"Scrambled. It's scrambled eggs, not strangled. And yuck."
Aunt Phil reached the egg and knelt down to examine it. "Come here, Nate. This is an excellent opportunity for you to see an egg up close."
As he drew next to her, he saw that the egg was covered
in a soft sheen of colors that changed slightly whenever he moved his head. "Touch it," Aunt Phil instructed.
He glanced over his shoulder to see if Nerys was watching. She was tending to the babies, so he reached out and laid one finger on the egg. It was warm and smooth. He started to pull his hand away, but Aunt Phil stopped him. "Now tap it with your fingernail. But no more than a tap—we don't want to risk cracking it before it's ready."
"Why not?"
"Well, there are two reasons. One, the hatchling won't be strong enough to survive if he doesn't build his muscles while struggling to get out. And two, we don't want it imprinting on us. Whoever the hatchling sees first becomes its parent. That happened to Morris Fludd, back in 1716. He ended up having to move into the caves with the wyverns and spent the rest of his life in here with them. Luckily, he was a dedicated beastologist, so he didn't mind. Much."
Nate did as she instructed, giving three little taps with his finger. It made a faint clack, clack, clack sound.
"When you hear that sound, you know the shell has fully hardened and is ready to hatch. But for some reason, this one hasn't."
"How long does it take a wyvern egg to hatch?" Nate asked.
"There are many factors involved: The temperature, for one. What its mother ate before laying it, her age and overall health. The weather also plays a large role. Eggs take longer to hatch in wet, rainy years than they do in dry ones.
"And of course, it also depends on the dragonling inside the egg. How big he is, how strong, how aggressive. Truthfully, there are dozens of factors, which is why it can take anywhere from twelve to fourteen months. However, every once in a while there is a dud. I suspect this egg has begun to harden simply because it is drying out, not because it is getting ready to hatch."
"That's sad," Nate said.
"Yes, it is. And with so few of them left, every wyvern is precious to us. But sometimes these things can't be helped."
"What happens to the egg if it doesn't hatch?"
"The insides harden and turn to crystal, and the outsides become more and more rocklike. When the parents are certain the egg won't hatch, they take the dud to a pit a short ways away. Many people collect them. Having no idea what they truly are, they call them geodes."
Nate studied the egg, marveling at the satiny smooth feel of it. It seemed hardly fair to dump it into a pit just because it was slow to hatch. He'd been slow to hatch, too. His parents had completely given up on his Fludd skills. It was only because Aunt Phil believed in him that he'd been given a second chance. "No," he said, surprising both himself and Aunt Phil. Maybe this egg needed a second chance, too. "Let's give it a little longer."
"Nate," Aunt Phil said gently. "Sometimes eggs won't hatch no matter how long we give them."
"Still," he said stubbornly. "What can it hurt?"
She studied his face, and he knew she was thinking of his parents. "Very well. We'll give it a few more hours." She turned and left the hatchery. Feeling better, Nate gave the egg one last pat, then followed his aunt back into the main cavern.
"Nerys," Aunt Phil called up to the adult wyvern. "We've decided it is probably a dud, but it won't hurt to give it a bit longer."
The great wyvern nodded her head, then launched herself up to the opening.
"Now," Aunt Phil said, all brisk business, "we've got to locate that intruder before he gets a chance to make any mischief. Hang on while I consult the cavern map to see which route will allow us to intercept him." She swung her pack off her back, muttering something about inconvenience, then drew The Book of Beasts from it. As she studied the map, Nate pulled his sketchbook out, perched himself on a small rock, and began to draw the baby wyverns.
The yearlings were rolling and tumbling in a pile. They were about the size of the crocodiles they'd run into at the Niger River, but they were cuter somehow. Their skin was much smoother and iridescent. Their eyes were big and weren't roiling and boiling like the adults' or juvies'. As Nate looked into their faces, he saw that the babies were happy and fed and curious about him.
"Okay, Nate. I've got it," Aunt Phil said, swinging the pack back up onto her shoulders. "Let's move out."
Nate hastily put his sketchbook away.
"This is the tunnel we need," she said, then headed off into the looming darkness.
