Werewolf versus Dragon (2 page)

ULF WOKE LATE THE NEXT MORNING AND
found a note pushed through the bars of his den.

Ulf scrunched the note in his hand. In all his time at the RSPCB he had never been allowed to go on a rescue mission. He had never even been beyond the perimeter fence.

He stepped out of his den. It was a clear, bright
day and the sun was shining above Farraway Hall, glinting on the windows.

“She left in a hurry,” a little voice called.

From the paddock, Tiana the fairy came flying toward Ulf. A trail of sparkles was bursting in the air behind her. Tiana was Ulf's friend, and always had been since the day he'd first arrived at the RSPCB. She was a woodland fairy, the size of a dandelion, with clothes made from petals and stitched with spiders' silk.

“Did Dr. Fielding say where she was going?” Ulf asked.

“It was probably an emergency,” Tiana said, hovering in front of him. “Orson went too.”

Ulf headed up the path to the yard and looked in the feed store. There was a huge dent in the mound of grain where Orson the giant had slept, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“I told you,” Tiana said, darting in the doorway.

Ulf went to wait for them to return. Tiana flew alongside him, humming to herself as they headed around the side of Farraway Hall.

On the rooftop a stone gargoyle turned to flesh and began stalking along the gutter, flapping his stubby little wings. “Poor little Fur Face,” the gargoyle muttered. “Left behind again.”

Druce the gargoyle had lived on the roof of Farraway Hall since the day it was built.

He leered down at Ulf, pulling a face as ugly as a clenched fist.

“Hello, Druce,” Ulf said.

“Very pretty, Druce,” Tiana said.

Druce flicked out his long yellow tongue, soaking the fairy in spit.

“Eeeyugh!” Tiana cried, wiping her hair. “Druce, you're revolting!”

“Blurgh!” The gargoyle blew a raspberry. He hugged his knees and rocked back and forth on his heels.

Ulf giggled, then headed across the courtyard to the entrance gates. He pressed his hairy face between the bars and looked up the driveway through the woods. “How come Orson's allowed to go?”

Tiana perched on Ulf's shoulder. “Orson's a giant. He can look after himself,” she said.

“But I'm a werewolf,” Ulf told her.

He listened, his ears twitching. He could hear thumping.

The treetops were moving in the distance.

“It's Orson!” Tiana said.

Ulf could see the giant pushing through the branches. Orson was as tall as the trees. His huge boots thumped on the ground as he came down the driveway. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled up, and he was wearing a pair of baggy pants made from a ship's sails.

“What have you rescued?” Ulf called as the giant approached the gates.

“It was too big to carry,” Orson told him.

“Where's Dr. Fielding?” Tiana asked.

Orson pointed north above the trees. “Here she comes.”

Ulf turned to see a black speck in the distance, coming through the sky toward Farraway Hall.

It was the RSPCB helicopter, the loud
thwock thwock thwock
of its blades cutting through the morning air.

As the helicopter came closer, Ulf saw a canvas cradle hanging beneath it, attached by a chain. He squinted. Hanging out of the cradle he could just make out two huge green wings and a long green tail.

“It's one of the dragons!” he said.

Orson stepped over the gates, and Ulf followed him to the yard. Ulf watched the cradle swinging as Orson guided the helicopter in.

The helicopter's engine was roaring, and the wind from its blades almost blew Tiana away. She perched on Ulf's shoulder and clung to his ear with her tiny hands.

When the cradle was directly overhead, the giant reached up and unhooked the chain from the bottom of the helicopter. He gently lowered the cradle into the yard. It fell open on the concrete, and the dragon's wings dropped flat by its sides.

Ulf stepped back. The dragon was enormous. He expected it to stand up and breathe fire, but it didn't move. Its neck was curled awkwardly, and its head flopped on the ground. The dragon's eyes were cloudy.

“What happened to it?” Ulf asked.

Orson looked down. “It was dead when we found it.”

