The Return of the Dragon (11 page)

“We don’t want to accept Mr. King’s proposal,” Zachary said, “but we’re just kids — and he’s rich and powerful and grown up. What if he won’t take no for an answer? What can we
do
?”

The dragon waved a golden claw. “In life,” it said impressively, “one often reaches decision points.”

“I don’t understand,” Hannah said.

The dragon gave a tiny snort. “Take, for example,” it said, “the moment before breakfast.”

“Before
breakfast
?” Zachary repeated blankly.

“Precisely,” the dragon said. “A prototypic decision point. You could choose to have oatmeal, you see, or mutton chops, bran flakes or jellybeans, toast or tacos. It’s quite simple. You survey the alternatives and pick the best one. Even the youngest dragon can do it.”

“But . . .” Sarah Emily began.

“Jellybeans would be a poor choice,” the dragon said severely. “They are nutritionally limited. And, of course, so small.”

“But I don’t see . . .” Sarah Emily began again.

“Of course you don’t,” the dragon said. “You’re not using your head.”

It gave an enormous yawn.

“When confronted with a problem, one studies the alternatives, selects the best solution, and proceeds with it. It’s very simple.” It looked at the children down the length of its golden nose. “You must learn, my dears, to reason like a dragon.”

Supper was over. Hannah, Zachary, and Sarah Emily were in Aunt Mehitabel’s front parlor, where Hannah was teaching Sarah Emily to play chess. Zachary, who had eaten three bowls of chocolate pudding and was feeling lazy, lay on his stomach in front of the glass-fronted bookcase, idly reading the titles of books.

“The ones with the little pointy hats are bishops,” Hannah said. “They move diagonally, like this. Come on, S.E., pay attention.”

“I can’t help it,” Sarah Emily said. “All the pieces are so pretty. Look at the castles with their little turrets. And my queen has a crown with teeny silver beads.”

“She’s lined up with my bishop,” Hannah said patiently. “The bishops move diagonally.”

“Oh!”
Sarah Emily said. She hastily swooped her queen out of the way. “I see.”

“Nobody could read these books,” said Zachary from his place on the floor. “They’re awful. Listen:
The Collected Spiritual Ramblings of Dr. Theophilus Bumbrage. A Botanical Description of the Duckweeds of Delaware. A Discourse on the Jungle Fowl of India and Ceylon.
”

“Where’s Ceylon?” Sarah Emily asked. “What are jungle fowl?”

“Ceylon is called Sri Lanka now,” Hannah said, moving a carved green pawn. “It’s an island in the Indian Ocean. And jungle fowl are sort of like chickens. Wild chickens. You can’t move that castle there, S.E. They only go in straight lines.”

“And then there are all these weird dictionaries,” Zachary said, wiggling forward on his elbows. “There’s one in Sanskrit and one in Cherokee.”

He opened a glass panel and pulled out a book.

“This one is German. But the letters are all funny, like those big old-fashioned Bibles.”

“Check,” Hannah said.

“Donnerschlag,”
Zachary read in a threatening voice. “That means thunderclap.
Lebkuchen.
That’s gingerbread.
Schweigepflicht.
That’s what we have. It’s a pledge of secrecy.”

“Schweigepflicht,”
Sarah Emily said, and giggled.

“Check,” Hannah said again.

Sarah Emily stared dismally at the board. “I don’t think I’m any good at chess,” she said.

“Sure you are,” Hannah said. “It’s a hard game, that’s all. You have to keep thinking ahead all the time. Consider the alternatives like Faf . . . F says. You have to move your king, see?”

“King,” Zachary said, busily flipping dictionary pages.

Then suddenly he made a startled exclamation and sat straight up. He looked shocked. His face had gone so pale that the freckles stood out.

Hannah leaped up from the chessboard.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “Zachary, are you sick?”

“It’s
König,
” Zachary said in a shaken voice, pointing to the dictionary page.

“König?”
Sarah Emily looked confused.

“König,”
Zachary repeated. “It means
king
in German.” Now he was talking so fast that his words tumbled over each other. “Don’t you remember Aunt Mehitabel’s letter? The boy was named Johann Pieter König. But he would be all grown up now. Getting old, even.”

He looked from Hannah to Sarah Emily and back again.

“King. König. Don’t you see? I think Johann Pieter has come back. I think he’s J.P. King.”

“J.P. King is Johann Pieter?” Sarah Emily said.

“It makes sense,” Hannah said slowly. “He saw the track on the beach, remember? He must have known it was real, no matter what anybody else said. He must have been thinking about it all these years. And now he’s come back.”

“He never gives up,” Zachary said. “Everybody says so.”

“We have to warn Fafnyr,” Sarah Emily said in a trembling voice.

“Nothing’s going to happen tonight,” Hannah said reassuringly. “They don’t know where the cave is yet, S.E.”

“We’ll go first thing in the morning and warn him,” Zachary said. “Maybe Fafnyr will have to go away for a while.”

“Find another Resting Place?” Sarah Emily said. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Nobody wants that, S.E.,” Hannah said miserably. “But what if it’s the only way to keep him safe?”

Tears rolled down Sarah Emily’s cheeks.

The next morning looked just like the children felt. It was cold, dismal, and gray. The sky was dark and threatening, heavy with clouds, and the wind had a sharp edge to it. Walking into it felt like being slapped with wet sheets. They plodded single-file along the familiar path, sweatshirt hoods pulled up to protect their ears. Instead of sneakers, they wore hiking boots, and over their sweatshirts they wore zippered vests. Everybody felt too miserable to talk. Sarah Emily had barely been able to choke down her breakfast, and even Zachary had been unable to finish his fourth piece of buttered toast.

