David steered his gaze to the watch. The back of the casing was scratched and dented and the watch glass clouded by weather and age. A lot of history had passed between its hands. “OK,” he ventured.
“Good. You first.”
“What?”
“It’s a trade. Your story for mine. Briefly, I’m afraid. We don’t have long.”
David snorted into his hands. A trade? A trick, more like. Only Lucy could have cornered him better. “OK, but it’s not that much of a story. It’s about a dragon whose name was Gawain. He was supposed to be the very last dragon in the world and when he died he shed something called a fire tear. That’s like … his essence, wrapped up in a teardrop.”
Bergstrom nodded, a pale light twinkling in his eyes. He had strange eyes, David thought, deep set and slightly close together. If he stared your way for any length of time the gaze became a bold, imperious squint. David thought he’d seen the look somewhere before, but for the moment he couldn’t quite place it.
“A dragon’s power in a teardrop,” mused Bergstrom. “That sounds intriguingly precious. The sort of thing you wouldn’t want falling into the wrong hands, I expect.”
“A woman called Guinevere caught it,” said David. “But I’m not really sure what happened after that. I fell asleep and never heard the end of the story. I dreamed she took the fire inside her, though. She was trying to preserve the spirit of dragons. That’s why she went to Gwilanna, anyway.”
“Gwilanna?” Bergstrom’s blue eyes narrowed.
“A hermit, a sort of ‘wise woman’ type. She lived alone in a cave on a hill. She told Guinevere about the tear in exchange for one of Gawain’s old scales.”
Bergstrom folded his arms and nodded. “That seems a poor exchange. Why did Gwilanna settle for a scale when she might have had the fire of Gawain herself?”
“I don’t know,” said David, with a shake of his head. He’d thought about that many times himself and wondered, in passing, if Bergstrom had. Why did he get the gnawing feeling that Bergstrom, far from listening to the tale, was interrogating him to find out what he knew? “Told you it wasn’t a very good story.”
“On the contrary, it’s an excellent story. Merely incomplete. But it’s given me a good idea for your essay.”
“Essay?”
Bergstrom smiled again. “Your supervisor asked me to assign you one. Not just you, all the students I’ve seen.” He flipped open a briefcase propped up against his chair and brought a small sheaf of papers to his lap. “So, I would like two thousand words, by a week from Friday, on the existence — or not — of dragons.”
David felt the color drain out of his face. “You’re joking? That’s impossible. How on earth am I supposed to write that?”
Bergstrom shuffled the papers and said, “Maybe ‘where on earth’ would be better than ‘how.’ That’s the geographical challenge, David. What sort of terrain would a dragon inhabit? Find the terrain and you might find the dweller. I’m sure the library will have some interesting literature. Or perhaps your dragon-making landlady could help?”
“Liz? She’s always so secretive about the dragons.”
“Well, here’s an incentive to unlock her, then.” Bergstrom pushed a leaflet across the table. “Details of an Arctic field trip. I’ve agreed to take a limited number of students up to my polar research base in Chamberlain, to work firsthand with my team for a while.”
David scanned the flyer with an envious gaze. “Chamberlain? Wow, I’d love to go. But … jeez, it costs seven hundred dollars. I can’t afford that! I’m a week behind with my rent as it is.”
Bergstrom delved into the briefcase once more, this time bringing out what looked to be a piece of polished bone. “It won’t cost you a penny if you write a good paper. The essay I judge to be best of the bunch will receive a free passage. How’s your coursework?”
David tilted a hand.
“Then maybe you could use some help. Tell me, do you believe in good luck charms?”
David glanced at the bone, which he’d guessed by now was an Inuit carving. It was creamy white and about the same length as Bergstrom’s hand. Its shaft was etched with a baffling variety of whirls and symbols, cut into the surface by something rough.
