Raising Dragons

by Bryan Davis

  He looked once again at the streaks of blood the investigators had exposed and pictured what might have happened. He imagined where arms or legs might have smeared this line or that line on the cabin floor and out into the leaves. He saw his father’s limp frame stretched out, pale and cold along the horrible path. He cringed, and his whole body shivered at the thought.

  Dragged off by some slobbering old bear? He shook his head to sling the image away, but it bounced right back. He pictured a massive, drooling beast crouching in a cave and crunching on his father’s bones. Suddenly a wave of nausea swept over him, and he bent over to heave out all the hot cocoa he had drunk earlier.

  His mother limped to his side and patted him on the back while wiping his face with a tissue. “Let’s get you back to the camp,” she said softly.

  Billy looked up at her caring face through his tear-filled eyes. “Mom, if Dad’s really still alive, he has to be around here somewhere. I can’t give up. I want to go out with the new dogs when they get here.”

  “He’s already here,” his mother replied.

  “He? Only one dog?”

  A gruff voice with a heavy Appalachian accent made Billy turn his head. “Iffin ol’ Hambone caint find him, ain’t no dog in the world that kin.”

  A thin-faced man slouched next to the plane. Through the man’s open coat, Billy saw a flannel shirt, much of the shirt’s tail sticking out of his two-sizes-too-big overalls. In his long, skinny fingers he held a wide leather strap, and on the other end sat an elderly hound. The dog, a bluetick, Billy thought, seemed sleepy but not disagreeable.

  The man tipped his greasy baseball cap. “Arlo Hatfield’s the name. Ol’ Hambone don’t like to go out in the cold, but it don’t take ’im long to find a soul.”

  Billy stood up and wiped his eyes and nose with his gloves. He stepped cautiously over to the hound, took off a glove, and put out his hand. The dog sniffed it from thumb to pinky. The thin man laughed with a bellow. “Haw! Now iffin you was ever to git lost, ol’ Hambone’d find you! That’s fer shur!”

  Billy pulled off his other glove and stooped, petting the dog’s head lovingly with both hands. Hambone’s face perked up. His tongue dangled, dripping through his puffy panting, and his tail jerked back and forth like a high-speed metronome.

  Billy leaned over and whispered in the dog’s ear. “Hambone, you’ll find my dad, won’t you?” He looked up at his mother, pouring on as much pitiable sadness as he could muster. “Can I go with him, Mom?”

  “Billy, you were throwing up just a minute ago, and you were running soaking wet through the mountains most of the night!”

  “I know, but maybe I can help.”

  The mountain man spat out a stream of brown juice. “Nope! Hambone and me, we works alone. You’d just be a distraction. We been huntin’ Otter Crick fer years, so we don’t need no help.”

  “You heard him, honey. I think we should both go back to the camp and get some rest. We’re just walking in circles here. This man and his dog know the area, and they don’t want us getting in the way.”

  A loud voice rang out in the distance. “All ashore that’s going ashore!” The helicopter’s pilot was calling from a clearing. He had just delivered the mountain man and his dog and was ready to go back to base.

  Billy’s mother took a step toward the voice, partially turning her body to leave, but she kept her eyes trained on Billy. He gave a reluctant nod and grunted as he rose to his feet, petting Hambone one more time before walking away. “We’re coming!” he called back.

  Billy put on his gloves and picked up the Bible again, but finding it soiled from his spell of nausea, he tossed it back into the pile of debris. The two made their way toward the makeshift chopper pad, and Billy kept moving his eyes and head in all directions, trying to get some clue, some sign that might help him find his father.

  At the same time, nagging doubts thrust their way into his mind. How could he be alive? He was shot through the heart, the plane crashed, and there’s all that blood. Who could survive that? He had to keep prying his mother for the truth.

  “Mom, do you really still believe Dad’s alive?”

  She paused, and every second Billy had to wait for an answer buried him in more doubts. Finally she said, “I have to believe in him, Billy. He said he wouldn’t die, and he’s never lied to me before.”

