The Dragon of Lonely Island (9 page)

“
Where is that blasted brat?
” the captain screamed. His boots thundered on the boards of the deck. “
You misbegotten little rat!
” Purple faced with rage, he snatched Jamie up by his shirt collar and shook him, then hurled him violently against the mast. Jamie’s head crashed against unyielding wood. Everything went black.

When Jamie awoke, he was lying on sand. At first, he had no idea where he was. “I’m dead,” he thought, “or dreaming.” His head ached, and when he raised his fingers to his temple, he felt a lump the size of a goose egg, crusted with blood. It hurt to touch. Slowly he opened his eyes and found that it was dark. Stars glittered in the sky above him. A full yellow moon cast a shining yellow path on the water and silhouetted a ship, sails furled, floating silently at anchor. “We’ve landed somewhere,” thought Jamie.

Something stirred at his side and he felt a warm furry presence: Beetle, snuggled up against his hip. He stroked the black cat’s ears and Beetle, thankful that Jamie was awake at last, purred. When Jamie lifted his head, he saw that he lay on a stretch of smooth sandy beach bordered by rocky cliffs topped with trees. Two longboats were pulled up on shore, their oars resting in the oarlocks. Thirty yards down the beach he saw the orange glow of a fire, surrounded by moving black figures, and heard the clink of bottles, shouts, and snatches of song. The pirates were consoling themselves for the loss of the
Sea Lady.

Slowly Jamie sat up. He was bruised and sore, but
—
he wiggled his arms and legs
—
no bones were broken. He scratched Beetle underneath the chin. “I sure am glad you managed to come along, old fellow. What did you do, sneak on board the boat?” Beetle closed his eyes and purred.

Jamie glanced toward the pirates’ fire. Someone threw something on it that made the flames blaze up blue, and there was a deep shout of laughter. Jamie stroked the cat again. “Let’s get a little closer and see if we can find out what’s going on.”

Silently, boy and cat crept across the sand and huddled behind a jumbled pile of driftwood. Jamie, peeking cautiously through the twisted branches, found himself staring directly at the back of the captain’s head. On the opposite side of the fire, three seamen clanked their mugs together and began a faltering song about life on the ocean waves. One of the singers kept hiccupping and forgetting the words.

From the captain’s right came the voice of Black Ben.

“What d’ye plan to do with the brat, Captain?”

The captain drank deeply from a squat brown bottle. “We’ll leave the little rat here,” he snarled. “He’ll not set foot on my ship again.”

A hoarse voice from the other side of the fire shouted, “Hang him from the yardarm!”

“Feed him to the sharks!” roared another.

The captain drank again.

“Forget the brat,” he bellowed. “We’ll leave him here to starve. Sing, lads! Sing!”

Jamie, crouched behind the wall of driftwood, smoothed Beetle’s soft ears. “They’re planning to abandon me,” he whispered softly to the cat. “It’s called being marooned. They’re angry because I warned away the other ship. Well, that’s fine with me. We’re going to get out of here, Beetle. We’re going to abandon
them.
” Jamie, unnoticed, got to his feet. Silently he and Beetle slipped away, like shadows in the moonlight, toward the cliffs.

There they found a small sandy path, leading sharply upward. They climbed, Jamie soon panting, Beetle bounding at his heels. At the top, they paused and peered down
—
far down
—
over the edge, to the beach. The fire had shrunk to a prickle of red embers; silent lumps around it were the forms of sleeping pirates. A few hardy souls were still awake, singing a song about a dead man’s chest and a bottle of rum.

“Good riddance,” muttered Jamie to himself, and Beetle rubbed against his leg in agreement. Together, they turned away from the cliff’s edge and followed the path on into the woods. A full moon lit their way, turning the rocks and trees to silver. They walked on and on, glad to be on land again and free.

