The Last Dragon Chronicles: Fire World: Fire World (11 page)

story behind it, and withholding the truth from an Aunt was dangerous, but the way the old woman had reacted to the cover

had ignited a deep curiosity in Rosa and a strange desire to protect the book. So she took a chance and asked, “What is a drargone, Aunt?”

“Dragon,” said Aunt Gwyneth, paging slowly. “The correct pronunciation is dragon.”

Rosa nodded, taking this in. “Why do they look like fi—?”

“They are a myth,” said the Aunt, snapping the book shut. “They do not exist. They are a wicked invention, and even you, a wretched excuse for a girl, will not sully her auma with such perversity.”

“No,   Aunt.   Sorry.”   A   wicked invention? Limited though it might be, Rosa’s fain flared. “Have you come to see David?”

“Yes. What is beyond this door?” The old woman’s cruel eyes (
yes
, thought Rosa,
 
definitely cruel
) were scanning the obstruction.

Rosa did her best to shrug the questionoff. “I’ll take you to him. I know thequickest routes.”

“I know how to find him.” Once again, Aunt Gwyneth prevented her escape.

“Then, erm, what are you doing on thisfloor, with me?”

“I detected a powerful auma surge andthe building drew me here.”

Thanks
, Rosa said beneath her breath to

the walls.

With an ill-mannered tug, the Aunt bundled her out of the way. She too tried the handle. Once again the door failed to open. “Where is the key to this?”

“I don’t know,” Rosa said. “There isn’t

a lock.”

“There is always a lock,” Aunt Gwyneth rumbled. “I ask you again, what is beyond this door?”

Rosa sighed and tossed her hair. “The upper floors – where the firebirds nest.”

This made the Aunt suck in as if someone had pulled a string to her lungs. “What were you doing here?”

“Trying to get in,” Rosa said truthfully, then compounded it with a lie. “I come here every day, but the door is never open.” She chewed her lip and glanced at the dragon book. “Shall I put that back where it belongs?” She held out a hopeful hand.

Aunt Gwyneth filled it with shattered dreams. “You are never to touch this book

again. Now, walk in front of me, where I

can
 
watch
 
you. It’s time to find the boy.”

Not surprisingly, it took a lot less time for Aunt Gwyneth to find David than it had for Rosa to find the locked door. Mr Henryand Thorren Strømberg both bowed to the Aunt as she glided in.

A rough hand between the shoulderblades propelled Rosa forward, almostmaking her trip on the books still strewnacross the floor. “I found this, loiteringupstairs.”

Rosa thought she saw the blonde-hairedvisitor smile.

“She was in pursuit of
 
dragons
 
.”

The old woman held the book out for Mr Henry, but it was Thorren Strømberg who took it from her. He touched his

fingers to the cover and said, “And did you find them, Rosa?”

Rosa saw the Aunt bristle. “No, sir,” she said.

The blonde man nodded. He handed the

book sideways to Mr Henry (who seemed to examine it for damage, Rosa thought). “Strange creatures, don’t you think?”

“Enough,” the Aunt said. “You would do   well   to   remember,   Counsellor Strømberg, that to encourage disruptive thinking is a crime against the Grand Design. A dangerous practice, in my presence.”

Once again, Strømberg bowed to her. “Far be it from me to challenge your authority. By asking such a question I seek not to encourage but merely to search for possible flaws.”

“I’m not
flawed
,” Rosa piped up. “I just

like books.”

“Be quiet,” snapped the Aunt. She

moved toward David and looked down at

his face. He was still lost in (peaceful) sleep. “Books,” she muttered, as if she’d just cut her finger on the edge of a page. She cast her imperious gaze around the shelves. “I have long believed this building could be used for something more meaningful than harbouring
 
antiquities
 
.”

