The Last Dragon Chronicles #5: Dark Fire

by Chris d'Lacey

  “Sleep well,” he said. “Early start, remember?”

  She gave an unappreciative grunt. Tam smiled, flicked the switch, and closed the door.

  On the landing, he paused a moment. The house was all but silent, its historic heart beating to the characteristic thrum of heated water traveling through tubes of metal. But as he turned toward his room, the ceiling above him suddenly creaked. A swift assessment of the architecture of the stairs told him that the sound must have come from the landing above. He climbed five stairs and looked up. A gray-haired lady in a dark green quilted gown met his gaze. Her nostrils flared. She clasped the gown tight at her neck.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Tam said. “I was …” Well, why not tell the truth? “… looking for a cat. You must be Ms. Gee?”

  The old woman’s mouth grew tight and wrinkled. Her top lip protruded over the bottom, making her look a little like a duck. “I was not aware there were any such animals in the house.” She propped a hand under her tightly-pinned hair, wound at her neck like a ball of wire wool. “Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to visit the bathroom — in private. I was woken rather suddenly by that awful girl’s shriek.”

  Tam nodded in apology. “Won’t happen again.” He lowered his weight onto the next stair down. “Bathroom?” he queried. “The rooms are all en suite, aren’t they?”

  “Not on this floor,” Ms. Gee said, in a voice that could have tarnished metal. She continued along the landing. And the only other thing Tam noticed about her was that she was barefoot.

  Had he crouched down and stayed in hiding, however, instead of going back to his bed, he would have been far more suspicious of the slipperless Ms. Gee and might have been tempted to knock down her door with all the strength of the ice bear, Kailar. She remained in the bathroom for less than a minute before shuffling back to her room, whereupon she began a strange, and apparently one-sided, conversation.

  “So, the girl is genuine. Interesting.”

  (pause)

  “What? What about the sculpture?”

  (pause)

  “Don’t be foolish. How could it be her familiar? It’s a poor imitation of a dragon, nothing more. Even so, it seems we are not alone. What do you make of her handsome guardian?”

  (pause)

  “He smells of bears? Have you lost your senses entirely?”

  (pause)

  “What? Are you certain? Where?”

  (pause)

  “Don’t tax my patience. I meant, where does he carry the mark?”

  (pause)

  “Then they are powerful, and we must act before they do. The girl cannot be allowed to imprint on the dragon.”

  (pause)

  “Impertinent creature! There is no such thing as a rightful ‘heir.’ And you will do my bidding or suffer!”

  (pause)

  “That’s better. Now, come here. Comfort me. Such excitement isn’t good for my heart — or yours.”

  (pause)

  “Be quiet. I’m not interested to know about the girl’s dreams. I don’t like ravens. Especially dead ones.”

  (pause)

  “I said, be quiet!”

  And there the “conversation” ended, but for a particular sound rising and falling through the silence.

  Purring.

  27 GWILLAN WAKES

  How is she?” David came into the bedroom and stood beside Zanna, who was staring down wistfully at Liz.

  A day and a half had passed since the accident and Liz was still stretched out asleep beneath the covers, her beautiful red hair splaying across the pillow like the roots of a small tree. Several dragons were in attendance, most notably Gretel, who had a tray of small dishes containing seeds and flower heads and strange-colored liquids laid out in the empty space at Liz’s side. On the bedside table next to her was Alexa’s white horse.

  “No change,” Zanna said, moving a strand of black hair off her brow. A hint of defeat had seeped into her voice. Dark rings were appearing under her eyes. “Gretel’s prepared some diagnostic potions from samples of Liz’s hair and saliva. The good news is there’s nothing to indicate distress in either mother or baby. No infection. No signs of abnormal development. The bad news is we can’t wake her. We’ve tried to stimulate her, but she’s just not responding. Her brain is very active, though. Look at her eyes.”

  David glanced down. Liz’s eyelids were fluttering rapidly. “Dreaming?”

  Zanna nodded. “She’s been channeling something ever since you brought her in. Arthur thinks she’s transmitting thought waves. Where to is anyone’s guess.”

