The Return of the Dragon (8 page)
Read The Return of the Dragon Online
Authors: Rebecca Rupp
Gawain and Eleanor spent two weeks in the forest with the dragon. They went on nature walks, picked berries, fished, and told stories and sang songs around nightly campfires. The dragon taught both children to bake a respectable loaf of bread, though some of their earlier efforts went dreadfully wrong. Gawain built a simple catapult that they used to fling the blackened failures at a target pinned to a tree. The dragon enjoyed this, and once burned an entire batch of muffins to provide them with more ammunition.
Sir Tristram’s leg grew stronger every day until finally he was ready to return to the castle. His warhorse, looking sheepish, had come back to the clearing. Sir Tristram mounted cautiously. His sword and armor were tied in a neat bundle behind him on the saddle. He thanked the dragon and the children politely for their care. He planned to leave immediately on a crusade, where he hoped to regain his self-respect. He invited Gawain to go with him as his squire, but Gawain only shook his head.
The dragon looked downcast as the knight galloped away.
“A crusade,” it said, in tones of contempt. “They never learn.” It heaved a discouraged sigh, staring into the forest in the direction Sir Tristram had gone.
“Thick as a post,” it said.
Eleanor turned to Gawain. “What did I tell you?” she said.
The dragon, too, turned its blue gaze toward Gawain. “And you?” it said. “You didn’t seem eager to accompany him. I thought your fondest wish was to be a knight, galloping off to battle.”
Gawain looked down and shook his head.
“I always thought fighting looked so glorious,” he said. “I wanted to be a hero.” He looked at his feet. “I wanted to slay a dragon too. But it all looks different when you think about the other side.”
He sighed. “Now I don’t know what I want to do.”
The dragon patted him kindly on the shoulder with a polished golden claw. “There are heroes and there are heroes,” it said. “You’ll think of something. You both will. Don’t worry about that.”
It paused for a moment, gazing solemnly into their eyes.
“It’s not fighting that’s so difficult,” the dragon finally said. “It’s deciding what’s worth fighting
for.
”
The children shifted on the cave floor and stretched their arms and legs. It felt as though they hadn’t moved for a long time. The dragon’s voice had ceased.
“Then what happened?” Zachary asked. “Did Gawain ever become a knight?”
“No,” the dragon said. “He changed his mind after his stay in the forest. Instead, he and his wife became great healers, physicians. Between them they saved many lives.”
“Who did he marry?” asked Sarah Emily.
“Eleanor, of course,” said the dragon. “They were quite made for each other, those two. She never could manage embroidery, but she had a fine hand for surgery.”
“What about Sir Tristram?” asked Hannah.
The dragon gave a chortling little snort. “He rode off on a crusade,” it said, “and was captured in the middle of his second battle. He was sold into slavery in Baghdad and ended up marrying the youngest daughter of the household. Her name was Zenobia. They had four daughters and Sir Tristram became a date merchant.”
“A
date merchant,
” said Sarah Emily in dismay. “That’s not very romantic. It’s not like the Round Table stories at all.”
“Poor Sir Tristram,” said Hannah.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the dragon said. “Perhaps after the bloodshed of the crusade, fighting didn’t look so glorious to him either anymore. Perhaps at last he began to use his head. I like to think I may have had a hand in bringing him to his senses.”
The dragon gave what might have been a little giggle. “Four daughters,” it repeated. “And every one of them could wrap him right around her littlest finger . . .”
Sarah Emily was staring at the gleaming golden fleck in the center of her right palm.
“Did they become Dragon Friends?” she asked suddenly. “Gawain and Eleanor?”
The dragon nodded solemnly.
“Of course,” it said. “I was honored.”
Zachary said musingly, “What’s worth fighting for . . .”
“Lives,” said Sarah Emily suddenly. “That’s it, isn’t it, Fafnyr? All those people’s lives — babies and sick people. That’s what Gawain and Eleanor decided was worth fighting for.”
For an instant, the dragon’s eyes glowed a deeper, brighter blue. Then it settled down on the cave floor and gave an enormous yawn.
Hastily, Hannah brought up the problem of Mr. King. “The man on the yacht, Fafnyr. Mr. J.P. King. Do you know why he’s so determined to keep hanging around? Did he see something?”
The dragon’s gold turned faintly pink. “I fear I may have been a trifle careless,” it mumbled. “I slipped out for a bit of exercise and a snack —
quite
early in the morning,” it said indignantly, “
well
before he had any business being up, and there he was, pacing about on the deck of that overblown boat. He was looking into the sun, so I hoped he was confused about what he saw.”
“We were afraid he’d seen you,” Zachary said.
“Not
well,
” the dragon said. “Not in all that glare. And if nothing else happens, he’ll decide that it was all his imagination and he’ll leave. It’s happened before. People are notoriously reluctant to believe.”
“This time, I hope so,” said Hannah.
“I don’t know,” said Zachary worriedly. “Mr. King never gives up on anything. At least, that’s what the newspapers say. That’s why he’s so successful.”
The dragon yawned again and the blue eyes began to droop. “I will, of course, consider this problem,” the dragon murmured. “A bit later. After my nap.” Its eyes closed farther.
“Do come again soon,” it said. “My sister is anxious to see you.”
“Good night, Fafnyr,” Sarah Emily said. The only answer was a snore. The cave had gone dark.
