The Flight of Dragons (5 page)

“If you please, miss,” Bobby said, “can I have that back? I promised I’d put it on the notice board, and if I don’t get home soon, they’ll be worrying.”

The twins looked at each other, and an unspoken message passed between them. Then, as one, they turned back to Bobby.

“There’s no need to be a worrywart.” Conducta did her best to smile, and Bobby took an alarmed step backward. “Don’t you fret. Just leave it to us. We’ll make sure your notice gets to all the right people, won’t we, Globula?”

“Oh, yes.” Globula smiled, too, and cold shivers ran up and down Bobby’s spine. “
All
the right people.”

Bobby had a strong suspicion that the twins’ idea of “the right people” was unlikely to meet with Princess Fedora’s approval, but he was desperate to get away. “Well . . .” he said doubtfully. “I suppose it might be OK . . .”

“It will.” Globula folded up the parchment and stuffed it deep into her pocket. “You run along.”

Bobby, however, was engaged in a last-ditch battle with his conscience and didn’t move. Conducta oozed nearer. “We’ve got a relation who works at the palace,” she said in conciliatory tones. “Her name’s Saturday Mousewater. She’ll tell you all about us.”

The cloud lifted, and Bobby felt his responsibilities drop away. “Oh, yes! She’s my friend. Oh — thanks!” And he sped off toward the pie shop.

“Excellent!” A satisfied smile spread over Conducta’s face. “Just wait until Ma sees that! A job at the palace . . .”

Globula was horrified. “We’re not going to have to work, are we?”

Conducta gave her twin a sour look. “Don’t be so stupid. Of course we aren’t. We’ll show Ma the parchment and tell her we’ve got the job. She’ll stop nagging — and then we can go out all day every day and do exactly what we want.”

“But . . .” Globula had spotted a problem. “What about when she asks for our wages?”

“That’s why we’re going to see Great-Grandpa, isn’t it?” her sister snapped. “To find some way of getting money.”

Globula opened and shut her mouth, a blank expression on her face. Conducta seized her by the hair and banged her head against the notice board. “Do you really think Ma’s going to approve of anything Great-Grandpa suggests?”

“OW! OW!” Globula retaliated by trying to stick her fingers into her twin’s eyes, and they scratched and slapped at each other until Conducta began to laugh. “What is it?” Globula asked angrily, rubbing her cheek.

“You. You’re so stupid, it’s funny. Come on — let’s go.” And Conducta marched away. After a moment Globula followed her, glowering. A large and balding crow perched on a nearby chimney pot had been observing what was going on with an expression of keen interest. As the twins set off on their journey, he gave a satisfied squawk, spread his wings, and flew off ahead of them, in the direction of the southern border.

P
rofessor Scallio was still sitting at his desk. He had spent the night in the library, and the day was now well advanced. The tottering pile of books beside him was in severe danger of falling over and crushing him, but every so often he jumped up and took yet another ancient tome from the shelves. “There must be something here,” he muttered to himself. “Something that’ll tell me more about dragons. What can they be looking for? What are they after?”

“Got another problem, Prof? Tell old Marlon. All inquiries treated confidential, and no questions asked where no questions needed.”

Professor Scallio looked up. “Marlon? Thank heavens you’re back. Have there been any more sightings?”

“Nope. Would have told you, wouldn’t I?” The bat flew down and landed on the pile of books. There was a worrisome wobble before it stabilized. “Phew!” Marlon waved a wing. “Living dangerously, eh, Prof ?”

“Oh — I do hope not,” the professor said with a sincerity that made the bat’s ears twitch. “Marlon, I’ve been wondering about the dragons that were driven out of Niven’s Knowe. Could there be a connection, do you think? Could they be planning . . . revenge?”

“Dragons of Niven’s Knowe . . .” Marlon folded his wings while he considered. “Nah. Before my time. You’d need to ask Great-Uncle Alvin. Used to live in Niven’s Knowe Palace, and he’s as old as the hills.”

Professor Scallio leaned forward, an eager expression on his face. “Where would I find him?”

Marlon rolled his eyes. “Uncle A. had a row with my dad and fled. Ancient history. Not been seen in the Five Kingdoms for years. He’s been hangin’ out in a cave near Fracture, mumbling and complaining. Says the world’s going to rack and ruin. Pops out from time to time to see the kid, though . . . took a shine to her, he did.” Marlon gave an affectionate sigh. “That’s Truehearts for you. Even ol’ misery-guts raises a smile when our Gracie Gillypot’s around.”

The professor stroked his chin. “Ancient history . . . that’s what King Horace said. Your great-uncle Alvin might know something useful.”

“Doubt it,” Marlon scoffed.

“Didn’t he ever tell you stories about dragons when you were a baby?” The professor sounded hopeful — but the bat shook his head.

“Nope. Not a word. Deprived childhood ’n’ all that.”

“Poor old Dad. No one to tell you stories . . .” A smaller bat came fluttering down to join Marlon, and the pile of books gave up and collapsed to the floor with a crash. “Oops! Sorry, Professor.”

Professor Scallio ignored the landslide. “Have
you
seen the dragons again, Millie?”

Millie nodded. “Saw the gold one. All on her own she was, circling in the South. You know what, Prof? I was watching her, and I think she’s lost a little one. She looks just like Mum does when Freddie goes missing.”

The professor stared at Millie for so long, she began to blush. “Don’t look at me like that, Prof! What have I said? Didn’t mean no harm. It was just a suggestion.”

“Millie,” the professor said slowly, “you’re a genius. Why ever didn’t I think of that? Of course that’s what she’s after.” He shook his head. “I’m getting old. No doubt about it.”

