The Last Dragon Chronicles: Dark Fire (6 page)

lucky, for he was never seen again. I’m sorry, this must sound terribly gory. Let me continue to the relevant part.

“The scientist who disappeared was a brilliant young man with an exceptionally promising   future    –   geologist, archaeologist, even physicist, I think; he had no fixed specialisation. The day before his ill-fated demise he’d been

exploring caves in the mountains through which the glacier ran and had taken photographs of rock formations there. When the film was developed, some of the photographs  highlighted  a  series  of unusual marks in the rocks. They were thought to be simple stress fractures at first or smudges caused by water erosion, no one could really tell – and by this time, of course, the man who’d shot the film was missing, presumed dead.

“Several   decades   later,   the photographs were sent to me – in a plain brown envelope with no return address and a short note saying what they were and where they had been taken. The sender expressed a hope they might be ‘useful’. I had just published an academic

paper about Inuit mythology and somehow this chap had latched onto it and found me. I was puzzled by the photographs, enough to do some background research on the history of expeditions to Hella, and discovered the material was indeed

genuine.

“My immediate impression was that I was looking at some form of writing, but despite months of effort I could find no way to interpret it.” He reached forward and picked up the sheet. “Thanks to you, the door has now opened a crack. If these photographs turn out to be recordings of what you call ‘dragontongue’ burned into the rocks, then everything we thought we understood about our history might have to be reassessed.”

“This correspondent,” said Arthur, “the one who sent the shots? Did he leave any clue to his identity?”

“He signed the note,” Rupert Steiner said. “But all I could make out were his

initials, HB.”

“Hhh!” gasped Lucy. “I know who it

is!”

“Don’t be silly,” said Liz. “There must be millions of people with the initials HB.”

“Not with a room full of books about

the Arctic who lives next door to
 
us
,

Mum.”

A glint of interest lit Professor Steiner’s eyes.

“She’s referring to our neighbour, Henry Bacon,” Liz explained. “He’s a

librarian and a collector of books about

the Arctic.”

“David and Gadzooks used to stay with him,” said Lucy.

“And I happen to know,” Arthur said quietly, drawing on the memories that David had exchanged with him,  “that Henry   Bacon’s   grandfather   was   a surviving member of the party that explored the Hella Glacier.”

“Good Lord,” said Steiner. “What an amazing series of coincidences.”

Arthur leaned forward, gazing blindly into space. “Rupert, you need to find those photographs. If there is dragontongue written in the Hella mountains, we need to know what it says. Gadzooks has come here to give you the key to translate that

discovery. I suspect that you are meant to publish what you find, so that the academic world will give credible weight to the idea that dragons are not a myth.”

“There must be more to it than that,” said Liz. “Gadzooks could have written an

alphabet on that sheet. I repeat, why did he choose    that   particular    word:

Scuffenbury?”

“That will surely come out in thetranslation,” said Arthur. “But in themeantime, I think we should run this bysomeone who’ll know far more about the

subject than I will.”

“Not… ?” Lucy dropped her shoulders

and sighed.

“Yes, Zanna,” said Arthur.

A meeting with David

Back in Wayward Crescent, Zanna wasblissfully unaware that her name had beenpraised by Arthur – or taken in vain under Lucy’s breath. Intrigued though she was bythe trip to Cambridge, Zanna had chosento stay at home and catch up on somedomestic tasks, one of which was bathingher daughter, Alexa.

The five-year-old loved water and hadlearned to swim at the age of two. Theonly things allowed to swim at bath time,however,   were   Alexa’s   impressivecollection   of  toys.   Dolphins,   fish,mermaids and turtles all shared the tub

whenever she got in. Each had a name. Each had a story. Today it was the turn of

Dempsey, the duck.

“Where do
 
you
 
think Dempsey’s voice

is, Mummy?”

Zanna closed the bathroom cabinet and

came to kneel by the side of the bath. The story of Dempsey, the duck who’d lost his quack, was Alexa’s latest creation. Zanna picked up a sponge and dipped it into the water. “Oh, I don’t know. Trapped in a soap bubble?”

Alexa scooped a few into her palms. “No,” she said, splatting her hands together.

A rogue bubble splashed across a female dragon sitting  by the taps. She flicked the suds away and gave a moody snort. Her name was Gretel. Her ability was making up potions from flowers. At

the moment, she was simply monitoring the tea lights that Zanna had set up around the bath.

“Perhaps it went up one of the spouts?” said Zanna. “It might whoosh out if we turn on the taps.”

Alexa picked up the unfortunate mute and sailed him down towards her feet. She

shook her head.

“Well,   how   about… the
 
sponge
 
? Sponges are full of tiny holes and tunnels. Lots of places for a voice to hide. If we squeeze it, you might hear a quiet
 
quack
.”

Alexa’s eyes grew very wide.

“I’ll need to hold the sponge to your ear, of course.”

The child moved her dark curls out of

the way.

“Ready, steady… squeeze!” said Zanna, emptying a cascade of water over Alexa’s head.

“Oh, Mummy! Plurrgghh!”

“Sit up,” Zanna laughed. “Let me wash your back.” She lifted the sponge again, but as she brought it close to Alexa’s neck her attention was caught by a rivulet of water running down the little girl’s shoulder. She stopped the bead with a prod of her finger. “Lexie, have you been scratching?”

“No,” she answered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Zanna picked up a towel and pressed itagainst the rose-white skin. Concentric tothe curve of the child’s shoulder blade

was a faint pattern of reddish blotches. They were present on the other side as well.