  “But why should I believe in him?” he asked, nearly shouting now. “Up until a couple of days ago, my whole life’s been a lie!”

  “A lie? What do you mean?”

  “Never mind.” He felt childish after that outburst, especially when Bonnie suddenly came to mind. He knew his own troubles were nothing compared to hers. Still, doubts remained. Even if his father walked right down that mountainside, Billy wondered if he had it in his heart to forgive him. Yet, he knew he still loved his dad. How could he just forget all those years of good times?

  A spirit of betrayal stalked his mind. No real father would keep a secret like that, would he? Billy saw a small piece of Merlin’s fuselage and kicked it, making it slide across the snow. He felt like his heart was being torn in two.

  As they walked, a shadow passed over them, and Billy jerked his head up to look. A huge vulture circled low, his V-shaped wingspan casting a black stripe on the treetops. Did the bird know something the rescuers didn’t know, or did it just smell blood? The thought of gluttonous scavengers made Billy shudder again, and he folded in his coat and kept his eyes on the ground the rest of the way to the helicopter.

  Chapter 15

  THE RING AND THE STONE

  As soon as Billy stepped out of the pickup truck that ferried them back from the helicopter pad, he scanned the rescue staging area to find Bonnie. He picked up his pace and strode up to her, trying to mask his inner turmoil.

  “No good news, huh?” Bonnie asked, speaking softly to keep their conversation private.

  “You could tell?” he whispered in return.

  Bonnie just nodded, her own face telling a sad story. Although she had managed to sit erect on a lawn chair, her right leg, wrapped ankle to thigh in Ace bandages, was propped on an ice chest, a huge lump bulging over her knee.

  The rest of the faces in the huddled group reflected Billy’s gloom—Walter, his father, Mr. Hamilton, and Officer Caruthers all frowning in varying degrees.

  Billy’s mother caught up and joined the group. Her shoulders sagged, and dried tear tracks smudged both cheeks. She looked like she could use a three-day nap.

  Mr. Hamilton gave them a weary saluting gesture. “Hello, William, Mrs. Bannister. From your expressions, I take it you bear ill tidings?”

  William? Billy thought. Why is it William all of a sudden? “Well, no good news. We haven’t found my dad yet.” He looked around at the glum faces again. “What’s everyone so upset down here for? At least everyone else is safe, and we’re all together.”

  Walter spoke up. “Devin’s gone.”

  “Gone? I thought you said you really decked him!”

  “I did. We found the place, and there was lots of blood where I bashed him, and then a trail of blood with footprints. But all of a sudden, the trail ended.”

  Billy had tried to keep up a good humor, but the whole world seemed to turn gray and cold. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath. “Let’s just hope old Hambone finds my dad.”

  “Old who?” Walter asked.

  Billy waved him off. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Officer Caruthers slapped his thigh and laughed. “Old Hambone is the best hound in the state. It took us a while to convince that hillbil—uh, his handler—to bring him up, especially since it’s so cold. I’m sure they’ll find your father. Old Hambone’s never failed, and the colder it is, the faster he finds his man. He hates the cold.”

  Billy stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and bounced lightly up and down on his toes. “Brrr! Then we oughtta hear from them real soon.”

  As evening fell, and more frigid air descended,
the volunteers dispersed, giving way to professional search crews and their fresh teams of dogs. Billy wanted to stay and find out if Hambone had found anything and why other dogs were coming in, but the searchers persuaded him and his mother to go home and rest. They had to allow the bloodhounds to search that night, and perhaps the next day, without interference. They reluctantly obliged, their weariness overtaking their will to go on.

  A rescue volunteer offered to drive them back to Castlewood in his recreational vehicle, promising a ride of comfort with beds and blankets. Billy, his mother, and Bonnie took him up on his offer. Mr. Foley told them to go straight to his house. Mrs. Foley would have hot food and steaming drinks waiting for them, along with a place to sleep for as long as they wanted.