Bergstrom handed it over. “It was made from the tusk of a narwhal,” he said, “and given to me many years ago by an Inuit shaman called Angatarqok — a man who claimed he could fly to the moon, commune with spirits, and turn into a wolf. Be careful, David. What you’re holding is a tornaq. A talisman of fortunes. If you shake it, tightly, in your left hand, the spirit of the narwhal will breach your consciousness and point you along the path of true destiny. That’s the theory. Try.”
A talisman of fortunes? David was tempted to throw it in the trash can. It was politeness rather than fascination that made him switch the carving to his left hand. He closed his eyes and shook the tusk hard.
At once, Gadzooks popped into his mind. Great. That was all he needed. “Go away,” David hissed. “What are you doing here?”
Gadzooks, as usual, ignored the slight and quickly scribbled a word on his pad.
Lorel
David’s eyes blinked open in surprise.
“Any luck?” asked Bergstrom. He reached over and took the carving back.
David shook his head. “Erm, no. Sorry.” Lorel? What was that supposed to mean? Before he could search his mind for an answer, the ring of an alarm broke into the silence.
With the tip of one finger, Bergstrom snapped the pocket watch shut. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for, David. Still, it’s been a pleasure talking to you. You don’t mind if I ask you to see yourself out?”
David said no and stood up, a little bewildered. He hitched up his bag and turned to go. He was almost at the door before remembering to ask, “Your watch, you never told me how it saved your life?”
Bergstrom slid the watch into his pocket. “Ask me again — when you hand in your essay.”
“Oh, all right,” said David, looking disappointed. He said good-bye and slipped out quietly.
For a moment after the student had gone, Bergstrom sat back, staring at the door. Behind him the snowflakes swirled and landed, making small drifts on the thin-lipped sills. He rolled the talisman through his fingers, rubbing his thumb along the length of the shaft as if he was shaping a lump of clay. And then in a muted voice, he spoke. “Stay close to them. Follow their auma.” And what had been amorphous suddenly took shape. And the shape it made was that of a bear.
3
A STICKY ENCOUNTER
The snow fell steadily throughout the night. By morning it had covered Wayward Crescent with a generous icing, deep enough to bury a snow boot. David discovered this fascinating fact as he lay in bed, dozing. He’d been dreaming he was sitting on a drifting ice floe in the Arctic, looking across the cold, black ocean at an island shaped like a jagged tooth. As his sleepy mind pondered the significance of this, he became aware of movement behind him. Something large and heavy was scraping the ice, the sonorous thud of its swaggering steps sounding like the beat of a hollow drum. Boom. Boom. Closer. Closer. Until a humid snort of seal-stained breath was wetting the skin on the back of his neck. He shuddered, far too frightened to turn. The animal opened its mouth to speak …
“Mom! If I stand here, right outside David’s window, I can’t see the tops of my boots at all!”
“Aw …” groaned David as the dream bubble popped and the Arctic disappeared north once more. That was the trouble with this house, he thought. You couldn’t even have a decent dream without a loud eleven-year-old ruining it for you. With a sigh, he rolled over onto his side and promptly came nose to whiskers with Bonnington. Oh yes, and on top of the noisy child was the cat who usually slept under the blanket but had chosen to camp on the pillow that night. “Morning,” David greeted him. Bonnington opened his mouth and yawned. The resulting stench was surprisingly close to what David imagined raw seal might be like. He grimaced and got out of bed.
> Slipping on his sweatshirt and a fresh pair of jeans, he drew back the curtains and assessed the weather. The garden was truly covered. In the center of the lawn, the long brown stem of the Pennykettles’ bird feeder was the only spike of color to have survived the fall. Icicles were hanging off the roof of the shed. The rock garden looked like a small ski slope. David shivered and clicked his tongue. Winter had never been his favorite season.