Millie puffed out her extremely small chest. “Just call it woman’s intuition, Professor. Sometimes you men just can’t see what’s obvious to us girls.”

Marlon coughed. “Hate to break in here, guys, but we ain’t seen no baby dragons. Not a snip. Not a whisker. And we’ve got full surveillance out in the South.”

“What? What do you mean, whiskers?
Oh!
” Professor Scallio’s brow cleared. “No, no, Marlon. I didn’t mean there was a baby dragon. I meant an egg. An egg laid while the dragons were still in Niven’s Knowe . . . an egg that must still be out there somewhere.”

“That was eighty years ago,” Marlon said soothingly. “Be addled by now. No need to worry —”

“NO!” The professor jumped up from his desk. “No,
no
, NO! Eighty years is more or less how long it takes a dragon’s egg to hatch.” He began to pace up and down, while the two bats watched him. “An egg . . . a dragon’s egg. Goodness gracious me . . . and there I was thinking they were planning some kind of revenge against King Horace.”

“So that’s an improvement, then,” Millie said cheerfully — but Professor Scallio shook his head.

“No, no . . . this puts a whole new slant on things. Oh, dear me! A dragon’s egg could be more dangerous than open warfare. If the forces of evil inside and outside the kingdoms hear about it — why, they’d do anything to get ahold of it. Sorcerers, zombies, Deep Witches, Old Trolls . . . just imagine what power they would have if they had a dragon by their side! Oh, my goodness — the whole Five Kingdoms could be destroyed!”

Marlon was looking puzzled. “Thought dragons didn’t hold with evil ’n’ such.”

Millie nodded agreement. “Me, too.”

Professor Scallio sank back into his chair. “You’re quite right — they don’t. Not as a rule. But a young dragon is like any other young animal. If treated with cruelty, then it will be cruel . . . and a cruel and cold-hearted dragon is more to be feared than any other beast.”

There was silence while Marlon digested this information. “Well, I’ll be,” he said at last.

Millie, seeing the professor’s evident distress, flew down to his shoulder. “It’ll be OK, Professor,” she told him. “You’ve got us on your side. And Mr. Prince and Miss Gracie. And the Ancient Crones . . .”

“Yes. Yes, let’s keep hopeful. And, as far as we know, this is still our secret.” The professor jumped up again and began to search through the heap of books. “And the egg may not be due to hatch for quite a while, so we have time to find it. Let me see . . . where is it . . . YES!” He began to pace again, the book in his hand. “Listen to this. ‘The age of the maternal dragon must always be taken into account in any estimation of hatching time. A dragoness of sixty years should not expect to see her offspring until some seventy years have passed. A dragoness aged eighty must wait ninety years’ . . . and so on. You see? If we could find out how old the golden dragon is, we’d know when her egg is due to hatch.”

“If there
is
an egg,” Marlon put in.

“Yes, of course.” The professor nodded. “But I think we should assume there is, for the time being at least. Marlon, you must find your great-uncle Alvin and ask him to tell us everything he knows.”

“Ah.” The bat shuffled up and down the arm of the professor’s chair. “Might be a problem. Ol’ misery-guts ain’t speaking to me just now. Bit of an argument, see.”

Millie gave her father a reproachful look, and Professor Scallio visibly drooped. “Oh, dear . . .”

There was another silence, and then Marlon coughed. “Ahem. Gotta suggestion. Like I said, the aged unc would do anything for Gracie. Tell her all he knows and most likely a whole lot more as well.” The bat gave the professor a sideways glance. “And you could trust her. Trueheart through and through, that one.”

“You’re right!” The professor sat up straighter. “Marcus was off to see her today. Maybe I should ask the two of them to go together. . . .”

“Good plan, Stan!” Marlon’s eyes brightened. “Nobody’ll take a second glance at those two wandering around. They’re just kids. Uncle A will deliver the goods, and that’ll be that. You know what, Prof? I’ll lay an even fiver that this time next week you won’t have a worry in the world.”

Marlon’s optimism was catching, and Professor Scallio smiled as he took off his monocle and polished it. “You’re on! I’ll take your bet, and we’ll hope you’re right. Could you tell Marcus and Gracie that I’d like to see them here? No. No, on second thought, just tell them what we have in mind. Much better that way. Saves unnecessary travel. And, Marlon — speak to the Ancient Crones. Ask them if they’ve seen any sign of trouble on the web.”

“No prob.” Marlon flew a swift circle around the library. “Coming, kid?”

Millie shook her head. “I’d better get back to the border, Dad. Got to keep an eye out for that poor dragon.”

Her father waved a wing. “Old softie, ain’t she! Be back pronto, Prof.” And Marlon was gone. Moments later, Millie set off for the border.

The professor watched them go. “I hope I’m not putting Marcus and Gracie in danger . . . but I really don’t think there’s any chance of that. Heigh-ho . . . how tired I am!” And he laid his head on the book in front of him and fell fast asleep. Even the crash of the door as Queen Bluebell came marching in failed to wake him.

The queen looked down in surprise at the tumbled heaps of books and the sleeping professor. “Whatever’s going on?” she asked the empty library. “Never seen such a mess. Aha! So that’s where I left it!” She retrieved her lorgnette with a grunt of satisfaction. Curiosity made her peer at the book under the professor’s nose. “Hmph! It’s those dragons again. Well, I never. Think the poor old chap needs a vacation. I’ll send him off to that sister of his. Do him good to have a rest.” And with a decisive shake of her head, she left the professor to sleep.