  David moved around behind her and sat in the wicker chair vacated by Arthur. The professor, having spent the entire night there, had gone downstairs to telephone his office. “You need to rest, Zanna.”

  The young sibyl twisted her knees and let herself perch on the end of the bed. She laid a hand on the region of Liz’s ankles. “I’m worried that she might not break out of this, David. I’ve used every technique that Agatha taught me, but nothing’s working. The thought has crossed my mind that Gwilanna could have left a ‘thorn’ in Liz’s back when she was treating the obsidian. Some spell that only she could remove. She was pretty definite in the graveyard about the child not surviving without her.”

  David leaned forward, making the legs of the wicker chair creak. “Gwilanna’s an expert in double-talk. Don’t lose faith. Liz is strong — in body and in spirit. Let’s wait a while longer and see how she progresses.”

  Disbelief flickered across Zanna’s face. “David, she’s carrying the dark fire. Anything could be happening, to her or the child.”

  “I know,” he said, acknowledging her concern. “And I’ve been thinking about that.” He stared into the cradle of his hands for a moment, then stood up and turned toward the window. A still gray light had settled over the Crescent, a fine drizzle beading the leaves of the trees. It made him wonder about the conditions at Scuffenbury. “Don’t forget this is Gwillan’s tear. He’s part of Liz. Just like Gretel and the others. You said you’ve detected no trauma. So it’s possible Liz’s body is assimilating the threat. I’m wondering if she’s got some kind of immunity. For all we know, when Gwilanna cured Liz of the obsidian poison, far from damaging her, she might have actually strengthened Liz’s resistance. I say we wait and monitor her carefully.”

  Zanna bobbed her head as if she wasn’t quite sure. “OK, but I hope you’re right. I don’t trust that witch one bit.”

  “I’m always right,” he joked. He came over and cupped a warm hand around her arm, wishing so much that he could kiss her head. “You’re doing a fantastic job. I promise you, if you feel you can’t cope then —”

  He stopped speaking as Groyne materialized on the bed in front of them.

  “What is it?” David demanded. The shape-shifter’s tail was flipping like a rudder.

  Hrrr! went Groyne. It’s Gwillan, he said.

  The house dragon was moving.

  The dragons that had been in the bedroom with Liz reached the den first, so there was already a cluster of activity around Gwillan when David and Zanna hurried in. To their amazement, color had returned to the house dragon’s scales, and though his eyes were nothing like the intense shade of violet that would indicate a full charge (for want of a better description from G’reth), he was nevertheless active, if a little woozy.

  “Gwillan?” David crouched in front of him, speaking the name in dragontongue. He touched his fingers to the sensitive regions just behind the dragon’s ear, like a doctor might feel for raised glands in the throat of a child.

  “Well?” said Zanna, clutching tightly at her arms. This whole business was spooking her a little.

  “Strange,” David muttered, drawing his hands away. “That was Liz’s auma.”

  “Liz?”

  “Yes. It’s like a scent or a signature. He’s reaching out to her — or her to him. It’s hard to tell.”

  “They’re commingling, you mean? How can that happen? I didn’t know it w
as possible over a distance.”

  David glanced at Grace. He saw she had closed down but thought nothing of it. “Neither did I,” he muttered, rubbing the ends of his fingers together. “But he was reading me — or trying to. I could feel the energy racing through my fingertips. He was drawing on the auma of Gawain inside me.”

  At that moment, Gwillan gave out a thin wail. It was not unknown for the Pennykettle dragons to make sounds above the pitch of their normal hurrs. But when they did, their companions were usually quite startled, which was the case now. Every dragon jumped, barring Gretel (and Grace). The potions dragon sighed and tapped her foot. She blew a funnel of smoke at Gruffen. Some guard dragon he was. Hmph.

  “That sounded like a cry for mommy,” Zanna said. “Should we take him to her, do you think?”

  Before David could speak, there came another interruption. This one did make Gretel apprehensive. The doorbell had rung. The dragons turned their heads toward the sound.

  “If that’s Gwilanna,” Zanna said, narrowing her eyes, “you’d better decide whose side you’re on.”