Ulf leaned forward and touched the dragon's side. Its scales felt hard and cold.

“Poor dragon,” Tiana whispered into Ulf's ear.

Dr. Fielding landed the helicopter on the landing pad in the courtyard. Slowly the helicopter blades came to a stop. The yard fell silent. She came hurrying over, carrying her pilot's goggles in one hand and her medical bag in the other. “The dragons vanished off
the radar after you'd gone to bed,” she said to Ulf. “We found this one dead near Scartop Mountain.”

“Where's the baby?” Ulf asked.

“This
is
the baby,” Dr. Fielding explained. “There was no sign of the mother. Orson, would you mind taking it to the operating theater for me, please?”

Orson took hold of the dragon's tail and began dragging the huge beast across the yard.

“What are you going to do?” Ulf asked.

“I'm going to do an autopsy,” Dr. Fielding said. “To find out how the dragon died. I'm going to have to open it up.”

“Urgh! That sounds horrible,” Tiana said. The fairy took off from Ulf's shoulder. “I'll be in the forest if you want me.”

In a burst of sparkles she flew off over the feed store.

Ulf watched her go. As he turned back, Dr. Fielding was unlocking the doors of a large concrete building: the operating theater for large beasts.

He ran over to her. “Can I watch?” he asked.

AUTOPSIES WERE AN ESSENTIAL PART OF
crytozoology at the RSPCB. Though opening up a dead beast may sound horrible, it was also fascinating. Clues could be found about how the beast lived and died, and scientific discoveries could be made about the beast's inner workings.

Ulf watched as Dr. Fielding slid open the heavy doors of the operating theater. She flicked a switch and a huge light came on in the middle of the room. It lit up a large rectangular slab of metal surrounded by a shallow trench. This was the operating table for large beasts. Around the walls, shelves were loaded
with tools for cutting and clamping, opening and probing.

Dr. Fielding washed her hands in the sink, then pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

“Are you sure you want to watch, Ulf?” she asked. “It won't be very nice.”

“Don't worry about me,” Ulf said. He washed his hands and dried them on his T-shirt.

Orson ducked through the door, dragging the dragon by its tail. Hunched over, he heaved the dragon to the middle of the room onto the operating table.

The giant wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. “Dragons are heavy work,” he said.

“Thanks, Orson,” Dr. Fielding told him. She was loading a metal tray with surgical equipment: scalpels, scissors, pliers, clamps, and a crowbar.

“Good luck,” Orson said. “I'll wait outside if you don't mind.”

Orson ducked back out of the door into the yard.

Dr. Fielding laid a black plastic sheet beside the dragon and placed the surgical equipment on it. Then she unlocked the door of a large metal cupboard and lifted out a chainsaw.

“What's that for?” Ulf asked.

“A chainsaw is the best tool to break through a dragon's scales.”

Ulf gulped. Then he heard a giggle.

Druce the gargoyle was hanging upside down, peering through the door of the operating theater. The gargoyle ran his finger from his neck to his stomach. “Bluuurgh!” His tongue unrolled and hit the floor. He dropped down from the doorway, sucked his tongue back into his mouth, and scuttled away.

Dr. Fielding laid a clipboard and a pen on the operating table and stepped down into the trench. “If you feel faint at any time, you must promise to tell me,” she said.

Ulf picked up the clipboard. “I feel fine. I'll take notes.”

On the clipboard was a piece of paper. Printed at its top was:
Autopsy Case Notes
. Underneath were boxes to be filled in:
Species, Vital Statistics, External Features, Internal Features, Cause of Death
.

“Species: firebelly dragon,” Dr. Fielding said, walking around the trench. “Vital Statistics: male, about three years old. Approximately two tons in weight.”

Ulf scribbled everything down.

Dr. Fielding pulled out a measuring tape and stretched it along the dragon. “Sixteen feet from head to tail,” she said. “External Features: cuts and bruises to the left flank. Pass me the pliers, please, Ulf.”