“Trouble ahead,” Hannah suddenly said.

Two figures, standing side by side, waited silently for them at the foot of Drake’s Hill. The first was J.P. King. He was dressed in a leather aviator’s jacket and a canvas hat with a cord that fastened under his chin. A leather bag with a strap hung from one shoulder. Beside him stood Mr. Chang, now in loose black trousers and a black quilted jacket. He was still wearing his elaborately embroidered cap.

“Greetings,” called Mr. King, with an affable smile. Then, as the children drew closer: “I understand that you have already met my compatriot, Mr. Chang.”

Mr. Chang gave them the slightest of bows.

“He is an esteemed scholar at the Archaeological Institute of Beijing,” Mr. King continued, “and an expert in the history and lore of magical creatures. He is famed in academic circles for his monographs on imperial dragons in the art and literature of the Tang dynasty.”

Sarah Emily gave a little gasp.

“I see you understand the connection,” Mr. King said pleasantly.

“We know who you are,” Zachary said. “You’re Johann Pieter König. You’ve been here before.”

Mr. King nodded delightedly.

“Clever,” he said. “Very clever, young man. Though I suspect your aunt may have given you a clue or two. A quick-witted lady, your aunt, though a bit too trusting. You can’t be too cautious when you have a secret, you know.”

“She thought you and your mother were her friends,” Hannah said coldly.

“She told us what happened,” Zachary said at the same time.

“Ah,” Mr. King said, nodding several times quickly. “Then you understand why I am here. I
know,
you see, that this island conceals a dragon.”

“Why would you think that?” Hannah said, making her eyes wide and innocent.

Mr. King was not taken in.

“Because I saw it,” he snapped. “Flying at sunrise. A great golden beast with a blaze of sun behind it and a golden glitter on the water . . .”

“It sounds to me like a mirage,” Zachary said.

There was a tense pause.

“You three are very young,” Mr. King said in his earlier, more pleasant tone. “You have no conception of the implications. My research and that of Mr. Chang here”— he made a gesture toward the silent black-clad figure at his side —“indicate that there are indeed still such creatures left alive, miraculous beings from the ancient dawn of time, hidden in secluded spots about the globe, rarely showing themselves to humans. This is a fabulous discovery, with incalculable possibilities for wealth, fame . . .”

He bent down, resting his hands on his knees, and spoke directly to Sarah Emily. “Have you never had a beloved pet, my dear? A cat, perhaps, or a dog? And wasn’t it better cared for in your home than it would have been left to fend for itself in the wild? What could be wrong with taking this poor dumb animal out of its present uncomfortable habitat to a place of near-infinite luxury?”

“Fafnyr’s not poor and dumb!” Zachary shouted. “He can talk! And he’s good and wise!”

“Well, well,” Mr. King said, straightening up. “Since you know that this — did you call him Fafnyr? — can speak, then you most certainly must know where this Fafnyr
lives.
”

He made a quick gesture toward Mr. Chang. Together the two men lunged forward. J.P. King seized Zachary and Mr. Chang seized the two girls.

“There’s really no need for all this fuss,” Mr. King said testily, gripping Zachary’s arms. “Many animals speak, which deceives us into thinking they possess more intelligence than they actually do. Parrots, for example. Myna birds.”

“It’s not the same!” Hannah shouted.

“No, no,” said Mr. King, as Zachary started to squirm and struggle. “I really wouldn’t do that, young man. No harm will come to you or your lovely sisters provided you all do just exactly as I say. Once you have led me to this beast’s lair, you children will be free to go. For the moment, however, I fear you must consider yourselves to be my . . . guests.”

Zachary threw his sisters a despairing look.

“This won’t do you any good,” Hannah said angrily. “You’ll never get near him. He’s very large and fierce. And he can breathe fire.”

“He could turn you into a human torch,” Zachary said spitefully.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry about me,” said Mr. King, no longer sounding pleasant at all. He patted the leather bag at his side. “I have not come unprepared. I have in here a specially made dart gun, loaded with a penetrating capsule that contains a powerful sedative — enough to render an entire herd of African elephants safely unconscious. I am sure it will have a similar effect on your friend.”

“You can’t shoot Fafnyr with some horrible drug!” Sarah Emily cried.

Mr. King looked annoyed. “Oh, come, come,” he said testily. “I don’t plan to
hurt
the creature. The sedative will simply immobilize it until I can arrange proper transport.”

He nodded to Mr. Chang.

“The boy and I will lead the way,” he said briskly.

Then he turned to Zachary.

“Move along, young man,” he said sharply. “I haven’t got all day. Up this way, is it? Well, climb, young man, climb!”

They climbed.

Zachary and Mr. King were in the lead. Mr. Chang and the girls followed. But soon the two groups grew apart, as Zachary, prodded by Mr. King, moved on at an increasingly faster pace. Mr. Chang, on the other hand, was a reluctant walker. Once he paused to look for a stone in his shoe; then again he stopped to catch his breath. Gradually he, Hannah, and Sarah Emily fell farther and farther behind. Zachary and Mr. King had reached the massive heap of step-like gray rocks that formed the top of Drake’s Hill and had begun to scramble up.

“We’d better hurry,” Hannah said unhappily. “They’re getting way ahead of us.”

“That is best for the moment,” Mr. Chang said.

“Best for what?” Sarah Emily said, with a miserable catch in her voice.

“We need to talk for a bit, you and I,” Mr. Chang said softly.

He opened his hand and extended it toward the children, palm upward. There, in the very middle of his thin ivory-colored hand, gleamed a glittering fleck of gold.

“No, I do not know your Fafnyr,” Mr. Chang said. “I knew the dragon Angwyn.”