  Gwilanna wouldn’t ring a doorbell, David thought. But the first time he’d met her, that was exactly what she’d done. Turned up at a crucial moment, on a drizzly day like this, when Liz had been going through the kindling process that had ultimately spawned Grockle. “Keep a watch on Gwillan,” he said to Groyne, and moved to the door of the den.

  Downstairs, he could hear Arthur talking to a woman. To his relief it wasn’t Gwilanna.

  “Well, I’m afraid Lucy’s not here,” Arthur was saying, “and Elizabeth …”

  “If it’s difficult, we’ll come back another time,” said the woman.

  “Mo-om?” A young girl’s voice rang out. “We’ve come all the way from Plymouth! That’s, like, zillions of miles. We can’t just ‘come back’ when it’s more convenient!”

  “Who is it?” Zanna hissed, coming so close to David’s shoulder that he could take in the scent of her hair.

  “Not sure. Someone who knows the Pennykettles, though.”

  At that moment, Alexa joined in the conversation. “Hhh! You’ve got a dragon!”

  “Yep,” said the girl. “Are you Lucy’s sister?”

  “I’m Alexa,” said Alexa. “What’s your dragon’s name?”

  “Glade.”

  “Liz made her,” the woman explained.

  “Then I think you’d better come in,” said Arthur.

  “This gonna be a problem?” Zanna whispered. She looked back at the workbench. Groyne was instructing the other dragons to stand well clear of Gwillan. The house dragon, still unsteady on his feet, had wrapped his tail around Groyne to support himself.

  “The girl’s got one of Liz’s dragons,” muttered David. “I didn’t know there were others besides Grace outside the house.”

  Zanna, none the wiser, pushed up her sleeves. “Well, let’s go and investigate, then. Time to observe the most ancient of Pennykettle traditions.”

  David looked at her blankly.

  “Kettle,” she said, tapping his cheek.

  28 A NEW DRAGON IN THE HOUSE

  In the kitchen it transpired that Rachel Cartwright and her daughter, Melanie, had not made a specific journey to the Crescent, but had pulled in en route to seeing relatives nearby.

  “Such a drag that Lucy’s not here,” Melanie said, wringing out her disappointment through the last few inches of her pale pink T-shirt. “She’ll be so upset that she didn’t see Glade.” She ran her fingers down the dragon’s spine. Despite what must have been the great excitement of returning to her “birth” place and seeing other Pennykettle dragons around her, Glade remained solid, though the scarf of sculpted ivy around her neck had turned from green to a warm shade of gold. “That means she feels welcome,” Melanie said to David, who was sitting in the chair opposite, juggling Alexa on his knee. “She’s a mood dragon. She likes you. Who are you anyway?”

  “Melanie!” her mother gave an exasperated squeak. Rachel Cartwright, a slim, slightly sad-eyed woman, who wasn’t aged by a polo neck sweater and small pearl earrings, looked apologetically at everyone present. “You have to forgive us. None of you were here when Melanie and Lucy were just little girls. It was a bit impolite turning up like we did, but we hoped Lucy might be back from her vacation by now.”

  Zanna put a tray of cups and saucers on the table. “Vacation?”

  “Visiting some dragon hill,” said Melanie, shrinking from the enquiring faces. “I got a text from her phone. Past tense.”

  “She’s still there,” David explained. “She might be gone for another few days, I’m afraid.”

  Melanie wormed her mouth into a pout.

  “I take it Liz is with her, then?” Rachel said. She began to help Zanna put out the cups.

  “Elizabeth’s not very well,” said Arthur. “She’s upstairs, in bed — asleep.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Is it dragon pox?” asked Melanie, sitting on her hands. She noticed the lines around Zanna’s eyes sharpen. “It’s what we used to say when we were kids. Just a joke.”

  “Daddy, the dragon changed color.” Alexa sat up erect. Glade’s ivy had just drifted across the spectrum, running from gold through watery green to blue.

  “That means she’s sad,” said Melanie, shaking her head so her bob fell into place. “She’ll be upset about Lucy’s mom. Weird, isn’t it, the way she changes?”

  Alexa clearly agreed. Before anyone could stop her, she began to comfort Glade in dragontongue.

