The Fire Within (The Last Dragon Chro) (7 page)

B
ONNINGTON
D
ISAPPEARS

 

A
round four that afternoon, Liz and Lucy arrived home from school and found David in the kitchen, washing dishes.

“Goodness, I must be dreaming,” said Liz. “I see washed pots and a tidy table and … is that a freshly mopped floor?”

David shuffled with embarrassment. “Had a little mud on my sneakers and …”

“Don’t spoil it,” said Liz, raising her hands. “You cleaned up. That’s what matters. How come you’re home so early?”

David clicked his tongue. “Erm, lecture was canceled. There’s tea in the pot.”

Liz glanced at the cat-shaped cozy and the three
clean mugs waiting to be filled. “Gosh, now I do feel pampered.” She smiled and went to hang up her coat.

Lucy passed her in the doorway. “Have you checked?” she whispered, running to the window.

“Yes. No sign. We’re talking again, I guess?”

“Mom says I have to. Have you
really
checked?”

“Lucy —”

“Okay, let’s try this tea.” Liz breezed in, pushing back her sleeves. She sat at the table and started to pour.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said David, “I put some
Chunky Chunks
out for Bonnington but he doesn’t … erm … seem to be around.”

Lucy glanced at the empty basket. “Did you rattle his food?”

David shook his head.

Lucy sighed at the tenant’s hopelessness. “I’ll find him,” she said, and walked out rattling some chicken-flavored cat treats.

Two minutes later she was back. Bonnington was nowhere to be found, she said.

“Did you check the kitchen closet?” asked Liz.

“Twice,” said Lucy.

“Try the garden, then.”

Lucy went out, rattling hard.

“Funny,” said Liz. “It’s very unusual for Bonny to go missing. I hope he didn’t get himself in any sort of —”

A-row-oo-wee-yow-oooooo!

“That was him,” she said, putting down her tea.

“Mom!” cried Lucy.

Liz dashed into the garden.

David said a quick prayer and shot out after her.

On the patio, Lucy explained what had happened. “I rattled the box and he yowled, Mom. Listen.” She shook the box again.

Yow-oo-wee-ar-ooooo!

Liz twisted toward Mr. Bacon’s garden. “That came from next door.”

“Hhh!” gasped Lucy, nearly dropping the cat treats. “You don’t think …?”

Liz didn’t wait to hear. With a face like thunder she
set off at high speed for Henry’s front door, Lucy and David close behind.

As luck would have it, Henry had just arrived home from the library. He tipped his hat as Liz approached.

“Henry, let me into your garden now!” Liz pointed at the paneled gate.

“Problem, Mrs. P.?”

“Bonnington’s in there. If he’s stuck somewhere he shouldn’t be, there’s going to be trouble!”

Henry’s face turned the color of an uncooked pancake. He jangled his keys and went into the house. He emerged seconds later from the kitchen door, and slid the bolt on the garden gate.

Liz and Lucy flashed down the path.

Within seconds, they heard a piercing scream. Every bird within a half-mile radius took to the air and flew for its life.

Mr. Bacon gasped in horror. His trap was on the ground, turned over on its side.

A furry face was peering through the mesh.

“Get him out!”
Liz thundered, pointing at the box.

Henry raised a trembling hand to his mouth. “But it’s impossible,” he blustered. “That cat’s too fat.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Bacon bent like a tree in a gale. “Size to space ratio, Mrs. P. Scientific improbability. The cat must have practically stuffed itself in.”

“I’ll stuff
you
in,” Liz said dangerously, “if you don’t release my cat, right now.”

Henry hooked a finger under his collar. He crouched down slowly and reached for the door. Bonnington hissed and bared his fangs. Mr. Bacon drew back in alarm.

“Let me,” said David, kneeling down. Bonnington’s reaction was no less virulent. He took one look at David and spat like water in a pan of hot oil. David leaned closer and gritted his teeth. “Cut it out,” he whispered. “I came to let you out.” He yanked the trap open. Bonnington sprang out. He took a hostile swipe at the tenant’s hand, then dropped to his belly and tried
to slink away. Lucy scooped him up and handed him to Liz. Bonnington pushed his nose inside her cardigan and started to mew like a day-old kitten.

“Okay,” said Liz, almost nose to nose with Henry. “That trap has got to go.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. She shot a glance at David. He studied his nails and gave a tuneless whistle.

Henry Bacon sucked in through his teeth. “I’ll definitely rethink it, Mrs. P. Minor modifications, perhaps.”

“I’ll minor modify you,” Liz growled. “If that door had come down and trapped Bonnington’s tail, he could have been seriously hurt.” (Bonnington tentatively flicked his tail as if making sure he still possessed one.)

