The Beasts of Upton Puddle (34 page)

As the evening waned, Joe was in his favorite position at the captain's wheel, fingers clasped around the varnished grips. The gentle whoosh of the
Copper Celt's
wings beat on either side of him in hypnotic rhythm, like the blades of a giant's cooling fan in slow motion. Cornelius and Snappel loped inside their treadwheels, their talons complementing the wings with their own percussion.

They'd made a course correction and headed west, directly
into the fierce shimmering sun as it melted into the horizon. Joe knew he shouldn't look directly at it, but he was captivated by the titian clouds breaking either side of the lowering sun and the sparkling reflection across the water. He almost forgot Danariel had seated herself on his shoulder; she'd been so quiet—quieter than she had been all day, and her glow seemed a little subdued, as if she were subconsciously trying to hide from something.

“Beautiful, isn't it, Danariel? I wonder why the sun gets so red when it sets.”

Danariel made no attempt at an answer, but Kiyoshi almost fell over himself to provide one. “The effect of which you speak is known as Rayleigh scattering. The particles of light projected by our native celestial companion are perceived differently by our optical organs as they penetrate the earth's ionosphere, mesosphere, stratosphere, and troposphere. At an angle of zero degrees to the observer, the light travels through less atmosphere, but at an angle of ninety degrees, the light is forced through a much denser section, thereby causing a refraction which our neuroreceptors interpret as red.”

“So it's like looking through a pane of glass and then turning it on its edge.” Joe grinned.

Kiyoshi paused, almost indignant. “Yes.”

Joe laughed and looked at Danariel, but it was obvious her thoughts were distant. “Are you all right? You haven't said much all day.”

“I'm sorry. I've been feeling some unusual thoughts from Flarp in the last hour.”

Joe squinted toward the end of the stern pole. The big, slimy eye seemed disturbed. He still strained to the west, but every few seconds, he flinched and pulled back as if they were approaching something he didn't like.

Mrs. Merrynether, standing at the stern with her hands behind her back, also watched the globble with concern. “We must be getting close,” she said.

“What can Flarp see?” Joe asked.

“Too hard to tell,” said Mrs. Merrynether. “Danariel, what are you getting from him?”

“Broken images. He sees . . . I think he sees fighting. He keeps repeating one word over and over . . . hurt, hurt, hurt.”

“Redwar.”

“No. Something else. This isn't like a war. It's more like a minor skirmish. Possibly within the Conclave. I don't know.”

Mrs. Merrynether left the stern and walked toward Cornelius and Snappel, who were busy on their tread-wheels. She signaled them to stop, and as the wheels slowed, the beating wings lulled into silence.

“So what do we do?” asked Joe. “What's the plan?”

“Well, my original plan was to go to the Conclave and try to warn them about Redwar before he arrived. I was hoping to avoid a conflict, but it sounds as if something is happening that we might not want to get
involved with.” She shook her head and muttered, “Terrible timing. Just terrible.”

“But surely we can't let that slow us down,” said Joe. “Don't we still have to get there before Redwar?”

“Of course, but if the Conclave are having their own dispute, they're much less likely to pay attention to anything we have to say, hmm?”

“I suppose. But even if they
are
in a good mood, d'you think they'll listen anyway?”

Mrs. Merrynether shot a concerned look at Danariel, and Joe didn't have to look at the seraph to know she was responding in kind. He could feel it ebbing from her.

“They have to,” said Mrs. Merrynether.

Joe leaned forward. “But what if—?”

“Veronica!” Danariel leapt from Joe's shoulder, shot toward the stern pole, and hovered just above Flarp, pointing at the setting sun. “Dragons!”

Joe peered into the distance. At first, the five tiny black V shapes looked like gulls, but as they came closer, he realized they were bigger.
Much
bigger.

“The Conclave?” Mrs. Merrynether's voice sounded tight.

“I don't know,” said Danariel, “but their attention is on us. No doubt about it.”

“Do they feel hostile or friendly? Indifferent? Curious? Do they recognize any of us? We need to know more.”

Danariel lifted her hands. “They are masking their feelings very skilfully.”