Once, they saw an owl pass, silent winged above the path, and heard the rustle of a field mouse diving for cover. Once, a pair of rabbits, surprised eyes round as saucers, rose on their hind legs to watch them pass. Finally, as Jamie’s eyes began to droop with tiredness, the trees gave way to a wide shelf of rock, still warm from the day’s sunshine. Jamie sat down. “Let’s just rest for a minute, Beetle,” he murmured, and was almost instantly asleep. Beetle settled down in his lap. His eyes closed too.

They were awakened hours later by a shaft of sunlight and the chatter of birds. Jamie lay peacefully, basking in the warmth, stroking Beetle’s fur. “First of all, we’ll have to find out where we are,” he told the cat happily, “and then we’ll figure out how to get home. You’ll like having a home, living with the Bingles and all the rest of us. Mrs. Bingle loves cats; she says a kitchen without a cat is like stew without salt.”

Beetle purred as if he understood.

“And to find out where we are,” Jamie continued, “we’ll have to find some people. Nice people, who might share their breakfast. I’m hungry, Beetle, aren’t you?”

Beetle gave a meow of agreement, hopped off Jamie’s lap, and began to prowl. He jumped to the path and back up to the shelf of rock, leaped to a ledge above Jamie’s head and dropped back down, and then sidled around a rocky corner and vanished. When he didn’t reappear, Jamie, curious, followed him. Around the corner was a broad opening like an entryway, its edges rubbed shiny as though by some large animal passing in and out
— What could be that big?
Jamie wondered. Beetle had found a cave.

The minute Jamie stepped through the entrance, he realized that here was no ordinary animal’s lair. His first impression was a dazzling explosion of color: ruby red, emerald green, sapphire blue, diamonds shooting rainbow rays, the icy sparkle of silver, and the warm glow of gold. The cave was a treasure-trove. Riches lay as far as the eye could see. Golden goblets studded with gems lay in heaps; jeweled swords were propped against the rocky walls. There were mountains of gold coins, a jumble of gleaming crowns, piles of necklaces, rings, jeweled belts, and bracelets. Jamie picked up a coin and rubbed it between his fingers: It bore the portrait of an ancient queen and a legend in a strange language.

He opened a wooden chest and found it full of cut gems. He let a handful trickle glitteringly through his fingers. Just a pocketful
—
half a pocketful
—
would keep Mr. and Mrs. Bingle and their brood safe and comfortable for the rest of their lives. Just half a pocketful. “No one would know,” Jamie thought to himself. “Maybe no one lives here anymore. Maybe no one even owns this treasure.” He reached out toward the chest, hesitated, and then drew his hand back. Mr. Bingle’s kindly face rose up before his eyes and Jamie seemed to hear his voice:
Keep all your promises, don’t take what doesn’t belong to you, and always look after those less fortunate than yourself, and you’ll do well in the world — and come home as soon as you can, Jamie. We’ll miss you.

Jamie stood frozen for a moment.
Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you
seemed to echo in his head. He sighed regretfully and his hands dropped to his sides. “Come on, Beetle,” he said. “This isn’t ours and we’re trespassing. Let’s get on our way.”

As they stepped out of the cave, they heard voices, shouts —“This way, I tell you! See the tracks?”— and the rapid thudding of boot heels on stone.

“Why?” One voice rose above the others.

“Because the captain wants him back, that’s why. He doesn’t want to leave him behind, after all. He’s got other plans for him. Is that reason enough for you?”

Jamie went cold with fear. He crouched, trembling, behind the sheltering rock, but it was too late. A shadow fell across his knees.

“And here’s our little runaway!” It was Black Ben’s voice. “Ripe for the picking, and . . .” The voice stopped dead in astonishment, then rose in a joyous shout. “Lads! Quick, to me!
Gold!
”

Jamie was forgotten. The pirates crowded past him, fighting and shoving to enter the cave. Their cries of glee echoed off the metal-stacked walls. “What shall we put it in?” someone shouted.

“Sacks!” another voice answered. “I’ve found some sacks!”