“But Mrs. P.,” protested Henry, “what about the —?”

“Get rid of it, Henry, or else!” And ordering Lucy to come along with her, Liz turned sharply and marched back home.

Mr. Bacon looked to David for support.

“Want a hand smashing it up?” said the tenant.

B
IRTHDAY
I
DEAS

 

W
hen David returned to the kitchen, Bonnington was being treated like royalty. There was cream in his water bowl and salmon in a saucer. Lucy was hunkering nearby, stroking him. Liz was covering the
Chunky Chunks
with plastic wrap.

“Phoof,” said David. “Thank goodness he’s safe.”

“Quiet,” said Lucy. “You mustn’t remind him. He has a delicate constipation, doesn’t he, Mom?”

“Constitution,” Liz corrected, washing her hands. “Yes, he’s been through a horrible ordeal.”

Lucy ran Bonnington’s tail through her fingers and told him he’d been a very brave kitty.

“A real hero, isn’t he?” David said, reaching down to scratch Bonnington’s ear.

Fzzzn-uffn-pffn-sass! Bonnington hissed.

“Goodness gracious!” Liz exclaimed. “That’s twice in five minutes that he spat at you.”

David did his best to give an innocent shrug. “I guess he’s feeling a little fragile. Um, how long till dinner?”

“About an hour,” said Liz, flicking a glance at a wide-eyed dragon on the windowsill. She frowned and threw the tenant a suspicious look.

David responded with a cheesy grin. “Think I’ll go and lie low — I mean down — for a while. See you both later. Bye, Bonners.”

With a hesitant wave, he retreated to his room and sank back against the door, sighing with relief. Aw, that had been close. Too close, really. If cats could talk instead of hiss …

Best not to think about it. Work. That was the thing to do now. Forget about rat traps. Catch up on the “canceled” lecture he’d missed. Grabbing a college book from his bag, he flopped onto the bed and got back to his studies.
A Hole at the Pole: The
Disappearing Ozone Layer.
For fifteen minutes his eyes scanned glorious, glacial pictures and skimmed over paragraphs of icy text. Distantly, he heard the thump of a hammer and the splintering sound of breaking wood. In the midst of this, the telephone rang. Shortly afterward, he heard muttered voices in the hall. The front door opened and closed. Seconds later, the
back
door opened and closed. David tossed the book aside. It was hopeless; he couldn’t face college work now. The words were just merging into a meaningless mush. He put his head back and let his mind wander.

It settled on Lucy’s birthday.

During the Sunday of heavy rain, he had secretly asked Liz what he might buy Lucy.
Don’t be silly,
she’d laughed.
You don’t have to bother.

“No, I want to,” he’d replied, knowing he’d feel awful if he didn’t do something.

The trouble was, what?

He took his wallet from his jeans and opened it
wide. A cavernous gap yawned back. His mind leapt forward in time.
Happy Birthday, Lucy. Here’s a postage stamp. It’s all I could afford. Send someone a letter!
He snapped the wallet shut and lobbed it at his desk. It hit the mouse, making the computer screen clear. A few paragraphs of double-spaced text appeared: the beginning of an essay he’d been typing earlier.

Might as well continue with that, he thought — when suddenly an idea popped into his head. An idea that would really make Lucy’s day.

What if he
did
try writing her a story?

It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? A little tale about squirrels? A short animal adventure? He already had the characters and setting: Conker, Cherrylea, and the bullying Birchwood chasing around the library gardens? He could type it, print it, bind it at college — make it look like a real book. A special present from David and Gadzooks. It was worth a try.

It was also cheap.

“What do you think?” he said, swinging up into a sitting position and taking Gadzooks off the windowsill. He ran a finger over the dragon’s snout. “We need an angle. A plot, I s’pose.”

He closed his eyes briefly to think.

And, in that blink, it happened again. David saw Gadzooks take his pencil from his mouth and scribble down another word on his pad:

Nutbeast

 

“Nutbeast?” David muttered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was a gentle
hrring
noise from above.

Suddenly, David’s door burst open and Lucy skidded in, panting for breath. Her face was as white as a piece of fish.

“What’s the matter?” David asked, putting Gadzooks down gently on his desk.

“You’ve got to come,” Lucy gulped. “He’s here. We’ve got him.”

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. “The trap? You mean it worked?”

Lucy danced on her toes. “He’s in the box and he’s eating the nuts.”

David jumped up and peered through the window. “You looked? It’s definitely Conker?”

Lucy bit her lip. “Not exactly.”

David threw her a critical stare.

“It’s got two eyes and a great big smile.”

“What?”
said the tenant, color draining from his face.

“It’s Snigger,” said Lucy. “We caught Snigger in the box.”

