Bad News

by Pseudonymous Bosch

  “But you can’t train a dragon!” Clay blurted out, aghast.

  The words of the Occulta Draco replayed in his mind: Many are the falconers who have tried to train a dragon with hoods and ropes, as they train their birds.…

  Vicente cocked an eye at Clay. “Have a lot of experience with dragons, do you?”

  Clay paled, realizing his mistake. He could hear Brett’s and Leira’s sharp intakes of breath in his ear. “No, I just meant, uh, are you sure you can train a dragon the same way you train a falcon? Seems like they might not like it.”

  Vicente laughed. “Well, listen to him—the world’s first dragon-rights activist!”

  “Actually,” said Satya quietly, trying to defuse the tension, “the hoods keep them calm. And the jesses, well, they keep the dragons from flying away.”

  Vicente nodded, accepting his daughter’s intervention.

  “It’s feeding time, so the hoods come off now anyway,” said Vicente. “You can relax.”

  Relieved, Clay watched as Vicente inserted a pair of tongs through one of the cages and pulled the hood off the dragon inside. Blinking, it hissed and batted the tongs as Vicente removed them.

  “We call this guy Houdini,” said Vicente.

  “Because it tries to escape?” Clay guessed.

  Satya nodded. “The other one’s Bodhi, because it’s more mellow.”

  She opened a plastic cooler. Inside were bright red cubes of steak, bloody and uncooked.

  Dr. Paru crossed her arms and nodded at Clay. “Would you like to feed it?”

  Clay blinked. “Um—sure?” He picked up a cube of meat and walked toward Houdini’s cage.

  The dragon inside was black, or maybe dark blue, with yellow eyes and a mane of fine black spikes like a natural Mohawk. It sniffed the air for a second and then flew to the bars, wings flapping against the cage door. Clay noticed that one of the wings had torn and was only partly healed.

  Houdini’s mouth opened and Clay flinched, expecting the dragon to spit fire. To his surprise, it crowed and cawed, but no flames came out. Clay took another step toward the cage and then felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t get much closer,” said Vicente. “He might be little, but he’s got a mean bite.” He motioned that Clay should toss the steak between the bars of the cage.

  Leaning away from the flapping dragon, Clay threw the meat inside. The dragon snatched it in midair, and made a mess of chowing down. Not a very appetizing sight.

  “Your dragons eat well,” Mr. Wandsworth observed. “Is it always filet mignon for them?”

  “No, usually their meals are…” Dr. Paru trailed off.

  “Still kicking,” Vicente said with a grin.

  As Vicente removed the hood from the head of the dragon they called Bodhi, Satya offered Charles the open cooler of meat. “Sir?”

  Charles eyed the dragon warily. “Should I be worried that it will singe my hair?”

  “Actually, the fire-breathing is just a myth,” Dr. Paru said. “We think the idea comes from the fact that dragons have a large amount of methane in their breath. If a dragon exhales near an open flame, then, yes, there is fire, but they don’t actually breathe it.”

  Vicente snickered. “It’s like how you don’t actually fart fire when they put a match to your butt.”

  “Funny, I’ve never done that,” Charles said. “Is that a habit of yours?”

  Vicente looked as though he wanted to slug Charles, but he turned to the dragon instead. “I’ll just feed this one myself.”

  Clay was confused: He had seen Ariella breathe fire several times, in the volcano and on the cruise ship. Could there have been an open flame nearby each time—close enough to ignite the dragon’s breath? Unlikely, but maybe…

  He looked at Houdini. The dragon’s yellow eyes looked back at him.

  “You can hold it now if you like,” said Dr. Paru.

  “Uh…” Clay hesitated. The coppery smell of blood was still fresh in the air.

  “It’s okay. They’re gentler after they’ve been fed, aren’t they, Vicente?”

  He nodded curtly. “Satya, give the boy your glove.”

  “Sure.” Satya handed Clay her big leather falconer’s glove. “Don’t worry, Houdini’s super gentle,” she said as he put it on. “Like a kitten. Except, you know, for the biting-your-hand-off part.”