“Pack them full, lads!” It was Black Ben again. “We’ll make a trip to the beach and come back for the rest. Look lively, now!” He emerged from the cave, smirking, a diamond tiara on his head, his pockets sagging with coins. “Maybe you had thoughts of keeping this all to yourself, Jamie, me boy? I don’t envy you when the captain finds out; on me soul, I don’t. And him in a bad mood already, having lost the
Sea Lady.
” He shook his head and chuckled. “A poor day’s work for you, I’d say. The captain will feed you to the little fishes when I tell him, mark me words. You’ll be walking the plank before sundown!” And he laughed again.

Then the laughter stopped abruptly as, startled, he looked toward the sky. An immense black shadow had blotted out the sun. There was a rush of wind, a strange sweet smell of incense, wood smoke, and cinnamon, and a vast whump of wings. Black Ben’s mouth fell open and his eyes bulged wide with horror. The owner of the cave had come home.

It was a dragon. Its massive body was coin gold; its great webbed wings sparkled brilliantly in the sun. It had three heads, Jamie noticed in astonishment. Two, nestled on its shoulders, appeared to be sound asleep. The third, arched high above them on a soaring golden neck, glared at the intruders with piercing blue eyes. The dragon spat a sheet of flame, blackening the rock above the cave door. The head turned slowly toward Black Ben.

“Empty your pockets,” the dragon rasped, in a voice filled with angry menace. “Remove my crown.”

Ben, shaking, pulled off the diamond tiara and flung it back into the cave. He pulled his pockets inside out and gold and silver coins cascaded in a pile around his feet. Behind him, from the cave, came a series of crashes and clatters: The pirates inside were rushing to divest themselves of their stolen loot. They stumbled out into the open, their pockets hanging out, their hands empty.

“
Leave — my — cave,
” the dragon said, in a fiery hiss, “and, if you value your miserable lives, never return again.” It tilted back its head and roared.

Black Ben turned pale with fear, pushed past Jamie, and ran. His men, terrified, followed. Their boots could be heard on the path, picking up speed, receding into the distance. Only Jamie and Beetle were left behind.

The dragon swiveled its golden neck and turned its sea blue gaze toward Jamie. Jamie’s knees grew weak with fear and his heart thundered in his chest. Beetle, cowering against Jamie’s ankles, whimpered.

The dragon changed color slightly. It seemed, for a moment, to turn faintly pink. “Please, don’t be frightened, young man,” it said. It cleared its throat in an embarrassed fashion. Then it said, looking at a point just above Jamie’s head, “I fear I lost my temper.”

Jamie took a deep breath. He leaned down and gave Beetle a reassuring pat.

“That’s all right, sir,” he said to the dragon.

The dragon shook its golden head. “A dragon’s hoard,” it said defensively, “is
private.
When I saw those . . . disreputable persons . . . meddling with my prized collection, I quite lost my head.”

“It’s a wonderful collection,” Jamie said. “I’ve never seen such treasure.”

The dragon attempted to look modest. It waved one wing in a dismissing gesture.

“Not a bad start,” it said consideringly. “But then, I haven’t been hoarding as long as some. It takes centuries to accumulate a truly impressive hoard. Why, I’ve seen some hoards, young man, that make
this
”— it nodded toward the cave
—
“look piddling.”

The dragon snorted, releasing a small cloud of blue smoke.

“Piddling,” it repeated.

“It’s truly beautiful, sir,” Jamie said, “so many jewels and so much gold. But I don’t understand what it’s all for. What do you
do
with all that treasure?”

“
Do?
” the dragon repeated, in shocked tones. “
Do?
One does not
do
things with a hoard, young man. One
has
it. One adds to it. Sometimes one rearranges it. But one does not
do
anything with it. That’s not what a hoard is for.”

Jamie bit his lip. “That seems sort of selfish,” he said.

The blue eyes narrowed. The dragon was ominously silent.

Jamie stumbled on. “Just one of those jewels would help so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Bingle
—
they’re like a father and mother to me, since I don’t have any of my own
—
they’ve given away everything they have to take care of children that nobody else wanted. And you’re just sitting on this mountain of diamonds. It doesn’t seem right.”