Icefire (20 page)

And there was more.

As Guinevere rolled off Thoran’s back, the bear put his claws into this miracle of nature, to satisfy himself it was real beyond dreams. And he, too, became part of the change. Every hair on his body paled from brown, until he was one shade darker than white. It suited him well, this new cream pelt. Indebted, he rose on his stiff hind legs and roared and roared at the northern sky. The ocean was his to walk; the reign of the great white bear had begun.

David, shaking, threw off his gloves and scooped
up two large hunks of snow. “The ice,” he said with a tremor, squeezing it into his aching fists. “The ice cap. All of it. The ice is the fire.”

Bergstrom came to crouch beside him. “And the fire is the ice,” he said, igniting it.

Tears emptied from David’s eyes. “Who
are
you? What do you
want
from me?”

Bergstrom waved a hand and the snow ceased to burn. “Since Thoran’s time, the world has changed a great deal, David. Some of those changes have not been good. The ice is melting. Climates are shifting. The earth is in a state of violent unrest. I need people who can help me to reverse those changes. You, Zanna, Elizabeth and Lucy, even Gwilanna in her way, have played a part. Returning the scale to the Tooth of Ragnar will mean Gawain’s body can go to the clay. This will bring stability — for a short time. But the ice, and the bears who dwell upon it, remain in the deepest peril. You can help me to save them.”

David gave an incredulous laugh and let the snow tumble out of his hands. “How?”

“By doing what you do best. I want you to write — about the Arctic.”

“Write?”

“Remember what I told you when we first met? About stories?”

Well-chewed bones. David nodded, remembering.

“Creativity is the auma of the universe, David. A good story, written with heart and feeling, can touch many people and raise their awareness of global issues. It was no accident that Gadzooks came into being. I owe a great debt to Elizabeth Pennykettle. She has used the icefire wisely. We should even thank our crone, Gwilanna. When she used her influence on the publishers, she helped us more than she really knew.”

David thought back to Dilys Whutton’s offer. It seemed strangely ironic that Gwilanna should be paying to fund his research into a novel that might help to save the bears she so disliked. “I told them I’d write a saga,” he said. “I don’t even know where I’m going to start.”

Bergstrom patted his shoulder and they stood.
“Tonight, when you return to the crescent, go to the room of photographs. Let the tooth guide you toward a book. What you find there will help you begin. Good luck, David. When we meet again, it will be in Chamberlain. Now you must go. Suzanna needs you.”

“Zanna? Why, what’s wrong?”

On Bergstrom’s shoulder, a wraithlike shape appeared.

“Grockle?” breathed David, and suddenly Zanna was screaming for him.

“David! Where are you?
David! David!”

“Zanna?” he yelled back, swinging round.

She came through the mist and thudded violently into his arms. Her face was awash and messed by tears. “Grockle,” she clamored.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

A mountain of grief poured out of her eyes. “He turned to stone.”

David stood back, gathering his thoughts. A dragon without fire. Gawain.
Stone.

“Dr. Bergstrom!” he cried out and swung back
again. “Dr. Bergstrom! Wait! Come back! Where are you?” And he chased across the common where Bergstrom had been. But all he found were tracks in the shifting snow. A single trail of five-clawed prints, dusted by the wind drifting in from the north.

At home, Lucy and Zanna cried enough tears to fill up a fountain. David, his gaze never far from the floor, explained as much as he could to Liz. She bravely accepted all that had happened and tried to explain that Grockle wasn’t dead, merely in a place where he could fly in peace, free from the dark suspicions of a world so fearful and misunderstanding of dragons. This was of little comfort to Gretel, who had tried, from the very first hardening of scales, to use every flower available to her. She was close to shedding her fire tear that night. Only the warmth of G’reth saved her.

As for David, he returned to Henry Bacon’s later, carrying such a pulsing mix of emotions that sleep seemed like an impossible venture. So he went to the study instead, to the room of photographs as Bergstrom
had called it. In his pocket, in his hand, the enameled tooth of an ancient bear guided his eyes across the spines of books, until they settled on a single name that seemed to stand out above all others: Lono. He slid it off the shelf. A large book with full color plates. It fell open at the first of them. The picture was faded and cracked with age, its once-white borders yellowed to the shade of a polar bear’s pelt. There were polar bears in the picture. Two of them. One large, one small, sitting on the ice with their backs to the camera. David felt a tear prick the corner of his eye as his gaze traveled down and he read the caption.