Chapter Twelve
THEY HEARD OBEDIAH before they saw him. He was huffing and puffing his way down the corridor, grumbling under his breath. "Why do wyverns need so many tunnels anyway? Why not a nice big cage so I wouldn't have to go hunting around for them? When I'm in charge, that's what it'll be. A cage, so I don't have to search for the blighters—oof."
Aunt Phil stepped from her hiding place so suddenly that Obediah plowed right into her. Knocked off balance, he fell to the ground. "Greetings, cousin," she said coolly.
Obediah blinked owlishly in the light from her helmet. He put his hand up to shield his eyes. "Philomena? Is that you? What are you doing here?"
"Funny," Aunt Phil said. "I should be asking you that question."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what are you up to? First you try to steal The Book of Beasts, then you let loose one of the deadliest beasts known to man, and then you break into my house and search it. Why?"
"What makes you think I was in Africa? Or broke into your house, for that matter?" he asked, his voice squeaking a bit.
"You match the description given. And now we find you skulking around in the wyverns' caves causing an uproar."
He rubbed his hands together nervously. "I just wanted to have a small peek at the dragons, that's all. Then I got lost. Didn't think I'd ever find my way out."
Aunt Phil folded her arms and studied him. "Is that so?"
He nodded his head. "Oh yes. It's all true. Every word."
"You wanted to see the wyverns immediately after visiting the basilisk?"
Obediah pushed to his feet. "Uh, well. It was a pilgrimage, you see. To get in touch with my Fludd heritage."
"But your branch of the family has shown no sign of interest in our doings for centuries."
"But that doesn't mean it's too late, does it?" He smiled, a fake, oily smile that Nate didn't like one bit. "You're not refusing a fellow Fludd a chance to come back into the fold, are you? There are so few of us left these days."
"If you are so anxious to reconcile, why did you ransack my house?"
Obediah licked his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm sure I've never been to your house before. Why, I don't even know where it is!"
Don't believe him, Nate thought. Don't believe him. Nate studied Aunt Phil's face, unable to tell what she was thinking.
Aunt Phil folded her arms and studied Obediah. "What I really want to know is how you were able to locate the beasts—"
Her question was interrupted by a loud roar. It sounded very close. "Oh dear. The juvies have finished their dinner. This is not the time or place to have this conversation, but we will have it. Soon. Once we're out of the caverns."
Nate wanted to scream, What about my parents?
"Of course, cousin," Obediah said. "I am most anxious to repair relations between the branches of our families. I'll be happy to answer any questions once you get us out of here safely. I find I'm not all that fond of enclosed spaces." Obediah gave another sickly smile.
As Aunt Phil began to lead the way, Obediah followed, with Nate bringing up the rear. Greasle wriggled up out of the pack. "I don't likes him," she whispered to Nate.
"I don't either," he whispered back. "And I don't believe a single word he says."
Chapter Thirteen
NATE COULDN'T TELL if Aunt Phil was buying Obediah's explanation or not, so he decid
ed to take matters into his own hands. He quickened his pace until he was walking beside Obediah. "So," Nate asked, watching the man closely, "how did you know where to find all the beasts? Aunt Phil says they're pretty hard to find."
Obediah stared down at him as if he were a wyvern dropping. "You heard the woman. She said we'll talk about it later."
"What's the matter, you big oaf?" Greasle piped up. "Can't you walk and talk at the same time?"
"Of course I can," Obediah snarled. Then he blinked and looked closer at Greasle. "You?" he asked, rubbing the bite marks on his hand.
"Yeah, me. And I knows when I taste a dirty rotten liar."
Obediah's eyes narrowed and he flexed his hand. Afraid he was going to hit Greasle, Nate scampered to catch up to Aunt Phil. He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward so that Obediah couldn't hear them. "He did something to my parents," he whispered.
"We don't know that for certain," Aunt Phil whispered back. "While he is a despicable person and up to no good, we can't accuse him of kidnapping and murder without any proof. You're letting your imagination run away with you."
Nate wanted to argue, but they reached the main cavern just then. Obediah stopped in his tracks. His eyes lit up and searched the cavern hungrily. "Is this where they keep the treasure?" he asked innocently.
