“Let go of us!” shouted Beatrice, trying to move as far away from Flitz as possible.
Ignatius turned to look at us. His white face and teeth were thrown into relief by the gloom of the carriage interior. He tapped on the floor with his dragon-headed cane, and the carriage set off along the road.
“I’m so glad you could make the show,” he said. “It is a tragedy, of course. You are just in time for the climax.”
He pulled down the carriage window and gestured towards the train with his cane. Most of the passengers seemed to be either cowering in the carriages or running away in various directions. But there was one figure who was standing right near the front of the train, standing stock still and waving his hands high in the air, trying to attract the dragon’s attention. It was Dr. Drake. But if he was trying to distract the dragon’s attention away from the other passengers, he did not seem to be having much luck, as it was still flying up and down the train. Suddenly the dragon spotted him. It turned and, jetting out a huge spout of flame, bore straight down on him.
Both Beatrice and I shouted frantically, but it was no good. Dr. Drake managed to duck the first jet of flame the dragon blew at him, but then it landed right in front of him, and knocked him flying with a blow from a gigantic claw. As Dr. Drake struggled to his feet, the dragon reached its head back, took in a deep breath, and blew another enormous jet of flame at him. We watched the angry dragon blow blast after blast of searing fire over him until the carriage turned a corner and we could see no more.
Ignatius Crook pushed up the window of the carriage.
“An appropriate end, don’t you think?” he said. “For a man who infects even children with his nonsense about conserving and protecting dragons?”
Beatrice and I were too stunned to reply. Ignatius continued.
“No doubt you are aware that I had hoped poor Ernest’s end would come sooner rather than later, but needs must.”
“You’re a monster!” I shouted angrily.
Flitz looked up expectantly, but Ignatius ignored him.
“Oh, I’m worse than that,” said Ignatius with a sneer.
“Let us go!” shouted Beatrice. “What have we got to do with any of this anyway?”
“Ha!” said Ignatius. “As though you know anything about how that so-called doctor has usurped my rightful place as head of the Secret and Ancient Society of Dragonologists? You may know that my father, Ebenezer, was not at all disposed to pass on the secret of the whereabouts of the Dragon’s Eye to Dr. Drake. But he was a weak man. At the end he repented, and caused a vital clue to its whereabouts to be cut onto his gravestone. But one of you must have spotted the clue, of course? It was in the dragon diary. The Dragon’s Eye shall be mine soon enough. I am taking you to Ben Wyvis. The dragon who lives there will no doubt be quite ready to believe that it was Dr. Drake who stole Scorcher when I return him to her. And if she does not, then I have a very simple backup plan.”
At this Ignatius pointed at something under the seat. It was the box of dragon dust.
“In any case, I have something to sweeten the bargain,” he added. “She is sure to give up the Dragon’s Eye when I present her with the two children of the man who stole something else that was very precious to her. And then there will be no one standing between me and the mastery of the S.A.S.D.!”
“Dr. Drake said you tried to poison Father when he wouldn’t let you copy the diary,” said Beatrice.
“Oh, did he now? That wasn’t very nice of him. But I am no friend of your parents. They chose to side with Dr. Drake — may he not rest in peace — in preventing me coming into my rightful inheritance, and I shall make sure they suffer the consequences of those actions. But I haven’t introduced you to my friend Miss Gorynytchka. She is a friendly Russian dragonologist who has been helping me to reclaim what is rightfully mine. She is conducting some experiments relating to dragon illnesses. I find the topic quite boring myself, but Miss Gorynytchka has achieved some remarkable results over the years, particularly among the nagas of northern India. I believe she has something rather special planned for your parents.”
Alexandra Gorynytchka smiled. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last,” she said. “I was watching you in the forest. At the time I was planning to kidnap you, but after your first little outing with that Darcy boy, I’m afraid you were too well guarded and so I missed my chance. You both seem to have a considerable talent for dragonology. What a shame you will never get a chance to develop it.”
The next day, after an uncomfortable night in a dingy cottage near Dingwall, we set off for Ben Wyvis.