  “Gracious, that’s a nasty cough,” said Rachel.

  “No, it’s not,” hooted Melanie. “Mom, you’re such a wuss. It’s a game. Me and Lucy used to play it all the time. It was our secret language for talking to the dragons. Lucy was scarily good at it. I’ll show you.” Leaning toward Glade she cried, “Arraarrgh!”

  On the fridge top, the startled listening dragon closed the flap of its ear canal. Arthur raised an eyebrow and Alexa opened her mouth into an O to accommodate the change in air pressure.

  Glade’s ivy did not change color.

  “Yeah, like I say. Lucy was the queen at that game,” said Melanie.

  “Tea?” asked Zanna, wearing a grin as wide as a saucer.

  Melanie picked up the milk jug. “Thanks. What’s that noise?”

  “Just the cat flap,” Zanna said. It rattled behind her.

  “Oh, course, you’ve got a cat! Don’t tell me, his name’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Bonbon or something?”

  “Bonnington,” said Alexa, looking down.

  That was the moment the niceties ended. Quick to realize there might be a problem, Zanna tried to shoo Bonnington back the way he’d come. But the cat just chattered and swerved right past her, stopping to look up and frown at the visitors.

  Melanie Cartwright screamed. The milk she was holding sprayed across the table, a good portion of it drenching Glade. And whether the tension just got too much or she felt she was in the appropriate environment anyway, Glade raised her scales until she looked like a pinecone and shook herself dry. Milk droplets flew in all directions. Some of them, of course, went Bonnington’s way. He gratefully began to lick his fur clean. But it had somehow never felt right to him, drinking milk in the form of a tiger. So he morphed back into a tabby cat.

  And Melanie Cartwright morphed into a faint.

  “Mel?” cried her mom, reaching to support the girl as she slumped. Zanna went swiftly to her aid as well, mouthing a quick, Do something! at David.

  He moved Alexa off his knee. “Go and fetch Gretel,” he whispered to her. The child hurried away. David turned to Rachel and spoke her name.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Nothing you need concern yourself about,” he said. His eyes ran to violet and he dazzled her in a moment. Her head nodded forward and she fell fast asleep.

  “Well, this is priceless,” Zanna carped.

  “I take it that’s two less for tea?” aske
d Arthur, confirming it for himself when Bonnington jumped onto his lap. He turned the cat’s gaze onto Glade.

  “It’s all right,” David reassured her in dragontongue. “Don’t be alarmed. Your humans won’t be hurt and neither will you.”

  Glade tilted her ears and sniffed at him. You’re dragon, she hurred. Zanna sighed and looked away. Glade’s ivy sparkled like a set of Christmas lights.

  “Sometimes,” said David. “Will you do something for me?”

  Zanna half-expected the mood dragon to curtsy, but the moment was broken when Alexa returned with Gretel on her shoulder.

  The potions dragon fluttered onto the table and took a long and dangerous look at Glade.

  “Gretel, don’t frighten her,” Zanna said, as a shimmer of defensive red now became the ivy’s dominant color. “What is it you want Glade to do?” she asked David.

  David put out his hand, encouraging Glade to hop onto it. “Would you like to see Liz and the Dragons’ Den again?”

  Hrrr, she went. Her violet eyes widened.

  “Good,” he said, smoothing her wings. “Gretel, make sure our visitors don’t wake up.”

  With a hmph of servitude, the potions dragon reached into her quiver for the necessary flowers.

  At the far side of the kitchen, Arthur cleared his throat. “Would I be of more use here?”

  “No, you go up,” Zanna said to him quickly, knowing full well that he wanted to. Lately, he’d felt a little worthless, she thought. “I’ll stay here with Lexie.”

  “But I want to see Glade,” the little girl sighed.

  “Later,” said Zanna, ripping off a piece of paper towel. “You can help Mommy clean up the kitchen. You can start by dabbing the milk off our guests …”

  David took Glade to the bedroom first. The little dragon flew straight to Liz’s pillow. It reached out a paw and stroked her hair. Sympathetic shades of blue from the ivy began to reflect off Liz’s pale skin.