Aunt Phil's eyes narrowed. "Was your pilgrimage for the wyverns or their treasure?" she asked.
"The wyverns. Of course." He licked his lips. "But even so, I imagine their treasure would be wondrous to behold."
"Well, you're out of luck, I'm afraid. It's kept in another part of the caverns. But here are those wyverns you were so anxious to see."
Obediah turned in the direction Aunt Phil was pointing, his eyes widening in alarm. Curious, the yearlings crept over to explore him.
Obediah backed up against the wall. One yearling drew closer, then flicked its skinny little tongue out to smell him better.
Obediah kicked it in the snout. The baby wyvern squealed, and Aunt Phil shouted, "NO!" She grabbed Obediah's arm and pulled him away. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Protecting myself," Obediah said defiantly.
"Against what? They're harmless. They've no venom—no wyverns have venom—and their fire-breathing skills haven't come in yet. They can't even take a bite out of you." Aunt Phil hurried over to the yearling's side and knelt beside it. "I'm sorry. That idiot man didn't mean to hurt you. He's just ignorant." After a moment, the yearling rubbed his head against Aunt Phil's shoulder and began to—
"Purr?" Obediah squawked. "Dragons purr?"
"Of course they purr," Aunt Phil snapped. "That's how they communicate pleasure. Now let's get going before you set human and wyvern relations back a thousand years."
"Before we go, can I check on the egg?" Nate asked.
"Yes, but quickly."
As Nate headed for the hatchery, Obediah fell into step behind him. "An egg?" he asked. "Is there really a dragon egg? Can I see it, too?" he asked.
"If you have to," Nate mumbled. Deciding it was best to ignore Obediah, Nate hurried over to the egg and knelt beside it. The pearly sheen hadn't changed any, nor were there any signs of a crack. He gently tapped the egg. Clack, clack, clack. Then he put his ear against it.
Thunk!
He gasped, his eyes widening in surprise. He gently tapped again. This time he distinctly heard a faint scratch. He turned to shout the news to Aunt Phil, then felt a hard tug on his pack that yanked him back onto his behind.
"I'll take that, if you please."
Nate blinked. Obediah had grabbed Nate's pick and now held it over the egg. Not only that, but his whole manner had changed. Gone was the bumbling fool and in his place was a sly, cunning, dangerous-looking man. He stood over Nate, gloating and triumphant.
"I've got a powerful urge to see just what's inside this egg. I think I'll..." He raised the pick, and Nate shouted, "NO!"
Obediah cocked his head to the side. "What? You don't want to see what's inside?"
Nate stared at him silently, unsure what to do.
"On your feet. We'll go tell your aunt there's been a change of plans, shall we? I'm not ready to leave."
Once Nate was standing, Obediah prodded him in the back with the pick. Nate marched forward. When they appeared in the main cavern, Aunt Phil stopped petting a baby wyvern and slowly got to her feet. "What's going on?"
"There's been a slight change of plans, I'm afraid. I'm not quite done here. I have a treasure to find and I'm not leaving until I do."
"Treasure?" Aunt Phil repeated. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. The wyverns' treasure is nothing but baubles and trinkets. There is nothing of any real value—"
"Quiet!" Obediah brandished the pick at Nate. "I wouldn't expect you to tell me where the good stuff is. But the time has come for our branch to have a piece of the spoils. Now come on over here and tie the boy up."
Her eyes on the sharp point of the pick, Aunt Phil came over to Nate's side.
"Go on, tie him up. Hands and feet."
"Sorry, Nate," Aunt Phil muttered. She took the rope from his pack and began tying his wrists.
Obediah watched them closely. "Don't try to fool me. I want good, tight knots."
Aunt Phil sighed and retied the knot. When Nate was secured, Obediah told Aunt Phil to take off her pack and lay it on the ground. Keeping his eyes on her the whole time, he snatched the rope from her pack and ordered her to turn around.
When she was trussed up like a Christmas goose, he cackled. "I don't think you'll be needing this any longer." He lifted her pack from the ground and waved it triumphantly before placing it on his own shoulders.