“Everyone,” said Mrs. Merrynether. “It is very
important that you conceal any feelings of guilt or fear you may have.” She marched up and down the deck. “We are visiting Pyronesia with peaceful intent to warn them about Redwar. They must suspect nothing that could lead them to the knowledge of those who are against the Conclave.”

Joe watched the massive beasts as they swooped closer—a beautiful yet terrifying sight. Fear was not an easy emotion to conquer under the circumstances, yet it was one he was becoming more and more acquainted with. Each time he'd felt its paralyzing touch in the last few weeks, the stakes were higher.

He had to keep his cool.

The five dragons flew in an arrowhead formation, their wings sweeping the air with slow grace, in perfect timing with each other. Joe remembered how he felt the first time he saw Snappel and how amazed he was at seeing such a magnificent lizard, but Snappel was a mere newt in comparison to these hulking monsters. Yet there was definitely a resemblance—the same oily sheen to the obsidian scales, the same triangular head structure, and even the same tail—but whereas Snappel had only two legs sprouting from her body, the dragons had four, each of them tucked neatly against their bulky frames as they weaved through the sky. The dragon flying at the center of the formation was twice the size of the others and four times the size of Snappel. Its long neck, rippling with sinew and muscle, arched and shuddered as it snorted a ring of thick soot into the
air that snaked around the balloon. The acrid stench of sulphur bit into Joe's sinuses, causing him to retch as the cloud dispersed.

“We've no chance,” cried Danariel. “They know. Their minds are full of anger. They're going to attack.”

“Belowdecks,” screamed Mrs. Merrynether as the dragons swept in.

Joe looked up as he staggered away from the wheel, his eyes watering from the sting of smoke. One of the smaller dragons tore into the balloon above, thrashing at the canvas with huge talons and snatching at the lines with nightmarish teeth. A blur of black wings streaked from Joe's left as Snappel roared into the air, screeching at the attacker. Cornelius followed her, tail flailing like a rotor, razor claws extended, and wings beating the air in mighty strokes.

“No,” yelled Joe, crashing to the floor before he could reach the cabin entrance.

Mrs. Merrynether had already got to the door, holding the exasperated Kiyoshi, who was shouting insults nobody would understand at the dragons. She made to come back for Joe but fell backward when one of the other dragons blasted into the deck between them. Splinters and fiery clouds erupted around the leathery wings of the beast as it straightened like a demon ready to rain hell upon them.

At the same moment, Danariel raced forward, shining like a nova, darting in front of the dragon in twists and turns. But the distraction only lasted long
enough for Joe to clamber to his feet and fall backward, just out of range of the monster's claws as it gouged an enormous chunk from the bow.

The dragon swatted Danariel aside just as Flarp shot out of nowhere to splat directly into one of the dragon's eyes. He dropped out of range, under the enraged beast's legs as it clawed at the snotty blemish and then zipped to Mrs. Merrynether to drag her by the head through the cabin doors.

Not daring to look behind him, Joe shuffled on his hands and knees across the broken deck, screaming, choking against the bile in his throat, feeling the torn wood bite into his palms. He felt a sudden lightness as the
Copper Celt
lurched downward. With nobody driving the wings and the balloon ripped into streamers, there was nothing keeping the ship in the sky.

Almost lost in the chaos and finding nowhere to go beyond the stern, Joe turned onto his back, waiting for death as the huge beast stamped across the deck toward him. Above, the shredded remnants of the balloon swirled in the rushing air and one of the other dragons was getting the best of Snappel and Cornelius.

On the far side of the ship Joe caught a glimpse of the three remaining dragons, one of them the fearsome leader, rushing forward. The image was blotted out by the dark shape of Joe's pursuer. With none of his friends left to rescue him, Joe clamped his eyes shut as the enormous jaws of the dragon yawned open above his head. At least it would be a quick death.