A mother and her female cub relax on pack ice in early spring. A second cub is just out of frame to their right. The island in the background, a favored nesting place for buntings and skuas, goes by the name of the Tooth of Ragnar.

34
C
LEANING
U
P

 

O
ver the next few days, the mood in the house was somber and still. Nobody said very much about Grockle and everyone wanted to drift away into their private space to reflect: Zanna returned to her college studies, Lucy went back to school, and Liz disappeared to the Dragons’ Den to make repairs to those dragons injured in the skirmish with Gwilanna.

It was left to David and Mr. Bacon to get on with the business of cleaning up. Mr. Bacon, as usual, didn’t hang about. At eight-thirty sharp on the morning following Gwilanna’s departure — having first rearranged his day off from the library — he marched David around to number forty-two and told Liz what was going to happen. “Ordered a Dumpster last
night,” he said. “Operation cleanup, under way promptly. Wheelbarrow shuttling from room to drive. Rubble cleared in a jiff.”

“No,” she said.

Mr. Bacon jumped.

“No wheelbarrows in my hall.”

Henry pursed his lips. “Understood, Mrs. P. Brush and bucket. Manual carting it is, then, boy.”

Unimpressed by the thought of hours of hard labor, David made his own suggestion: “Can’t we just sweep it under the floor?” He nodded at the hole he’d smashed in the boards.

Henry made a curt remark about carpets (and the sweeping of problems under them), then went home and found two buckets. He hooked the larger one over David’s arm and told him to start anywhere he liked.

It took all day and more. They dumped the mattress, the curtains, and the broken boards, too. The latter were replaced with fresh-smelling timbers, which Mr. Bacon sawed to size and hammered neatly across the joists. There was a moment of panic when
Bonnington decided to explore the hole and was nearly boarded up for all eternity. He was swiftly ejected and work continued. To no one’s surprise, Mr. Bacon was a hero of do-it-yourself jobs. Not only did he reglaze the broken window and fix Sheetrock onto the damaged walls, he also rewired the light cord and holder and warned David not to hang his clothes on it in the future — or whatever stupid prank he’d obviously been doing to tear the wiring apart in the first place.

By the close of the weekend, the structural work was done. David was exhausted and slept like a lion. But at breakfast on Monday, Mr. Bacon shook him awake once more and told him that a steam stripper, a blowtorch, and two sharp scrapers were waiting in the hall and he expected good use to be made of them.

The steam stripper proved a complete disaster. Within minutes, the room was filled with a muggy gray cloud that made the windows stream and had Gadzooks peeling sodden sheets of paper off his pad. The blowtorch was even worse. The first time David lit it, it virtually exploded. He called in Gwillan when Liz
wasn’t looking. With the dragon’s help, the paintwork was all burned off by lunch.

Later that afternoon, Zanna returned. On the surface, she seemed her usual self, chatting amiably to Liz (and Gretel) in the kitchen and admiring Mr. Bacon’s handiwork. But David sensed a quiet despondency about her, as if she wasn’t quite sure she belonged anymore — in the house, or even near him perhaps. When she rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a scraper, cheerily saying that she ought to do her part, David found himself strangely on edge, and their conversation soon began to mirror his disquiet.

“Got some news from college this morning.”

David, reacquainting himself with the mysteries of the steam stripper, waved away the mist and asked her what.

“I won Bergstrom’s essay competition.”

On the windowsill, Gadzooks stopped doodling. G’reth, who’d been meditating on the falling snow, shook himself awake and turned to listen.

“Seems like Zanna’s theory that Loch Ness could
support a whole family of mini-monsters won the great doctor’s approval. Hey.”

“Hey,” repeated David, smiling, but sounding just a little bit shell-shocked. “You’ll be going to the Arctic, then?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t made my mind up yet.”

“Well, what is there to think about? You just won the geographical trip of a lifetime.”

“I’m not sure it would be appropriate,” she said, jabbing at an obstinate swatch of paper.

David looked across at the dragons. Both of them shook their heads and shrugged.

“I’m not very happy with Bergstrom, David.”

“Oh,” he grunted, laying the steam stripper against the wall. “You’re still upset about Grockle, then?”

“Of course I’m still upset about Grockle! Bergstrom should have warned me what was going to happen. He knew, and yet he let me …” She finished her sentence with another angry stab at the wall.