Rosa saw Mr Henry grinding his teeth. His face was trembling with anger. She had never seen rage in the old man before and it frightened (and slightly excited) her. Thorren Strømberg came to the curator’s aid. Putting out a comforting hand he said, “One mustn’t forget, Aunt Gwyneth, that the librarium is a recognised firebird

eyrie and therefore protected by the Grand Design.”

Eyrie. Another new word. Rosa looked at the Aunt and saw her spine stiffen. So, the old bag hated the firebirds just as much as the books. She was learning a lot today.

“So this is David Merriman,” Aunt Gwyneth said.

Rosa   raised   her   eyebrows. “Merriman?” she hooted. What kind of a name was that?

“Get
 
rid
 
of that irritating child,” said the Aunt, batting a stiff hand back through the air.

“No way,” Rosa hissed. “I’m not leaving David.”

Aunt Gwyneth whipped around. “I will cut you into slices and press you between

the pages of your books if you do not get out of this room, girl.”

“Perhaps,”    Thorren    Strømberg interceded, “it would be better if Rosa stayed. She was nearest to David when the firebird   attacked.   She   might   have information that will help your diagnosis.”

Aunt Gwyneth’s nostrils flared.

Strømberg took this as a positive sign. “Rosa, you will be quiet until one of us asks you to speak. Or you will be sent out. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered.

The counsellor gave her the faintest of nods, then turned back to the Aunt. “Yes, this is David. I called for you because I know you’ve had contact with his parents. It seemed sensible to keep some kind of continuity.”

“A wise choice in any circumstance,” Aunt Gwyneth said, with such an air of superiority that Rosa wanted to gag. “Now, what happened to the boy?”

“He was flamed by a firebird, yet appears to have suffered no external injuries. A strange flash was observed at the point of the attack. Mr Henry believes that   something   either   deflected   or absorbed the bird’s fire. Whatever the cause, we fear it may have left the boy blind.”

Aunt Gwyneth took this in and studied the patient carefully. She reached inside the jacket of her suit and drew out a small instrument. It looked to Rosa like that odd

thing, a
 
pen
. (Mr Henry kept a few in a display case in his study.) Certainly, when the Aunt touched her thumb to one end,

something sharp like a nib extruded from the other. Leaning forward, Rosa saw it was a tip of green light. It began to buzz at increasingly higher frequencies as Aunt Gwyneth brought it closer to David’s head. She inserted it into his ear. Right away, his physical features disappeared and all that could be seen was a halo of light in the shape of a boy.

Is that…?
 
Rosa mouthed, and was fortunately seen by Strømberg, who said, “This is a sight that never ceases to amaze me. Auma, in its purest state.”

“Be silent,” said Aunt Gwyneth. “Let me do my work.” And to Rosa’s horror, the old woman plunged her hands into David’s auma, sweeping them around as if she was searching for a prize in a lucky dip.

Although she knew nothing of thisdiagnostic process (a high form ofcommingling, she would later come tolearn), Rosa was relieved to see greatwaves of violet sweeping David’s aumawherever the Aunt’s black and white,bony hands travelled. Violet, children of Co:pern:ica were taught, was the colourof truth. Only one area of David’s bodydid not resolve itself in that shade, andthat was the deep, deep blue of his heart. Aunt Gwyneth hovered here for thelongest time, her fingers moving like stripsof paper in the blades of a fan. When shefinally withdrew, Rosa kept her worriedgaze fixed on the heart. She watched itpulsing right up to the point where the Aunt removed the probe from David’s earand his body reappeared on the bed as

before.

“He is physically perfect,” the Aunt reported, “as good as the day he was constructed. He isn’t blind – but he
 
is

seeing things.”

“Dreaming?” Strømberg asked.

“Deeply.”

“Is he calm?”

The Aunt nodded. “He is in a recurring alpha wave.”

A twitch of relief pulled at Strømberg’s mouth. “Do you know when he might wake?”

Aunt Gwyneth shook her head. “He is inan unusual form of stasis, brought on by astrong melancholia.”

“What does that mean?” Rosa couldn’thelp   herself.   Bravely,   she   steppedforward and picked up David’s hand.