Beatrice and I struggled along, tied together with a rope held by Ignatius. Meanwhile, the two ruffians were trying to manhandle a large crate onto a wheelbarrow. Angry chirping noises were coming from inside and, at one stage, one of them was bitten on the hand. Alexandra Gorynytchka had not joined us.
“Scorcher must be waking up!” said Ignatius, stopping to take a pinch of powder from the box of dragon dust, then blow it into the crate. “There. That will send him to sleep again no doubt. But we must make haste. We do not want Scramasax to catch us on the hillside.”
We set off again, but not towards the summit of the Ben. Instead, we skirted it and stumbled along a slope that was covered with shingle and loose boulders. From time to time Flitz flew on ahead, then returned to perch on Ignatius’s shoulder. Finally, we arrived under a rocky outcrop to find the mouth of a cave.
By now, Ignatius’s hired ruffians were lagging farther and farther behind, and so he made us wait while they dragged the wheelbarrow up the last steep bit and pulled it into the entrance to the cave. Then he lit a torch.
“Bring Scorcher,” he said as he led us inside.
It was not a wide cave, of the sort that I had always associated with dragons, but more of a tunnel entrance. There was evidence of dragon activity, however. The roof of the tunnel was blackened with smoke, and the floor was littered with animal bones. Ignatius was soon tugging us along behind him, farther and farther into the tunnel. A smell that reminded me of Scorcher grew stronger and stronger, and it was getting hotter. The light from Ignatius’s torch was not very strong, but even so I could see some oddly shaped letters scratched onto the side wall of the tunnel, and the skull and crossed bones of a deer arranged on the floor, almost like a warning. Flitz did not seem to like the place at all. He crawled off Ignatius’s shoulder and hid himself inside his jacket.
“We are here,” said Ignatius, reaching out his torch into a vast cavern.
I heard the beast breathing before I could see anything. Then I saw two enormous eyes glaring at us in the darkness. The eyes seemed very angry. But for a brief moment, as they turned towards the crate, they were full of longing.
Suddenly Beatrice gasped. I tore my eyes from Scramasax and saw that the whole floor of the cavern was covered in golden artefacts, with gems sparkling here and there. It was the dragon’s treasure. And sitting on the very top of the treasure, her tongue flicking in and out and a thin column of smoke rising from her mouth, was Scramasax.
I glanced at Ignatius. He looked anxious. His eyes scanned the treasure. I guessed he was looking for the Dragon’s Eye.
Ignatius bowed and forced us both to our knees.
Then Scramasax opened her mouth and spoke. Her voice was strong and rich, with an accent that was quite foreign, as though she was communicating in a language that was not her own.
“Ignatius Crook,” she said, “you are forbidden from entering my lair on pain of death.”
“I have come to return your chick,” said Ignatius in a quivering voice. “And I have a gift for you.”
Ignatius went over to the crate and pulled a latch. Little Scorcher emerged from his cage, looking drowsy from the effects of the dragon dust. Scramasax made a deep rumbling sound, then reached out with her tail and gently lifted Scorcher up. She soothed him, then put him down behind her and stared at us again.
“Now,” said Ignatius, “you have your b
aby back. Stolen by a man I am sure you know: Dr. Ernest Drake.”
“Ah, yes. Dr. Drake,” hissed Scramasax. “Perhaps he is not the one in whom dragons may place their trust, after all? A human who can help dragons in their hour of need?”
“I fear he is not,” said Ignatius, “since he is dead.”
“That is a shame,” said Scramasax. “We placed a great deal of trust in him. The Society of Dragons was convinced he was the one who could help us. There was a feeling that the world needed a new Dragon Master. Perhaps we were mistaken.”
“Ebenezer Crook did not ask you to pass that title on to Drake.”
“And he did not see fit to ask us to pass it on to you, either,” said Scramasax. “Perhaps he knew what our answer would have been.”