  Smiling to herself, she stood with Clay next to the cage door and unlocked it. “Just hold out your wrist and wait.”

  The dragon blinked up as Clay reached into the cage and waited for it to climb on.

  “Here, this ought to do the trick,” said Satya, putting a cube of steak on Clay’s glove-covered wrist.

  Houdini immediately lunged for the steak, but Clay moved his wrist away fast enough that the dragon had to hop onto his arm in order to eat. Clay was surprised by how light the dragon felt, and at the same time how fiercely it dug in its claws. He was glad to be wearing the glove.

  As the dragon attacked the meat, Clay concentrated on trying to communicate with it. “How’s it going, little buddy?” he whispered. He didn’t want to give himself away, but he wanted to know whether he was going to be able to talk to the new dragons at the Keep.

  The little dragon tilted its head at him but didn’t respond.

  Clay tried again. “What happened to your wing?”

  The dragon opened its mouth, and Clay flinched, but there were no flames, just as Dr. Paru had promised; the dragon was only yawning, something we’re all prone to doing after a good meal.

  Disheartened, Clay wondered why he couldn’t reach Houdini the way he could Ariella. Then again, this dragon was so young. Human babies couldn’t talk until they were—what?—two years old, he reasoned. Maybe the same thing was true for dragons.

  Carefully, he set the dragon back down in its cage.

  “You look pretty comfortable with that thing,” said Satya, who’d been watching over Clay’s shoulder.

  “Huh?” Clay asked, shutting the cage door. “What do you mean?”

  His mind was racing. What was wrong with him? He kept forgetting where he was.

  “Did your daddy buy you a pet dragon when you were little?” Satya asked, taking her glove back from him.

  “What? No!” Clay said, a bit too forcefully. “This is the first dragon I’ve ever seen, I swear.”

  Satya looked at him like he was losing his mind. “You realize I was kidding?”

  “Oh, right,” said Clay, his face burning.

  “I mean, do you know any pet stores that sell baby dragons?”

  “Actually, I had a pet Komodo dragon,” Clay said as they started walking out.

  “Really?”

  “No.” Clay smiled to himself. “But admit it—I got you, Falcon Girl.”

  “Oh boy,” Brett said in his ear. “He likes her!”

  “Clay!” said Leira. “You’re not there to flirt! You’ve got to find Cass!”

  Satya tilted her head, just like the little dragon had done. “Why are you blushing?” she asked, which only made his cheeks flame more.

  Man, thought Clay, I am going to have to think of some seriously epic pranks to pull on those guys when I get back to Earth Ranch.

  If I get back to Earth Ranch…

  Something disturbing had just occurred to him:

  If the Midnight Sun made their dragons from old dragon DNA, then they had no need for a living dragon. No need for Ariella.

  He dawdled with Satya as the others gathered around the Land Rovers. “Hey, I was just wondering,” he said, as if the idea had just popped into his head. “The dragons at the Keep—are they all clones?”

  Satya looked at him like he was nuts again. “Yeah. How else are you going to make a dragon?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I just thought they might have found some old dragon somewhere.…”

  Clay turned away so she couldn’t see his face and then headed quickly toward a waiting Land Rover.

  Many thoughts and feelings swirled in Clay�
�s head, but one thing was clear: Ariella was not at the Keep.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  THE VIEW FROM THE HELICOPTER

  As he looked out from the backseat of the Land Rover, Clay’s thoughts twisted and turned along with the road.

  He told himself he should be happy that Ariella was free, not a captive of the Midnight Sun. And part of him was happy. Really. But a bigger part of him wasn’t. Because it meant facing the truth: Ariella could have come back. Ariella really had abandoned him.

  And then, of course, with Ariella out of the picture, he had no way to get out of the Keep. His only hope was Owen. If the eruptions on Price Island had subsided, Clay’s “father” would be free to come back to the Keep as expected. Then they could escape together, hopefully with Cass in tow. But if Owen was still busy evacuating campers…

  Clay nervously touched his ski cap, then removed his finger as if the hat were burning hot. Not yet! he told himself. He was desperate to contact his friends at Earth Ranch, but he couldn’t risk speaking to them in front of the others. He would have to wait until he was alone.

