The Dragon of Lonely Island (15 page)

Zachary, red-faced, bent to pick it up. Sarah Emily had turned pale.

“We’re studying birdcalls,” Hannah said, with great presence of mind. She put one arm around Sarah Emily. “For a school project.”

Zachary, whose mouth had fallen open, abruptly closed it and tried to look like a bird-lover.

“There was a sandpiper,” Hannah went on, looking up at the man with wide innocent eyes. It was an expression that often worked well on strangers but never fooled her family. Ben didn’t seem to be fooled either. He must have been smarter than he looked.

“I didn’t see any sandpiper,” he said suspiciously. “I think you kids better come with me. Mr. King, he doesn’t like people snooping around.”

“This is our aunt’s island, not his,” Zachary said boldly. “If anybody’s snooping, it’s you. We’re not going anywhere with you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ben said. He lunged forward, grabbed Zachary roughly by the upper arm, and yanked. Zachary, pulled off-balance, staggered forward. “Come on, all three of you. Move it.”

“Leave him
alone
!” Hannah cried. She grabbed Zachary’s other arm.

“What is all this?” a new voice said.

It was the elderly Chinese man they had seen coming out of the tent on the previous morning. He was still wearing his black suit and embroidered cap. Now that he was so close to them, the children could see that the cap was patterned with scarlet birds, gold flowers, and a wriggly sort of turquoise creature that might have been a winged serpent. He looked very tall and menacing standing there beneath the trees. His skin was the color of old ivory and his mouth was folded tightly shut in a thin slash like a knife cut. Beside her, Hannah could feel Sarah Emily shiver.

“Just kids snooping around, Mr. Chang,” the man named Ben said.

“Let the boy go, Ben,” Mr. Chang said. “Let them go.” He had a dry whispery voice that reminded Hannah of rustling paper. “They are nothing to worry about. Go about your business.”

Ben shambled off through the trees, looking resentfully backward over his shoulder. Mr. Chang pointed his finger threateningly at the children.

“Now leave!” Mr. Chang said. “And do not return!”

The children turned and ran.

They crept cautiously along the shelf of rock leading to the broad platform before the cave.

“Crawl,” Zachary said tensely. “Mr. King might be out on the deck with his binoculars. Looking for
puffins.
Or that Ben may be sneaking around.”

They scuttled across the ledge on hands and knees. From behind a sheltering rock, they peered down at the floating yacht. The deck was deserted.

Zachary heaved a sigh of relief. Then he gave a little gasp of dismay and pointed to the rocks below.

“Something fishy’s going on,” he said unhappily. “Look at that.”

A figure in a white windbreaker was working its way along the steep face of the hill, feeling at cracks and crevices, pausing every now and then to tap at the rock with a geologist’s hammer.

Sarah Emily drew a shaky breath. “I’m scared,” she said.

“Let’s go see Fafnyr,” Hannah said. “Right now, before anything else happens.”

The three children ducked quickly into the cave. Again, all was suddenly quiet and dark, the crashing roar of the waves gone utterly still. Zachary switched on his flashlight and the children edged their way inward and down, breathing in the tangy odor of smoke and cinnamon — the now-comforting smell of dragon. A streak of gold flashed in the gloom. Zachary’s flashlight had picked up the glitter of dragon scales.

There was a soft hiss as the dragon flamed, and the cave glowed with light. This time the second head was awake. Cool blue eyes surveyed the children. The dragon’s voice was deep and husky. “Hannah, Zachary, Sarah Emily,” the dragon began. “I am inexpressibly delighted to see you once again.”

Then its voice changed and it bent its neck to study the children more closely.

“Something has happened,” said the dragon in a concerned voice.

The children sank down on the cave floor, leaning back against the dragon’s warm golden tail.

“We met some people on the beach,” Sarah Emily said.

“They’re poking all over the island,” Hannah said. “Looking for caves. We were trying to find out what they were doing, but one of them caught us. He grabbed Zachary and yanked him around.”

“The mannerless cad,” the dragon said.

“They all work for Mr. King,” said Zachary. “And he’s written to Aunt Mehitabel, asking for permission to stay on the island.”

“He’s
dangerous,
” Sarah Emily said. She looked from the dragon to her brother and sister. “I just know he’s trying to find out about Fafnyr.”

“But how can he
possibly
know anything about Fafnyr?” Hannah said. “Besides, Aunt Mehitabel will tell him to go away.”

“What if he doesn’t pay any attention to her?” asked Zachary. “She’s in Philadelphia, with a broken ankle. She can’t really do anything. What if he sticks around anyway? How are we going to stop him?”

“We could fight them,” said Sarah Emily doubtfully.

“That’s easy to
say,
” said Zachary. “We’re just kids. And anyway I hate fighting. There are a couple of kids at school who always want to fight, just to see who’s bigger or better. If I don’t fight, they laugh and call names and say I’m a chicken. I’m not a chicken. I just think fighting is stupid.”

The dragon nodded sympathetically.

“Battle,” it said, “is a highly overrated activity.” The blue eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look. “That reminds me of a story,” the dragon said. “A tale of chivalry and honor. Perhaps you would like to hear it?”

“Knights and castles,” said Sarah Emily excitedly. “I love those stories. I’ve been reading all about King Arthur and Sir Lancelot and Guinevere. And the sword in the stone.”

“Fighting,” said Zachary glumly.

The dragon reached out a polished golden claw and smoothed his hair.

“There’s fighting and there’s fighting,” it said. “Just listen.”

The dragon began to speak. As the children listened to its voice, the walls of the cave again seemed to fade. They heard a sudden triumphant flourish of trumpets, the sound of clashing metal, and a thunder of galloping horses’ hooves. Then there came the soft strum of a lute, a chatter of voices and laughter, and a wonderful aroma of baked apples and roasting meat. The children once again were in another place and another time.

“Gawain,” the dragon said, “was eleven years old and a page. He had come to Hampton Castle when he was just seven, sent by his father and mother to learn courtly manners and the arts of battle, under the tutelage of the owners of the castle, Lord Charles and Lady Margaret. He spent his days practicing the use of weapons, perfecting his horseback-riding skills, and learning to polish and repair armor. In the evenings, he waited upon the lord and lady and their household as they ate their dinner. Gawain was in training to become a knight. But sometimes knighthood seemed very far away. . . .”