Zachary switched on the flashlight, and the children picked their way carefully back to the cave entrance. As they emerged, blinking, from the cave into the spring sunlight, they looked down into the blue ocean, where, far below them, the white yacht still floated, rocking gently up and down on the waves.
“He seemed like such a nice man,” Hannah said regretfully.
“He’s a technological genius,” Zachary said. “Everybody says so.”
“Genius shmenius,” said Hannah.
“I knew there was something funny about those puffins,” Zachary said.
Sarah Emily said, “I wish we’d hear from Aunt Mehitabel.”
A letter in burnt-orange ink, filled with exclamation points and underlinings, arrived from Aunt Mehitabel:
Dear Children,
I have received a letter from Mr. J.P. King, announcing that he has been
lurkin
g off the north shore of the island in his yacht and would now like permission to land and
ex
p
lore Drake’s Hill
! I have written back, explaining that
under no circumstances
do I
ever
allow uninvited visitors on the island! I trust he will not risk trespassing again! He sounds a
most
determined person,
much
too accustomed to getting his own way.
The Anna of the photograph that you found in the Tower Room — I had thought it was
lo
n
g g
one
— is Anna König, a woman who g
ross
l
y deceived me and who, due to my foolishness, could have been a
terrible
threat to F! I met Anna long ago on a tour of archaeological sites in China. We both had a deep interest in dragon artifacts — mine, of course, because of you-know-who — and we soon became bosom friends. I even invited her to join me on Lonely Island, along with her son, Johann Pieter, a bright young boy of ten. The photograph that you describe is of the three of us, taken at the beginning of that f
atal
visit.
In my excitement at meeting a kindred spirit, I fear I dropped some unfortunate hints about the special denizen of the island that led Anna to become curious. Soon I discovered that she was prowling about the house late at night, searching for clues! (It was then,
most
providentially, that I first locked the door to the Tower Room.) Then she and her son took to exploring the island! I tried to protest but did not want to call too much attention to my distress — I felt that would only confirm her growing suspicions.
She spoke of capturing you-know-who and of immense riches and fame. I argued that magical creatures were only found in fairy tales and implied that I myself, though desperately wanting to believe, had been proven wrong time and time again and had become convinced that F and his kind are simply imaginary. Gradually, I believe, she came to agree with me. Her visit was
at last
drawing to a close, and I allowed myself a sigh of relief.
Then one morning Johann Pieter, who had risen at sunrise for a final walk along the beach, came
racin
g into the house incoherent with excitement. He had discovered
tracks
on the beach, he said,
immense clawed
f
oot
p
rints
that could only belong to a y
ou-know-what
— one who perhaps lived in a cave beneath the sea. His mother and I went with him to examine the miraculous tracks, but when we arrived, the water had washed them away. If, indeed, they were ever there — Johann Pieter was a
most
imaginative little boy and
very
eager to please his mother.
Anna, by then, however, had come to see her quest as a waste of time, but when she and Johann Pieter departed the island, I saved the photograph as a reminder to myself
never
to be so careless again! It was a narrow escape and one that I have
never
forgotten!
I wish I could be there to help, but I am
still
incapacitated with my broken ankle! The doctor tells me that it will be
at least
another four weeks before I can attempt to walk on it! (I have done some experiments privately, and I suspect that he is correct.) In any case, I trust that you will be able to handle things on your own, in the best interests of F.
With fondest regards,
Aunt Mehitabel
“What a nasty person,” Sarah Emily said. “That Anna. Sneaking around like that. And lying.”
“The worst is that she wanted to capture Fafnyr,” Zachary said.
“I don’t think the Awful Warning helps us much, though,” Hannah said. “We didn’t invite Mr. King here. He just came.”
“Maybe he’ll go away,” Sarah Emily said hopefully. “Now that he’s got Aunt Mehitabel’s letter.”
The children were sitting on the bed in Hannah’s room. Buster, looking like a furry balloon with a smirk on its face, was comfortably asleep in Sarah Emily’s lap. Zachary was tinkering with his tape recorder, which hadn’t worked properly since Ben had jerked it out of his hands and dropped it on the sand. Something inside it seemed to be stuck. When Zachary pressed the
PLAY
button, it buzzed like a sick bumblebee or made sad little whirring sounds.
“Maybe he already left,” said Hannah, looking brighter.
“Let’s take a picnic to the north end of the island. We can see if the yacht is still there.”
“I give up,” Zachary said, tossing the tape recorder into a bureau drawer. “Let’s go.”
Mrs. Jones packed a picnic basket, stuffed with all their favorites: hard-boiled eggs, pickles, peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches, and oatmeal cookies. Cheerfully, they set off across the island, Zachary in the lead, wearing his backpack, Hannah and Sarah Emily swinging the picnic basket between them. Hannah began to sing a song about how she loved to go a-wandering.
“I can’t wait to get there and see that boat gone,” said Zachary.
They turned right and cut through the fields, heading for the beach, just south of the place where Mr. King’s company had made their camp. They climbed over a tumble of rounded rocks — Sarah Emily said they looked like baby hippopotamuses — and then scrambled to the top of a sandy dune, overgrown with scrub and grass, that sloped down to the beach. The tents were gone, but the great white yacht still rode at anchor off the shore.