  Walter stayed with his father and Mr. Hamilton. He offered to help them clean up the rescue staging site to get his mind off the tragedy. With hopes of finding Jared Bannister fading, the number of volunteers dwindled, leaving only a few to do the dirty work.

  After a couple of hours of cleanup duty, Mr. Hamilton asked Walter’s father to accompany him on his walk toward his station wagon. He had parked well down the road due to the large number of cars that had packed the narrow throughway. Walter stuffed the last of the food wrappers and used coffee filters into a garbage can and then followed his father and the professor, wrapping his arms around his coat to battle the freezing temperature. The crisp, cold air made it easy to hear their conversation, even from a dozen or so paces behind.

  “Professor,” Walter’s father began, “thank you for all your help and your interest in Walter and Billy.”

  The professor walked quickly, forcing Walter and his father to step up their pace. “That’s quite all right, Carl. They’re fine young men.”

  “Yes, I know.” Walter’s dad puffed as he pumped his long legs. “I was wondering, though, how much do they really know about you? Do they realize that you’re—”

  “No!” The professor slowed down as they descended the last slope, which led to a wider section of road where he had parked. Walter lagged farther behind, wondering if they knew he was listening. He leaned over and tied his shoe but kept his ears trained on the conversation.

  The professor stopped and faced Walter’s father. The teacher’s voice lowered, but Walter could still make out the words. “When we visit that issue we tread dangerous ground. It would not help matters if they knew about the Circle, or about my role in it.”

  “Matters? What matters are you talking about?”

  The professor’s eyes gave away deep concern and more than a little love. “That’s what I wish to discuss. With this mad Sir Devin still about, William and Miss Silver will not be able to attend school safely any longer.”

  “Yes. I was wondering about that. Go on.”

  “And William’s mother will have neither the time to teach nor the money to hire a tutor. Surely Miss Silver’s foster home is no better equipped.”

  “I agree. Exactly what are you trying to say, Professor?”

  The professor took a deep breath and exhaled in a cloudy white stream. “Carl, do you remember me mentioning something called ‘The New Table’ back during your Oxford days?”

  “It rings a bell. Wasn’t that the weird group that thought they were Arthur’s knights or something?”

  The professor sighed. “More than a weird group, I’m afraid. They’re a secret society, powerful and cultic, and they believe they’re the rightful authority in England, the true Round Table of Arthur, or some such nonsense.”

  “Okay. But what do they have to do with Billy and Bonnie?”

  “I can only tell you that the society seeks to kill them both. Their conspiracy has branches all over the world now, so protecting the children will require my personal attention.”

  “Your attention? What are you talking about?”

  “I have a proposal to make to you, but if you agree, you must continue to keep what you know about me and my mission a secret. You may, of course, relate to anyone my official capacity at Oxford. There is no need, however, to arouse fears in William and Bonnie, or in Walter for that matter, by reporting my unofficial business. I will reveal what I know over time.”

  Walter’s father nodded. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  The professor glanced back at Walter and lowered his voice further. Walter could see their conversation in the spurts of white leaving their mouths, but the sound died away. He knew they were leaving him out on purpose, so he walked back toward the camp to find his dad’s car. With every step he wondered about “The New Table” and Arthur’s knights. What could it all mean?

  The night grew suddenly darker and colder, and Walter hurried his pace. When he reached his dad’s car he threw open the door and jumped inside. He bundled his coat together and shivered hard.

  Billy sat with Walter at the kitchen’s breakfast table. Mrs. Foley had set a fabulous morning meal before them—pancakes with butter and warm syrup, a big slab of ham, steaming hot hash browns covered with a fried egg, a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a fat blueberry muffin, split from the top with melted butter dripping down the sides. Billy just stared at it, poking at the egg with his fork. He popped the yolk and stirred it into the potatoes.

  Walter munched on a huge mouthful of potatoes and swallowed, chasing it with a gulp of juice. “Just because Hambone couldn’t find your dad, it doesn’t mean he’s dead. It just means the old dog ain’t what he used to be. At least he didn’t find a body.”