“What do you think?” he said, rubbing out a small patch of condensation so Gadzooks had a clearer sight of things. The special dragon chewed his pencil in silence. David hurred against the glass, and in the canvas so created he wrote the word “Lorel.” “What does it mean?” he muttered, watching a tiny rivulet of water dribble through the o until it resembled the planet Saturn. He pressed a finger to its center and at once a large belt of snow came sheeting past the window, landing with a whump on the garbage can outside. David jumped back with a frightened start, almost treading on Bonnington’s tail. From the Dragons’ Den above, he thought he heard the echo of a gentle hrrr. Snowballing dragons. Hilarious, not.
Dragging a comb through his mop of brown hair, he followed Bonnington into the kitchen — and almost tripped over Lucy in the process. “Hey, get out of the way,” he fussed. “What are you doing down there, anyway?” She was kneeling on the kitchen floor, digging around in the bottom of the freezer.
“Nothing,” she said, jumping up and slamming the freezer door shut. She leaned back against it, pushing her hands into her fawn-colored car coat. Dirty little puddles of thawing snow were leeching from the soles of her bright red boots. “Will you come into the garden and help me build a snowman?”
“I’m having breakfast,” David muttered, brushing past. What’s she up to? he wondered. Is she hiding something? In the freezer? There was only one way to find out. “Oh, I meant to tell you, Luce, if you look on the bookshelf in my room you’ll find a little present from Sophie.”
That did it. Lucy was gone in a flash.
In another flash, David was down on his knees and pulling out the bottom drawer of the freezer. It was loosely packed with frozen veggies. But in a space at the back behind the bags was a gray plastic box with a pale blue lid. On top of the box, there sat a dragon.
David frowned. He knew this creature. Its name was Gruffen and it usually sat on a shelf just inside the Dragons’ Den where it was supposed to guard the doorway. But what was a guard dragon doing in the freezer? What exactly did the Pennykettles have in that box? A remnant of dragonkind, perhaps? A fragment of scale or tooth or claw? The thought both excited him and made him shiver. Wouldn’t that be something to present to Dr. Bergstrom: organic evidence of dragon life.
He picked Gruffen up to move him aside — and that was his first mistake. Immediately, his fingertips began to burn. It was a cold fire rather than a flame, of course, but the principal effect was identical: pain. As David let out an inflated whimper that seemed to stretch across several seconds, the stupidity of his actions dawned on him. Gruffen’s surface temperature was the same as the freezer: zero degrees Fahrenheit! That alone was enough to cause blistering and frostbite, but the secondary effect was even worse: He couldn’t let Gruffen go. The difference in temperature between the dragon’s cold scales and David’s warm skin had caused his fingers to bond to the glaze.
Heat. He needed a source of heat. He had to get Gruffen off, and quickly. He reached for the hot tap over the sink and was just about to turn it when a voice screeched: “No!”
Liz swept in, casting a scowl at the open freezer. “Run cold water. Hot will crack him.” And using a dish towel to support Gruffen’s body, she pushed them under a slow, cold stream.
“What’s happening?” asked Lucy, running in. She had a glossy-backed wildlife book in one hand and a pretty little listening dragon in the other. She gasped in horror at the sight of Gruffen taking a shower.
David’s face turned bright cherry red. Caught dragon-handed. This was bad. “I was moving him to get to the, erm, broccoli, that’s all.”
“Broccoli? For breakfast? That’s a new one, David.”
“No, I was planning … a surprise meal.”
“He wasn’t,” said Lucy. “He was looking at the —” She bit her tongue and went to the freezer. “It’s all right, Mom. Gruffen guarded it properly.”
“Good. Bring the box over here, would you.”
“But —?”
“Lucy, do as I say. I want to show our inquisitive tenant what’s in it. If I don’t, his curiosity will never be satisfied and he’ll only cause more distress to my dragons.” With a gentle tug she separated Gruffen from David’s fingers and placed him safely on the table. Lucy fetched the box and gave it to her mom. “Thank you. OK, are you ready?”
David nodded.
“One quick peek, then it goes back.” “Mom, are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” said Liz. And she lifted the lid. A fine wisp of icy vapor rose like a genie into the kitchen. From all around the house came a gentle hrrr.
David gulped and leaned his body forward.