T
HE
W
RONG
S
QUIRREL

 

D
on’t be ridiculous,” David said, poking his head around the door of his room and glancing furtively into the kitchen.

“It’s true,” said Lucy. “Can we tell Mom?”

“Absolutely not. Where is she, anyway?”

“Went to see a man about a dog.”

“What?”

“She hasn’t really. It’s what she says when she’s buying me presents. I’ll be eleven at the end of next week, you know.”

“I know,” muttered David, hurrying down the hall.

“Oh, good,” said Lucy, skipping along behind him, “will you go to see the dog man, too?”

“I’m going to see this smiling squirrel, first.”

“It’s great, isn’t it — Snigger coming?”

David paused at the kitchen door. “It’s
not
Snigger. It can’t be Snigger. Snigger is running around the library gardens.” He yanked the door open and went dashing out.

Lucy stood still and pondered for a moment. “I don’t think he is,” she said earnestly.

But the tenant was too far away to hear.

When Lucy caught up with him, David was sprawling flat across the rock garden, peeking at the box on the other side. He waved at Lucy to be quiet as she crawled up beside him. Cocking their heads, they listened to the sound of acorn shells being cracked and scattered on the bottom of the box.

“Let’s move the trap out and take a better look,” said David.

He stood up and scrambled over the rock garden. A few loose stones crumbled out of the earth and pitter-pattered into the side of the hutch. The acorn cracking instantly stopped. David hauled the box into the open.
The captured squirrel chattered loudly and hid itself in the darkest corner.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Lucy tried to tell it as David carried the trap across the lawn. He set it on the bench near Lucy’s swing.

“I’ll see if I can coax him into view,” he said. He crouched down quietly and scratched the mesh. “Stay back, Luce, they can bite, you know. You’d have to go to the hospital if he bit your — waargh!” Without warning, the tenant toppled backward onto the grass.

“Hhh!” went Lucy, clapping her hands across her nose and mouth. The captured squirrel was clinging to the mesh with his feet splayed out and only his furry white tummy showing.

“Awesome!” she exclaimed.

“Glad you think so,” David whined, checking his finger for signs of a scratch.

“That was a good trick,” Lucy said.

“It was not a trick,” David said curtly. “He jumped so fast I —” Then it occurred to him that Lucy wasn’t talking to him at all; she was chatting to the squirrel.

“Did you come on your own?” David heard her ask. She had her head near the mesh now, blocking his view. “Was it you on Mr. Bacon’s windowsill?”

“Lucy, don’t get too close,” said David. “That squirrel is very —” He froze midsentence as Lucy turned around. The captive squirrel was sitting forward, clamping its chisellike teeth around the mesh. It looked at Lucy and chirruped something, then squinted at David and flagged its tail. It twitched its whiskers, tilted its head, sat up proudly on its haunches — and
smiled.

“I don’t believe it,” David gasped.

“Told you,” smiled Lucy.

“But it
can’t
be Snigger. Why would Snigger come here?”

Lucy seemed to think the answer was obvious. “To help Conker, of course.”

David gave her a withering look. “Lucy, don’t be silly. How is
he
going to know about Conker?” The tenant sighed and rocked back on his heels. “What a shame. We were so close. Come on, you can do the honors.”

Lucy stepped back, looking puzzled.

“Lucy, whoever he is, he’s the wrong squirrel, isn’t he? We can’t keep him imprisoned. We have to let him go.”

Lucy squeezed her fingers into fists. She wasn’t about to give up yet. “Where’s Conker?” she whispered, hunkering by the hutch. “Will you find him for me? It’s very important.”

The squirrel chirruped and turned in a little circle.

David sighed again but didn’t interrupt. In a moment or two, the trap would be open and “Snigger” would be loose in the neighborhood once more.

“He’s only got one eye,” Lucy went on. The squirrel chattered something and flagged its tail. “Yes,” said Lucy, “horrible, isn’t it? Tell him we want to catch him, to help him.”

Chuk,
went the squirrel.

Lucy turned to David. “I think he’s going to help.”

“Great,” said the tenant. “Open the door.”

Lucy raised the panel.

Faster than a fish down Bonnington’s throat, the squirrel was out. Like a gray leaf tumbling in a blustery gale, it hopped and bounced across the Pennykettles’ lawn.

“He’s going through the fence to Mr. Bacon’s!” yelled Lucy.

“No, he isn’t,” said David, watching the squirrel closely. “He’s coming back toward the garden shed.”

“No,” said Lucy, “the terracotta pots.”

“No, look.” David pointed. “He’s running along the patio. He’s …”

“Oh no!”
they shouted together.

The runaway squirrel had just shot into the house.