“My family has been Dragon Masters for nearly three hundred years,” said Ignatius. “If you give me the treasures that Ebenezer returned to you, then I would be able to help you. You would have no more trouble from Dr. Drake or his friends, I can assure you.”
“No more trouble would be welcome,” said Scramasax. “But who are these human chicks? Why have you brought them to me?”
“They are my gift to you, O Scramasax,” said Ignatius. “They are the children of the one who stole the treasure that was entrusted to you.”
“Indeed?” said Scramasax, her eyes flaming as she peered at us. “That theft made me angry. Dragons cannot control their rage. I grew destructive on that occasion. Many humans suffered for it, and I hid in my cave for a long time afterwards. Where is their parent now?”
Beatrice could not longer contain herself.
“Our father did not steal anything,” she said. “It was Ignat —”
But at that Ignatius yanked the rope that held us so hard that we both fell over.
Beatrice got up.
“It was Ignatius Crook,” she repeated. “He stole your treasure.”
The dragon turned to her.
“Have you proof?”
“Of course she doesn’t have proof,” said Ignatius. “She is desperate to save her own skin. I can assure you that their parents are the real criminals. They are far away. But they will be punished; I promise you. When I have the treasures.”
“Would you bargain with me?” hissed Scramasax. “As I told you the last time you came to my home, shortly after the theft of that precious horn, you are forbidden from entering my lair on pain of death.”
“I had hoped,” said Ignatius, “that my returning your stolen chick would mitigate your rage somewhat and allow you to see that I am your friend.”
“Indeed,” said Scramasax. “My doubt as to your motives has prevented me from devouring you on the spot. But you have returned my chick. I will hear what you have to say outside!”
And so we made our way back out of the tunnel and onto the hillside, followed by Scramasax, who uncoiled her great bulk and slithered along behind us.
I could not believe what I saw when we got back outside. Dr. Drake was waiting for us.
As Ignatius stood open-mouthed, Beatrice and I both tugged at the rope, which fell out of his hands as we ran to Dr. Drake.
“I saw you killed!” cried Ignatius. “You could never have survived so much dragon fire!”
“Ignatius, Ignatius,” said Dr. Drake patiently, untying the rope from round our hands. “Even you must have heard of that simple but extremely effective tool of the field dragonologist — the flameproof cloak. What else would I have gone to pick up in London? After you thought I was dead, I made my way here and told Scramasax what you were up to. She wanted to make an end of you right then and there. Luckily, she gave me the time to explain that there were two children with you who were under my care. She agreed to wait just a little longer before getting Scorcher back. It took all my powers of persuasion, I must admit, and it was a pretty close-run thing. Now, I fear, it is you who are in danger. And I rather fear that you will not be finding out where the Dragon’s Eye is kept.”
“Isn’t it here?” asked Ignatius, looking shaken.
“Here?” responded Scramasax. “By no means. But I know where it is kept, so you must pass by me before reaching it. The oldest and wisest dragon in these islands guards the Dragon’s Eye, not a youth like myself. I am a mere one hundred eighty years old. Now, I am just beginning — just beginning, mind — to feel myself getting angry. I would start to run if I were you. I would run all the way to the horn that you stole from me and bring it here right away.”
“Don’t believe Drake!” cried Ignatius. “John Cook took the horn.”
Scramasax reared back her head and let out a deafening roar. Flames erupted from her mouth, and she shook her head from side to side. Even Dr. Drake began to look a little alarmed, but Scramasax looked at Ignatius again.
“Fool!” she said. “I knew that it was you as soon as I smelt you again.”
“Why did you not kill me at once, then?”
“If I killed you on the spot, I might never recover the horn.”
“Then I rather fear that it is you who are the fool,” said Ignatius. And he laughed. “Saint Gilbert’s horn gave me a power you do not know!”
He took out Dr. Drake’s dragon whistle and blew three short blasts.
Almost immediately, there was a roar, and the gigantic green dragon I had seen attacking the train swooped down from a crag. It was nearly twice as big as Scramasax, and I guessed at once that it was the dragon that had been summoned when the man first blew Dr. Drake’s dragon whistle in Cornwall. Ignatius pointed to us.