Inside the box was a glistening snowball.
4
BREAKFAST NEWS
A snowball?” he said, looking cheated. In actual fact it was more like a lump of off-white ice cream, frozen so hard it had grown a few extra icy ridges.
“Not just any old snowball,” said Lucy. “Mom’s kept it forever, since she was little.” She dug around in a batch of papers in a letter rack and pulled out a small square photograph. “That’s Mom. When she was eight.”
“Wow,” David laughed. “She looks just like you.” Liz was dressed in a parka and snow boots, with a matching red hat with a pom-pom, scarf, and gloves. She was holding the snowball out at arm’s length as if she had caught a falling star. “Sweet,” he said, propping the picture up against the toaster. “So why have you kept it all this time?”
Liz marched across the kitchen and put the box away. “We all keep little reminders of our childhood. You have your teddy bear; I have my snowball.”
“It’s nothing to do with the dragons, then?”
Liz looped back her hair and looked at him hard.
“I only wondered because Lucy said they liked snow.”
Lucy changed the subject. “Mom, Sophie’s given me a book about hedgehogs.”
“Very nice,” said Liz, and cast her eye upon the dragon that Lucy had brought in. “What’s Grace doing here?”
David’s mood became suddenly glum. “As of last night, I’m her keeper.”
Lucy looked up from the pages of her book. “Why has Sophie given her dragon to you?”
“Because Sophie has a new job,” he said tautly, “and where she’s going, she can’t take Grace.”
“Oh?” said Liz, looking concerned. “Is this what she wanted to tell you last night?”
“Yes. She’s leaving the Wildlife Hospital and going to work with elephants for a while.”
“In a zoo?” piped Lucy. “Mom, can we go?”
“Lucy, shush a minute. Go on, David.”
“No, not a zoo. A game reserve — in Africa.”
“What?” Lucy closed the book in shock. “How’s she going to come and see us from there?”
“She isn’t,” David told her bluntly, spilling cornflakes into a dish. “She’ll be gone for eight months. She flew out early this morning. She had to make a snap decision about the job, which is why she didn’t come and say good-bye. She wanted you to have the hedgehog book in case you — we — ever find Spikey.”
Lucy’s bottom lip dropped a little. “Africa?” she mumbled as it finally sank in.
Meow, went Bonnington, springing onto a chair. His plaintive cry seemed to sum up the mood.
“Well, that’s a bit of a blow,” said Liz. “But if she’s gone, she’s gone. That’s all there is to it.”
David sighed and ate a cornflake.
“Come on, eight months isn’t all that long.” Liz gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “The time will fly right by, y
ou’ll see. What you need is an occupation.”
“I’ve got an occupation; I’m a geography student.”
“I meant right now, to take your mind off things. After breakfast you can clear the patio.”
“What?!”
“And you can cook dinner, too — as you were planning a surprise meal. Just because your poor heart’s broken doesn’t mean to say you’re excused for Gruffen.”
“Him? Cook?” Lucy looked on, horrified. “We’ll all be poisoned.”
Pride if nothing else forced David to say, “I happen to make a very good lasagna.”
A-row? went Bonnington.
“Not from Chunky Chunks. Sorry, Bonners.”
“OK, that’s settled, then,” Liz said briskly. “It’ll make a nice change, someone else making dinner.” She patted David’s arm. “The apron is yours. Something with broccoli would be nice …”
The snow on the patio was soft and unbroken and came up in huge, meringue-like blocks. David launched load after load onto the lawn. Lucy, trying hard to build her snowman, squealed every time a wedge came near her. But she complained only once, when David pretended that he’d seen a hedgehog and hit her with a chunk that exploded on her head and showered down into the hood of her coat. She packed a snowball and tried to retaliate. It missed and thudded into David’s window.
“That reminds me,” he said as she blew Gadzooks an apologetic kiss. “What’s happened to G’reth?”
“He’s in the Dragons’ Den, being kilned,” she replied.