A rush of hot breath reeking of sulphur raised goose bumps on Joe's skin as he screamed. Then it was gone, replaced by icy wind sucking the air from his lungs as he fell with the ship. Joe snapped his eyes open, hardly believing he was still alive. The dragon that lunged at him had been snatched away, buffeted aside by its larger comrade. As the
Copper Celt
plummeted, dragging a stream of debris in its wake, the two dragons fought. At first Joe thought the larger dragon wanted to assert its dominance over the other to steal its meal, but through the cyclone of wooden shrapnel, the battle looked far too vicious to be normal rivalry. Before the world became a blur of smoke, ash, sky, and water, Joe saw the leader tear a fatal lump from the neck of its victim and toss the limp body away. The sky roared with the cries of death, and the wind whipping through the remains of the
Copper Celt
's balloon howled in sympathy.

A flash of orange-smeared green flapped around Joe as he tumbled, and with the wild hope of survival, he grabbed for fragments of canvas. Cloth burned his palms, slipping through his grip, but the moment to hold on was gone. The last of the ship had passed below him. Joe glimpsed two of the other dragons ripping into another as he flipped over, facing the world underneath.

Out of nowhere, a land mass had appeared: a huge crescent-shaped island ringed by unspoiled beaches and smothered with the rich green of healthy forest. Soon the
Copper Celt
would be spread in a million pieces across that land and Joe with it. But before he could fully consider what it might be like to hit the ground from such a great height, a set of scaly claws grasped his waist, scooping him upwards. The claws were too small to belong to one of the dragons but had the same oily sheen. Joe realized Snappel had just rescued him from a bone-crunching death.

Joe grasped the smooth talons, as if holding on to the wyvern's claws would provide a little extra security. Thick blood like cherry syrup slid against his fingers as he held on tight. A metallic odor soured his nostrils, and Joe noticed many of Snappel's scales were torn. Joe wished the wyvern could speak. At least then he might be able to find out if she was in serious pain, and she might even be able to tell him what happened to Cornelius.

As if in answer to a prayer, the manticore's regal
form sped below them toward the falling ship. Apart from two unsightly gashes in his right wing, Cornelius appeared unharmed.

The
Copper Celt
continued its fateful plunge toward the island, and Joe saw only three of the original five dragons. They had taken positions around the edges of the ship, tearing into the hull with their huge talons and fighting the ark's descent with ferocious strokes. Cornelius joined them, adding his own efforts to prevent the crash. Snappel dived too, her grip tightening around Joe's body as the
Copper Celt
came closer.

A rush of blood to the head almost caused Joe to pass out as the wyvern swiveled him with a single claw. With the other, Snappel latched the side of the cabin. Joe's ears buzzed with the combined cries of all five beasts as they strained against gravity.

And then came the almighty crash. An explosion of poles, buckled beams, and brass girders laced with a fountain of sand and seawater blasted into the sky as the
Copper Celt
broke upon Pyronesia's shore. Joe caught sight of the largest dragon as the impact launched it from the ark. Rolling and flailing, it cut a huge wedge into the sand.

Joe was thrown violently from Snappel's grasp onto the remains of the deck. Debris rained around him as he nursed yet another bruise forming on his head.

Snappel waggled her head and blinked her inner eyelids, then stretched out the membranes of each wing
in turn to check for damage, but Joe noticed the trembling in her legs and a stream of dark blood pooling on the deck's remains.

“Thanks, Snappel,” said Joe. “I thought I was a goner!”

The wyvern snorted out a puff of smoke, then fell onto the deck in a heap. She was still conscious, but an awful moan escaped her jaws.

“Snappel,” Joe cried. He scanned the deck, frantically looking for someone or something to help the injured wyvern. The crash had tipped the
Copper Celt
toward its right side, so anything loose had slid into crumpled piles that overflowed onto the beach. Wailing, shrieking, and howling gathered in volume from the lower decks. The horrible truth dawned on Joe that Snappel was not the only creature injured as a result of the impact.

Among the splintered beams and balloon fragments, Cornelius trod carefully toward one of the three dragons that had helped crash-land the
Copper Celt
. The dragon had not survived the impact. The magnificent body sprawled against a rocky outcrop, a long gash in its side revealing pink innards and its neck twisted back. By its side stood the largest of the dragons, its head bowed in apparent mourning. The other dragon that Joe saw thrown into the sand limped over too.