  Clay noticed that Gyorg, who was driving Ms. Mauvais and the Wandsworths in the vehicle ahead, had turned back in the direction of the castle; Vicente, who was driving Clay, Satya, and Charles, seemed to be going in another direction altogether.

  “Why aren’t we going back with them?” he asked Satya, who had become noticeably nicer since she saw Clay interact with the little dragon.

  She looked back at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a fear of heights, too?”

  Clay shook his head nervously, uncertain what she meant. In fact, he did have a slight fear of heights (it was a family trait), not that he would have dreamed of admitting it.

  Soon they pulled into another clearing, where he saw two cement circles dotted with lights and bright markings. On top of one sat a black helicopter. Clay stared anxiously at the massive weapons attached to the helicopter’s sides. Were they there to subdue dragons or to eradicate enemy spies? Either way, he didn’t like it.

  A moment later, he was being strapped into a black leather seat.

  Clay’s stomach did somersaults as the helicopter lurched into the air, swaying with the wind as it gained altitude. But among his many skills, Vicente was a crack pilot, and they quickly cleared the jungle canopy. Soon Clay was pressing his nose against the glass to take in the view of the crater.

  In one direction he could make out the castle and the tents and some sort of farm or barnyard full of livestock in the distance. In the other direction was the laboratory complex. Beyond the laboratory, standing alone, was a structure that looked something like a lifeguard station, or a guard tower in a prison yard, only much taller.

  Could that tower be Cass’s prison? It was definitely isolated enough. He would have to investigate later.

  All other thoughts were washed away when Vicente took a sharp right turn and the glistening hourglass-shaped lake came into view directly beneath them. The lake was surrounded on all sides by a ring of boulders that looked like a necklace of giant misshapen teeth.

  “Okay, keep your eyes open now,” said Vicente.

  He dropped the helicopter just low enough that the surface of the lake started to ripple. But it wasn’t the lake that caused Clay to hold his breath; it was the two shadows passing over it.

  One was unmistakably a helicopter—their helicopter. The other could have been an airplane, except that the wings were flapping and the tail was swinging. From the angle of the sun, it appeared to be right above them. Clay craned his neck but didn’t see anything.

  Until suddenly—

  The dark, scaly underside of a dragon passed over the helicopter’s cockpit. Then, with a swing of its tail, which came within inches of the windshield, the dragon dove to the lake.

  As his passengers gasped, Vicente snickered. “Oh, Bluebeard’s just trying to give us a scare. Doesn’t like visitors. That dragon knows he can’t hurt us or he gets this—”

  Vicente held up what looked like a television remote control. “See that steel collar Bluebeard’s wearing? If I don’t like something the dragon’s doing, I just press this button. Gives a ten-thousand-watt jolt to the neck.”

  Clay shuddered. The collar wasn’t so surprising, perhaps, but it went against everything he knew and believed about the majesty of dragons.

  Bluebeard skimmed the lake’s surface with a claw, then landed on a broad boulder. The blue-black dragon’s jagged jowls did look somewhat like a pirate’s beard, Clay thought.

  “Bluebeard’s a wily one, though,” said Vicente. “The smartest and meanest of the bunch.”

  Not far from Bluebeard, sunning themselves on the rocks like the pet Komodo dragon Clay had never actually had, were two other very different but equally magnificent and equally terrifying creatures. Like Bluebeard, they wore gleaming steel collars around their necks.

  “Hard to believe that just a few months ago they were stuck in those little cages, being fed cubes of steak, eh?” said Vicente.

  It did stretch the imagination, Clay had to admit. It was hard to tell at this distance, but Clay thought that at least one of the dragons might be bigger than Ariella.

  “The biggest one, that’s Rover,” Vicente said. “Rover’s the dumbest—and clumsiest. That dragon’ll kill you even if he’s not trying to. Stay clear.”