  Billy took one bite of egg and chewed it halfheartedly. “We know something’s up there. Hambone wouldn’t have gone crazy barking at a cave if nothing was around it. We heard that Arlo tripped and broke his foot. Maybe they would’ve found something if he hadn’t gotten hurt.”

  Billy dropped his fork on the plate and rested his cheek in his propped up hand, gazing around the large eat-in kitchen and out into the family room of Walter’s house. “I’m glad you have such a big place.”

  Walter pointed at Billy’s breakfast. “You gonna eat that?”

  Billy shoved his plate toward Walter, who grinned at the sight of another whole meal coming his way. “Ever since my sister moved out,” Walter said while chewing, “we’ve had her room open, and we have the guest room, too. We’ve got lots of space.”

  “Yeah, it’s a nice house and all, and it’s a great place to sleep, but I can’t believe Mom’s making us just sit here when we should be up at that cave searching.”

  Billy’s mother walked gingerly up to the table. She looked refreshed and clean and smelled like she had just come out of the shower, but her limp proved that her ankle still bothered her. “You know why, young man.”

  “I know. I know. Bloodhounds work better when other people aren’t there stinking up the place. But what if Dad’s on his way home? What if he’s hitchhiking back? He won’t even know where to go!”

  “Billy,” his mother warned, “now you’re getting irrational.”

  Billy sat up straight in his chair, wide-eyed, and he sputtered his words. “Irrational? Has anything rational happened the last few days? People setting our house on fire, a school principal with a sword chasing us through the mountains, bodies vanishing at the end of bloody trails, dogs that can’t track anymore, and now we can’t even go to school, because . . .” He wiggled his fingers creepily and imitated a deep radio announcer’s voice, “Who knows where the mad Sir Devin lurks?”

  Billy looked into his mother’s sad eyes and felt bad about his outburst. He clasped her hand tightly. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m really out of it today.” The entire kitchen area fell silent for a moment, and an overall gloom took control.

  Walter leaned back and put his hand on his stomach. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Mom and Dad decided it was okay for me to homeschool with you.”

  “Yeah? That’s pretty cool.” Billy looked over at his mother. “So have you decided if you’re going to be our teacher?”

  She lowered her head and shook it slowly. “I don’t se
e how I can. Since we don’t know when your dad’s coming back, I have to run the business by myself. Until the insurance company pays for the house, we’re going to need the money, and the other pilots are counting on me.”

  “Well, if you can’t stay home, then who’s going to teach us?”

  She looked at her watch and then at the front door. “I hope you’ll find out very soon.”

  Billy followed his mother’s eyes to the door, and he sighed. “You went out and hired a tutor?” He covered his face with his hands and moaned. “Oh, no! Some spinster lady who can’t keep a regular job! What else did you do to me yesterday when I wasn’t looking?”

  She ignored Billy’s grousing. “Well, I had a long talk with Walter’s folks, and then Walter’s mom and I went shopping with Bonnie while you were napping. Since all our clothes burned in the fire, I had to get at least a few things. You can wear Walter’s clothes, but his mother and I aren’t the same size.”

  Billy felt a sudden burst of energy, but he kept his voice under control. “You went with Bonnie? How is she doing?”

  “Fine. She was feeling a lot better yesterday, except for the knee, of course. The store had a wheelchair for her, and my ankle wasn’t bothering me much, so we got around just fine.”

  “What did the doctor say? If I know Bonnie, she wouldn’t let anyone examine her.”

  “Well, she let the ER physician look at her knee. He said there might be some permanent damage, but since she doesn’t want to get an MRI, we’ll just wait to see if it starts healing on its own. For now, she’s crutching around.”

  “Who’s watching her? I mean, if Devin knows where she lives, won’t he try to come after her? Since she’s crippled, she won’t be able to . . . you know . . . get away.”

  “Don’t worry. The house is under twenty-four-hour surveillance. The police are hoping he does come by so they can grab him.”