“It means he’s sad,” said Mr Henry, stepping forward too. He moved his jaw from side to side, the way he sometimes did when he was musing in his study. “He was trying to save a firebird when he was attacked. It fell a great distance. It was probably dead. He would have been moved by that.”

“His fain is not resolving it,” Aunt Gwyneth said.

“So mend him,” said Rosa.

“I just tried,” said the Aunt, with steel in her voice. Her eyes scanned David’s body again. “The boy is ec:centric and emotionally flawed. He is beyond the help of an Aunt. His situation must be reported to the Higher.”

“And your recommendation would be?” said Strømberg.

Aunt   Gwyneth   raised   her   chin.

“De:construction,” she said.

18

“NO!” screamed Rosa, looking at the faces of all three adults. “You can’t do

that. I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Get this child out of my
 
sight
,” said Aunt Gwyneth, with such a degree of vehemence that a shower of spittle sprayed across Rosa’s dress.

“Rosa, come with me.” Mr Henry gripped her arm.

“No,” she cried again, freeing herself. “How can you stand there and let her say this?”

“Rosanna, go to a rest room. Now.”

The girl planted her feet. “I’m
 
not

leaving David
.”

Then thunder rose in Mr Henry’s chest

and blood boiled in the veins of his face.

“GO!” he bellowed, clenching his fists – not to strike her, Rosa was sure about that, but simply to try to get a grasp on his emotions. She’d never seen him so expressly disturbed. (And he’d never used her name in full before.) Nevertheless, she stared at him in utter betrayal. He calmed himself and spoke in a gentler tone, as if asking her to pardon this dreadful outburst. But by then the hurt could be seen in her eyes. She shook her hair wildly and ran from the room.

Charles Henry dragged a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it across his gibbering mouth. “Whatever’s to be done, do it quickly,” he said. “I want no part of it.”

“Nothing   is   to   be   done,”   said

Strømberg.

Aunt Gwyneth turned on him at once. “You would defy my ruling?”

Strømberg picked up a book and put itback onto a shelf (in no particular place). “No, Aunt. I support your ruling; thisincident must be reported to the Higher. But as David’s approved counsellor I willbe expected to submit an assessment of hiscase, and my recommendation would bethat he is kept in the librarium andwatched.”

Aunt Gwyneth snorted her displeasure. “For what reason?”

“Until this day, no one in the history of Co:pern:ica has ever been rendered melancholic by a firebird. I find that intriguing. I believe the Higher will, too. They will want me to study the boy.”

“Poppycock,” the old woman sneered. (Mr Henry raised an eyebrow at the use of this word and found his glance drawn towards his dictionary shelf.)

Unfazed, Strømberg put his hands into his pockets and idly continued to stare at the books. “Then, of course, there is your professional reputation to consider.”

“What?” said the Aunt. A tiny sprig of hair jumped out of her bun.

“I understand from Harlan Merriman

that you’ve accepted the boy’s mother for training?”

“What has that got to do with it?”

Strømberg turned to face her. “Would it not be considered odd – anomalous, even – that an aspirant, chosen by you, had recently had a child de:constructed? Hardly   the   ideal   qualification   for

Aunthood.”

Aunt Gwyneth took a step forward. Sheseemed to grow in height as she sought tomeet Thorren Strømberg’s eye. “You aretreading a dangerous line, Counsellor. Donot think to interfere with my business.”

“It’s my business to advise people,” Strømberg said frankly. “In my opinion,the facts are very plain. It’s up to you whatyou do with them,
 
Aunt
 
.”

Her gaze slanted sideways to David. “The boy might never wake up.”

“Then what threat can he be?”

Aunt Gwyneth breathed in deeply. “Very well,” she said, waving a hand. “You may keep your ‘therapy’ intact. But Iwill be back to see this boy again. If hismelancholia worsens or his terrors return,that will be an end to it.” And with one