With horror, Nate thought of The Book of Beasts. And the
cavern map! Both were in Aunt Phil's pack. They'd never find their way out, even if they could get untied.
"Thanks for showing me the way to the main cavern. I might not ever have found it on my own." He turned and headed back to the tunnel they'd found him in. As he passed a dinner bell, he paused. He glanced over his shoulder at Nate and Aunt Phil, then reached up and rang the bell before disappearing down the tunnel.
Chapter Fourteen
THE MINUTE OBEDIAH was out of sight, Aunt Phil began struggling against her bonds.
"How long until the wyverns get here?" Nate asked, testing his knots. They held tight.
"A minute or two, depending on how far away they were to start with. Bother!" she said. "The man does know how to tie knots, even if he is a disgrace to the Fludd name."
Nate twisted his head, trying to see his backpack. "Greasle? Do you think you could help us out here?"
"Is that nasty man gones?" she asked from the safety of the pack.
"Yeah, he's gone."
"Okay, then." She scrambled out of the pack and scampered up onto his shoulder. "Whatcha need?"
"Could you untie us?"
She squinted down at the ropes on his wrists. "Did he do this to yous?"
"Yeah."
"Knew I didn't likes him," she said, then scampered down his arm—which tickled—and began undoing the knots with her small, nimble fingers.
"Thank you," Nate said, rubbing his wrists. "I'll take care of my feet while you untie Aunt Phil."
Greasle shook her head.
Nate frowned and nodded toward Aunt Phil. "Go on. She won't bite," he whispered.
Ears back in fear, Greasle approached Aunt Phil. Aunt Phil squatted down so that Greasle could reach her wrists and waited patiently. While the little gremlin untied the rope, Nate reached for the knots at his ankles. But his fingers were nowhere near as tiny or quick as the gremlin's. He let go of the rope and got his new pocketknife out. Very carefully, he inserted the tip of the knife between the rope and his ankles. Then he sliced it in one quick, clean cut. It fell to the ground just as Greasle finished untying Aunt Phil. His aunt stood up. "Thank you, Greasle. Very much."
The gremlin turned and gaped at Nate. That was the nicest thing Aunt Phil had ever said to her.
"Be
st put that knife away and get your pennies out. Here come the juvies, and they'll be expecting food," Aunt Phil warned.
Nate slipped his knife into one of his pockets, then reached for the pennies with the other hand. The cold, hard feel of them was comforting against his palm.
Grunts and squeaks and the sound of sharp talons clattering on rock echoed around them. The juvies burst into the main cavern, a whirling confusion of wings, tails, and snouts. Th young wyverns quickly caught Nate's and Aunt Phil's scents and turned in their direction.
"Into the pool, I think," Aunt Phil said. "Fishing the pennies out will keep them occupied just that much longer. One, two, three, now!"
Nate flung his pennies with all his might. The flashing copper shine of them caught the juvies' attention. Their gazes fastened on the treasure.
"Now," Aunt Phil whispered, "let's get out of here."
As they disappeared into the tunnel, Nate heard a splash as the first of the juvies hit the water.
Luckily, Obediah hadn't thought to take their lantern helmets. "How will we find our way out of here now that he has The Book of Beasts with the cavern map?" Nate asked.
Aunt Phil smiled and patted the front of her shirt. "Actually, I still have it. I slipped it into here because I got tired of having to stop and take it out of the pack every time I wanted to look at it. So Obediah doesn't have a map. Which will allow us to catch up to him before he reaches the treasury."
Nate fell into step behind Aunt Phil. Greasle climbed out to ride on his shoulder. "Okay, but why do we care if he gets to the treasure? Didn't you say it was just a bunch of shiny old junk anyway?"
"Mostly, although there are some truly valuable bits left over from centuries gone by. But that's not what I'm worried about. What Obediah doesn't know is that the treasury is in the wyverns' inner sanctum, their most holy of holies. It's where old wyverns go to die, their tired bones and joints comforted by the warmth thrown off by the shine of the treasure. Obediah is walking straight into Old Nudd, a truly ancient wyvern with a very sour disposition."
The Wyverns' Treasure Page 5