  If Bluebeard was a velociraptor, Rover was a T. rex. Big and gray and ready to topple a mountain.

  As they watched, Rover rose up on huge hind legs and then belly flopped into the lake below, making a splash the size of a tidal wave.

  “And down at the south end of the lake, sleeping as usual, that one is Snowflake.”

  Clay was about to ask about the name, when the smaller, bright green dragon turned its head. Right above its snout was a white snowflake-like spot.

  “Don’t be fooled by how relaxed they look,” Vicente said. “I chose this time on purpose because the sun is high and it makes them lazy.”

  As he spoke, Snowflake batted something away from its eyes, rolled onto its back, stretched, then went back to sleep.

  “These dragons may be born in a lab, but they’re wild animals all the same,” said Vicente. “They’re mean and unpredictable, and they’ll pounce on you in a second if you’re not careful.”

  “Perhaps they are so wild because they have no adult dragons around to model proper dragon behavior,” Charles suggested mildly.

  Vicente looked over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. They know who’s boss.” He pointed to himself.

  “You believe yourself to be the alpha, do you?” Charles said.

  “I know I’m the alpha,” Vicente corrected. “That’s part of it. You have to be one hundred percent confident.”

  “But how can you be so sure dragons have alphas?” Charles persisted. “In legend, dragons are a rather independent species.”

  “They are independent,” Clay said. “Very.”

  Charles, Satya, and Vicente all turned to look at him. Clay felt the blood rushing to his head; he’d done it again.

  Vicente raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know that, kid? From The Hobbit?”

  “Don’t tease him, Dad,” said Satya. “You’ve never even read The Hobbit.”

  “Touché,” said Charles, amused.

  “The point is, there are alphas in every species,” Vicente said, glaring at his daughter. “Ours included.”

  Clay decided it was best to change the subject. “What are those poles?” he asked, pointing to a line of white poles stuck into the ground. There was a blinking light at the top of each one.

  “They mark the perimeter of the dome,” said Vicente.

  He explained that around and above the dragons’ habitat, there was an invisible perimeter—a “dome”—made of electric currents. The dome signaled the collars to shock the dragons whenever they got too close.

  “So this dome, if it were to be turned off… the dragons could fly anywhere they liked?” Charles pee
red at the sky around them as if he thought the dome itself might be visible.

  “And attack anyone they like, that’s right,” said Vicente. “Especially since the dome is connected to this.” He held up his remote again. “If the dome turns off, the collars turn off.”

  “Sounds like we might want to keep the dome on, then,” said Charles with obvious understatement.

  Unless you wanted to fly away on the back of a dragon, thought Clay. In that case, you’d have to turn off the dome beforehand. Of course, you’d have to convince the dragon to let you climb onto its back first. And that would likely be much harder.

  The helicopter did a slow figure eight, looping back around the dragons, then gradually descended, getting even closer to the sunbathing beasts. By now two of the dragons—Bluebeard and Rover—had raised their heads to look at the helicopter through squinty eyes. Snowflake was still lying on the rock, like an overgrown cat lazing in the sun.

  Clay watched with anxious awe. Was this his new plan B, to fly out of the Keep on the back of one of these dragons? Or rather his plan C. Owen coming back was his plan B. (Ariella had been plan A.) Still, it couldn’t hurt to think of options. He might very well need to leave before Owen could come get him.

  Would he be able to befriend one of the Keep’s dragons—ally with one of them, as the Occulta Draco put it? He hadn’t been able to communicate with the baby dragons in the nursery, but these dragons were fully grown, or close to it; hopefully, their language skills were more advanced.

  He stared out the window, trying to discern whether the dragons were communicating with one another.

  As the helicopter drew closer, he started sensing something coming from them. Not words or thoughts. It was more of a feeling than anything else.

  A strong feeling.

  It was rage.

  Suddenly, Bluebeard reared back and spread a pair of enormous blue-black wings. Clay flinched.

  Roarrrrrrrrr!

  Vicente pulled up sharply but then hovered not too far away.

  The dragon stared at them, looking as though it wanted to rip the helicopter to shreds.