Zanna traced a finger slowly alongthem. The texture of the skin was distinctlybumpy and the tissues underneath movedlike gel when she applied even modestpressure. Water vapour swelling thepores, perhaps? “Does this hurt?”

Alexa shook her long black curls.

“Is it itchy?”

“Only when I’ve got my jumper on.”

A clothes rash? An allergy to wool,perhaps? Zanna laid the towel aside. “Well, we’ll put something on that whenwe’re done.”

Ten minutes later, once her hair hadbeen washed, Alexa was in her
 
Peter

Rabbit
 
robe with her hair tied up in a softblue towel (because
 
all
 
the women in thehouse did that). Dempsey’s quack hadthankfully  turned   up   in  the   airingcupboard. Leaving Alexa playing withhim, Zanna went downstairs to find somecream to apply to the girl’s back. Zannaowned and ran a ‘New Age’ shop andtherefore knew a wide range of naturalremedies.  Confident she might have somechickweed  balm  that  would  soothe

Alexa’s itching, she was on her way to herroom to get it when she stopped abruptlyat the entrance to the hall and looked

down it into the kitchen.

David was sitting at the table, readinga paper. Faded leather boots, stonewashedjeans, battered black frock coat, shoulder-

length hair. Take away the
 
X-Files
 
T-shirt and he might have passed as a modern Doc Holliday. He even had the chain of an old-fashioned fob watch dangling from a pocket of his dark blue waistcoat.

Zanna steadied her nerves and came to

the doorway. “Well, well. The wanderer returns. And how did
 
you
 
get in?” She darted a glance at the listening dragon which sat on the fridge top, wondering why it hadn’t sent a message to Gretel. It twitched its uncommonly large ears and blew a hesitant smoke ring.

“Interesting article,” David said.

Zanna glanced at the paper as he put it down. She frowned when she saw that

what he’d been reading was a story about Apak’s ‘vision’ in the Arctic. Part of the

headline was obscured by a fold, but the word   DRAGONS?   was   bold   and

prominent and there was an artist’s impression of what Apak had seen. It looked frighteningly realistic. But what really took her breath was the name of the journalist who’d written the article.  Tam Farrell.   The   man  who’d   tried   to

investigate David’s disappearance and just about stolen Lucy’s heart in the process. Tam. The irony was almost chilling.

“I repeat,” she said, scooping up the paper and throwing it into the recycling bin. (She didn’t want Lucy seeing that.)

“
How
 
did you get in?”

David moved his hand palm down

across the table and lifted it to reveal a

key. “I used to live here, remember?”

She stared at the key as if she’d like to melt it. “It would have been polite to knock.”

“I did. Gruffen let me in. He was on the

windowsill by the door – where Gwillan used to sit.” He nodded at a small dragon sitting on the table. Unlike the others, it was grey and lifeless.

Zanna threw open a cupboard door, glad to put a screen between them for now. Like it or not, he still scooped hollows out of her heart. She brought down a box in which Liz kept a basic first aid kit. Plasters, scissors, antiseptic ointments. Nothing she’d ideally use for Alexa, but useful props to maintain her composure. She closed the cupboard door

and turned to face him. That moment of

hidden calm had helped.

“Mummy,   are   you  coming  yet?”

Alexa’s voice drifted down the stairs.

“In a minute, sweetie, just stay there.”

David’s gaze settled on the tube she

was holding. “Problem?”

“She has a rash on her back. Don’t act

like you care.”

“She’s my daughter, too, remember?”

A small volcanic rush of emotion tried

to escape through Zanna’s mouth. She clamped her tongue and let the anger out physically, pushing the first aid box aside, almost knocking over a wooden block of knives. “The front door sticks. Make sure

you pull it
fully
 
to when you leave.”

She turned abruptly, but had hardly

taken a step when he said, “I couldn’t help what happened to me, Zanna.”

Somehow, his voice seemed to clamp her to the spot.

“I went to the Arctic to protect you and Lucy. How could I have known what was waiting for me there?”

Shivers. Why did he make her shiver? She turned fiercely and addressed him again. “Five years you were gone.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Five Christmases, five birthdays, five Father’s Days, five…
 
Valentine’s
.” Five letters,   she   was   thinking   bitterly, remembering how she’d always written one to him on that day in mid-February, the anniversary of his apparent ‘death’. “And then you just turn up out of

nowhere
?”

“I couldn’t help it,” he repeated. “The Fain took me back. Into the world they call Ki:mera, a place where time is meaningless.”

“Not to
 
me
.” She forced her pretty face forward. “Just go, David. Disappear into your weird Fain world. Leave me alone to look after my child.”

“I can’t. She’s part of this.”

“Part of
 
what
?”

At that moment, the cat flap opened and Bonnington trotted in. With a purr ofrecognition, he leaped onto David’s lap.

Zanna scowled at the cat, and brieflyagain at the listening dragon, as if they hadboth betrayed her trust. “Is this what youare, now: king of beasts? Dominion over

dragons, polar bears and cats? What’s it like being up there on a level with Gawain?”

“Like breathing in several degrees of the sun,” he said. He stroked Bonnington’s head, smiling as the Fain being trapped inside the cat came to commingle in joyous greeting. “This world is on the edge of a change, Zanna. There isn’t time to explain the history or the reasons but the planet is ready to accept a new species; I have to make sure that the wrong species is not allowed in.”

Zanna shook her head. “What brand of

science fiction is this?”