“Idraigir,” he cried, “your master commands you! Incinerate them!”
The huge green dragon swooped down and would have blasted us all in a moment, had not Scramasax flown up to protect us.
A mighty battle ensued as the two dragons swooped and flew loops round each other, each trying to burn, lash, and bite the other. Scramasax seemed doomed — the green dragon was so much larger. Soon, Idraigir grabbed Scramasax by the neck, and the two dragons became entangled. Unable to flap their wings, the pair fell to earth, where they continued wrestling and fighting with tooth, claw, and tail in a whirlwind of flame. Scramasax was growing weaker. She would not last very long. Suddenly Scorcher bolted from the cave, racing to his mother’s side. But in one swipe from Idraigir’s tail, he was knocked aside as the green dragon continued its savage attack.
I turned and saw that Dr. Drake was grappling with Ignatius. One of the ruffians took out his pistol and tried in vain to aim it at Dr. Drake. Even Flitz joined in. He was flying round and round Dr. Drake’s head, trying to scratch his eyes. Meanwhile Beatrice was trying to wrestle the box of dragon dust from the other man.
“Give that back!” shouted Beatrice.
I rushed to help Beatrice, dodging a sweep of Idraigir’s great tail. The man elbowed me viciously in the ribs, but I managed to hold on to him long enough for Beatrice to grab the box he was holding.
“Leave those brats!” shouted Ignatius. “We can deal with them later.”
Dr. Drake was still struggling with Ignatius and the man with the gun. Dr. Drake had taken hold of the pistol, which was aimed at his face, and was trying to turn it away. But Ignatius was biting his arm. It could only be a matter of time.
The other man left us and ran over to help them.
Meanwhile Beatrice was opening the box of dragon dust.
“What are you doing?” I said. “We need to get away from here!”
“We have to do something,” she said. “Look!”
She opened the box, and I saw that it contained a fine silvery powder and a silver dish.
“Abramelin’s Taming Spell!” I cried. “Can you remember the words?”
“I think so,” she said. “Can you?”
“Yes, but do you think it will work? Will one taming spell cancel out another? And don’t we need three troy ounces? How much is that?”
“I don’t know, but we must give it a try.”
We stood side by side, and poured out a good portion of dragon dust onto
the silver tray and then cast it over the dragons as we cried,
“Ivàhsi yüduin!
Enimôr taym inspelz!
Boyar ugôner gedit!”
Nothing seemed to happen for a moment, then, suddenly, the dragons froze. The green dragon dropped its head and looked about as though it was dazed. Then, seeing us, it came over and looked at us inquisitively, as though asking us what we wanted. The red dragon did not stir. Flitz dropped out of the sky and landed with a bump.
“Save Dr. Drake!” commanded Beatrice.
At once Idraigir flicked his tail and sent Ignatius and his ruffians flying. Dr. Drake lay panting on the ground as the pistol spun away. With a look of contempt, Idraigir trod on it with his huge claw, crushing the barrel flat.
“Idraigir!” cried Ignatius. “Your master commands you! Kill Dr. Drake.”
Idraigir looked at him blankly.
Beatrice turned to Ignatius, a look of fierce hatred on her face. Then she relaxed. A dark thought had passed.
“Ignatius Crook,” she said, “if I were you, I would leave. Now.”
Ignatius stood for a second, open-mouthed. Then he turned and ran down the mountain as fast as he could, followed by the two ruffians.
We went over to Dr. Drake and helped him to his feet.
“Thank you,” he said. “You both acted like true dragonologists.”
“What about the dragons?” I asked.
“You have charmed them,” he said. “You must release them.”
“Can’t you do it?” I said.
“I cannot,” said Dr. Drake. “They are under your command.”
“How do we release them?” asked Beatrice.
“It’s simple,” said Dr. Drake. “You have used only just enough dragon dust to counter the charm Ignatius used. The effect will wear off soon. Until then, I suggest that you simply command them to obey no one but themselves.”
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