“Here, try this,” David said, moving across with his plate of steam. “It’s much easier if you soften it first.”

“I’m all right,” she grumbled, jutting out an elbow. She switched the tool to her opposite hand, revealing the graze where Gwilanna had scratched her.

David gave it a protracted look. “That’s taking its time to heal. It’s still weeping. Don’t you think you should bandage it?”

“I did. It doesn’t help. It’ll scab when it’s ready. Besides, it doesn’t hurt.”

David tilted his head and stared at it again.

“What?”
she said, irritated by his puzzled expression.

“Don’t know. It reminds me of something, that’s all. Remember before the fight with Gwilanna I went upstairs into Henry’s study?”

“Yeah. So?”

“I saw a mark appear in the polar bear print. In the middle of its forehead, here.” He traced a mark with his fingertips. “Three cuts, very similar to those, made when Ragnar’s cub was hit by a bone.”

Zanna turned full on to him now. Dressed in leggings and a plain black T-shirt, with minimal makeup
and her hair knotted back, she looked far less daunting than she normally did, but David still felt his mouth going dry as she cocked her head to her shoulder and said, “Rain, the hag just dug in and gouged. She wasn’t being particularly artistic at the time. Besides, you said an Inuit hunter killed the cub.”

“Yeah. Gwilanna was behind it, though.”

“Oh, so now I’m cursed by the mark of the sibyl?”

“No, I never said that. It’s just … Oh, forget it. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

But Zanna wasn’t going to let it drop. “This is about me and Gretel, isn’t it?”

“What?
What’s Gretel got to do with it?”

“I didn’t ask to be able to see her, David. When Lucy used the icefire, it changed us all. You were filled with the auma of Ragnar, Gwilanna got her evil fingers scorched, and I got a free pass through to dragon world. In some people’s eyes, that makes me a witch.”

“Zan-na …”

“Shut up. I’m making a point. You’ve never been able to get your stuffy, blinkered brain around my
‘fashion sense’ as you condescendingly like to refer to it. And now it turns out that I am, in fact, sibyl girl, you’re just fondly congratulating yourself on how smart you think you were.” She jerked her arm upward and nearly scraped the stubble off David’s chin. “I don’t care what you think I am. Gretel is my special dragon now, and we are going to work in Grockle’s memory. And we don’t have to go to the Arctic to prove it!” “Zanna, listen …”

“No, David. I don’t want to know!” And her scraper hit the boards with a painful clatter and she ran out, leaving the room door shuddering.

The hand that came to steady it belonged to Lucy. “What’s the matter with Zanna?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“She was crying. What have you done to her?”

“Nothing. Go away.”

“She was talking about Grockle.”

“Lucy, if you know what’s good for you, beat it.”

Lucy, as always, stood her ground. “Sometimes I wish you’d stayed under the floorboards.”

“Yeah, well. Right now, I wish I had.”

Hrr-oo,
went G’reth and covered his ears. So many unhappy wishes. He was glad that no one was using their thumbs.

“You’re still mad at me,” Lucy went on, “because I was right all the time about Spikey and because you didn’t trust Gadzooks enough.”

On the windowsill, Gadzooks gave his scales a rattle and kept his head decidedly low. He was staying well out of this.

David sighed and let his forehead rest against the wall. “What do you want, Lucy?”

“Mom’s in the kitchen. She wants to see you.”

“What about?”

“What you did to Grace.”

David closed his eyes and wished the world would go away. “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,” he muttered. But when he turned around, Lucy had already gone.

“Tea’s brewed,” said Liz, without looking up. She was at the table when he walked in, carefully painting a dragon’s ears. A hollow feeling rebounded in his chest when he saw that the dragon in care was Grace. Liz jiggled her brush in a jar of spirits, then wiped it quickly against her smock. “What was all that with Zanna just now?”

“Oh, nothing. She’s still upset about him.” David nodded at the fruit bowl where the small stone figure of Grockle was curled up in perfect, petrified sleep.

“Well, that’s understandable,” Liz said quietly. “She quickened him. She’s bound to feel it deeply.”

David glanced across the kitchen and caught sight of Gretel sitting on the countertop, pulling vegetables apart. It troubled him to see her pick up a mushroom. She saw him watching and tossed it aside. “Is there nothing you can do for him?”

