? Where?”

“Up there,” hissed Lucy, pointing to a hatch in the landing ceiling. “You open that door and a ladder comes down. Mom shoves all our useless stuff up there.”

David ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Your mom’ll turn me into useless stuff if she ever finds out I’ve been rummaging through your attic.”

“We’ll get it down later when Mom’s not here. She’s going to a craft fair soon.”

Liz’s voice rang out from the foot of the stairs: “Lucy, come on, get yourself ready. I want to be out by one.”

“I’m not going, Mom. David said he’d help me look for Conker.”

“Lucy?”
David pulled her toward him. “We’re supposed to be keeping this quiet, remember?” He clenched his fists and looked over the banister. “Erm, she was so upset last night that I said I’d … well … y’know.”

Liz gave him a green-eyed Pennykettle stare. “I don’t know which of you is worse: her for twisting you around her little finger or you for being weaker than the average jellyfish. All right, she can stay. But you’re responsible for her. If I come back and find her shoes and jeans caked in mud, you’re the one who has to wash them, agreed?”

“Agreed,” David groaned, and turned his eyes to the attic.

With the sun streaming in through a dusty skylight, it didn’t take long to spot the hutch. It was over in a corner by a couple of cases, with some wallpaper samples and an old roll of carpet. David made his way
across the joists, teetering slightly at every step. Lucy, who’d been banned from entering the attic on the grounds that she’d get her jeans dirty, watched from the top of the landing ladder.

“Is it OK?” she asked, as David crouched down to examine the hutch.

“Perfect,” he said, dragging it toward him. “Soon we’ll — Ooh, what’s that?”

“What?” said Lucy, coughing into her fist.

“Light,” said David. “Coming in from somewhere. Hang on a sec.” He crossed two joists and moved the roll of carpet. A beam of light skimmed the floor of the attic. “There’s a hole in the brickwork,” David reported, leaning forward for a closer look. “And … oh, gosh.” His words faded into silence. Lodged in the rafters, close to the hole, was what looked at first like an old bird’s nest. But it was bigger than a nest, and rounder, too. No bird had made that. It was a squirrel’s drey.

“Can I see?” begged Lucy, when David told her.

“No,” he said firmly. “You stay there. It looks
abandoned anyway.” He crouched lower and squinted out of the hole. “Hah, I can see the sycamore tree. That must be how the squirrel got in; it climbed up the tree, then hopped into the roof. Clever. I bet it’s really cozy in —
waargh!”

“Hhh!” squealed Lucy, gripping the ladder as David unexpectedly tumbled backward. A cloud of dust puffed into the air as he landed with a thump that made the ceiling shake.

“Are you all right?” Lucy cried.

“Yes,” said David, getting to his feet. He dusted down his clothing and picked up the hutch. “I saw a bird outside. A crow, I think. It landed on a branch while I was looking through the hole. Its eye sort of filled the space. It was dark and beady; made me jump, that’s all.” He licked a finger and tried to rub a mark off his sweatshirt. “It probably nests around here. I found a crow’s feather in the garden once, and — oh, what was that?” He broke off and stared at the attic floor.

“What’s the matter?” asked Lucy.

“I heard a fluttering sound downstairs. I think there’s something in the Dragons’ Den.”

“I’ll see,” said Lucy, hurrying down the ladder.

“Lucy, wait.” David clambered down after her. “It sounded like a small bird — a sparrow or something. It’s probably best to let me have a look. Here, take this.” He handed her the hutch. Then he was past her and into the den.

He peered around the shelves of green-eyed dragons, at Guinevere resting on her stand, at the stained-glass ornament dangling in the window. Nothing remotely birdlike moved. “That’s odd,” he said. “I’m sure I heard something.” He moved closer to the shelves. Lucy dashed in front of him.

“I know!” she exclaimed. “It
was
a sparrow. They shake around in the gutter sometimes. Mom says they have a bath in the dust.”

David walked to the window and craned his neck upward. “Hmm. Might have heard an echo in the roof space, I s’pose.”

“Yes,” said Lucy, looking pleased with herself. “Let’s go and do the trap now, shall we?”

David clicked his tongue. “Of course, there is …
another
explanation.”

Lucy braced herself.

“Could have been a dragon flying around.”

Lucy went white and bit her lip.

“I’m joking,” David laughed, tousling her hair. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. Bring a small chunk of clay down, will you?” And he swept through the door, still chuckling to himself.

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. She let her gaze pan slowly sideways — to the shelf by the door where Gruffen normally sat.

“Typical,” she muttered.

The dragon wasn’t there.