“Sit still,” Liz whispered to Grace, drawing a neat green line along her snout. Gwillan, who was sitting on the butter dish beside her, opened his throat and
warmed the paint dry. “Even if I could bring Grockle back, I’m not really sure I’d want to, David. This world was never right for a dragon like him. In her heart, Zanna knows it. She just needs time to come to terms with it, that’s all. Be patient. She’ll be back. How’s the decorating going?”

“Just the chimney wall to do. Lucy said you wanted me.”

“Hmm. I thought you’d like to know that Grace is mended.” Liz turned her around.

Remarkable. Grace looked better than ever. A wave of raw, deep-seated relief slackened every muscle in David’s shoulders. “Can she hear OK?”

The dragon rolled her eyes like a couple of pear drops. David smiled and took that as a yes. He reached out to knuckle the edge of one shell. To his disappointment, Grace leaned away with her ears bent back.

“Hush,” said Liz, hurring the word and sending Grace into a gentle sleep. “She’s a little insecure right now. When you break the ears of a listening dragon, you take far more than its hearing, I’m afraid. She’s
another who’s going to need time. Deep down, she understands why you did it.”

“I’m not sure I do,” David muttered. “Part of me thinks I snapped her ears because I was still upset about Sophie.”

Liz raised a sympathetic eyebrow. “Well, that’s the trouble with decorating, isn’t it? Leaves you too much time to think.”

David grunted and reached for the teapot. He squeezed the handle but released it again. “I’m sorry, Liz, for all the trouble I’ve caused. Grockle, Gwilanna, the room, you.”

A-row?
went Bonnington, as if someone ought to put him on the list. He was sitting on the drainboard, idly watching a pair of sparrows digging peanuts out of a hanging feeder. He lifted his paw and, not for the first time, seemed confused to see it strapped in a bandage.

“If I hadn’t made that wish —”

“David.” Liz stopped him with a green-eyed look. “It’s not your fault. It was meant to be.”

David half-threw up his hands. “Now you’re
starting to sound like Zanna. Why are you letting me off so easily? You always warned me not to poke about in the den and … well, look what happened.”

Liz closed her case of paints, untied her smock, and draped it across the back of a chair. “Sit down. I want to tell you something.”

David dragged out a chair and sat.

“Has it never occurred to you why I took the risk of bringing a tenant into this house?”

The tenant thought about it briefly, then shook his head.

“I didn’t meet Dr. Bergstrom in Norway.”

“What? But Lucy said —”

“I told Lucy I saw a man because it was easier for her at the time. But I didn’t see a man; I saw a polar bear. When he gave me the snowball he told me there was powerful auma in it, and that one day, no matter how I chose to use it, it would guide me to someone for whom his kind would have great need. I used the snow to make dragons, as you know, among them the one you named Gadzooks. The moment you told me he’d
found the name Lorel, I knew that the waiting was over. Don’t be sorry, David. Everything you wished for had to be. The only misfortune was losing Grockle.”

Gretel shuddered and Liz called softly to her. But as the dragon got set to fly, the front door banged, and a few seconds later Zanna walked in, carrying a couple of cans of paint. “Went to get paint,” she said a little sheepishly. “Harvest Moon. Special offer. Yuck.”

“That’s my girl,” laughed Liz. “Sit down. Have a cup of tea.”

Zanna shook her head. “Thanks, but if it’s OK with you, I’d like to have a word with David first.”

“Um, sure,” he muttered, getting signals from Liz. He followed Zanna gingerly into his room, pushing the door just to as he entered.

Head down, still holding the paint, she said, “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper. I’m upset about Grockle and angry with Bergstrom, but it wasn’t right, taking it out on you. Please say we can still be friends.” She looked up, searching for signs of forgiveness. “I did bring horrible paint for your room — and a bandage
for my arm — and sweets, I got sweets; licorice, your favorite. I’ll finish your section of wall if you like?”

David smiled as though it was hurting him deeply. He looked her slowly up and down. A fragile paint maid, all in black. “Put the cans down,” he whispered. Her dark eyes searched his face for a reason. A moment went, but he didn’t give an answer. Instead, his hand came up to her face, and raising her chin with the crook of his finger, he kissed her gently on the lips.

The paint cans thudded to the bare wooden floor. Somewhere in the background, the doorbell rang. But David and Zanna, lost in their embrace, took no notice of the squeals of surprise that came winging down the hall a few seconds later. Only when Lucy came crashing in, demanding that David should come right away, did annoyance and embarrassment force them apart.