Ulf grabbed the metal pliers from beside the trench, and Dr. Fielding used them to probe a wound on the dragon's wing, pulling out a jagged length of wood. She held it up. It was as long as her arm.

“From a pine tree,” she said.

“Is that what killed the dragon?” Ulf asked.

Dr. Fielding shook her head. “No. That's just a splinter to a dragon.”

She felt along the dragon's side. “Some of its ribs feel broken,” she said.

On the notes, Ulf wrote:
Broken ribs.

“Do you think it crashed?” he asked.

“Possibly,” Dr. Fielding said. “Though I've never heard of a dragon crashing before.”

Ulf reached over, touching the dragon's wing. “What if it was struck by lightning?”

“Dragons' scales are fireproof, frostproof, and just-about-everything-else proof,” Dr. Fielding told him. “Lightning can't hurt a dragon.”

Dr. Fielding prised open the dragon's jaws. “Look at this, Ulf.”

Ulf looked into the dragon's mouth and saw row upon row of razor-sharp teeth.

Dr. Fielding pointed to four large teeth at the back of the mouth. They had jagged edges and were blackened with soot.

“Those are the sparking teeth,” she explained. “They strike together to light the dragon's fire. I
have read about cases of dragons backfiring.”

She shone a flashlight down the dragon's throat. “No signs of internal combustion here, though.”

She closed the dragon's mouth and climbed onto the operating table.

“Orson,” she called. “Can you help, please?”

Orson's face appeared in the doorway. “What's up?” he asked.

“Could you turn it over, please?”

The giant stooped inside and took hold of the dragon's wing. He heaved, rolling the dragon onto its back.

The wings fell outward. Its belly was covered in hard yellow scales.

In an area of soft flesh beneath the wing, Ulf saw a deep hole about a foot across.

“What's that?” he asked.

The hole was black around the outside and full of dried blood.

Dr. Fielding examined it.

“It's a wound,” she said. “A bad one.”

Ulf wrote:
Badly wounded
.

“Time for the internal examination,” Dr. Fielding said, picking up the chainsaw. “Stand back!”

Ulf jumped out of the trench, and Orson quickly ducked back out of the door as Dr. Fielding climbed onto the dragon. She pulled the starting chord and the chainsaw roared.

ULF STARED AS DR. FIELDING RAN THE
chainsaw blade down the underside of the dragon.

Sparks flew from its scales and a mist of dark red blood sprayed Dr. Fielding's white coat.

She cut all the way down through the dragon's belly. It opened like a zipper, and its guts spilled out. Ulf had never seen anything so repulsive or incredible.

“What's that thing?” he shouted, pointing his pen at a large green lump covered in a sticky membrane.

“That's its stomach,” Dr. Fielding said, turning the chainsaw off.

“And what's that?” Ulf asked, touching what looked like a huge inflated bag.

“Its gas bag. That's where the dragon makes the hydrogen gas that it burns and breathes out as fire. We have to remove it. Any gas that hasn't burned could explode.”

Dr. Fielding slid her hands underneath the dragon's gas bag and lifted it up slowly. The gas bag was full like a balloon. Two tubes were sticking out from it, one on either side. “These tubes connect the gas bag to the lungs. We need to cut them.”

Ulf put down his clipboard and pen, and picked up a pair of scissors. “Can I do it?” he asked.

Dr. Fielding held the gas bag still as Ulf reached forward with the scissors.

“One tube is red and one is green. You have to cut the red tube first.”

Both tubes were covered in blood. Ulf held the scissors over the tube that looked the reddest. He snipped.

“Now the other one.”

He snipped the other tube, and the bag started hissing. “Is it okay?” Ulf asked, alarmed.

Quickly, Dr. Fielding handed him the gas bag. “Point it away from the dragon,” she told him.

Ulf pointed the gas bag to the open doors.

Dr. Fielding leaped across the trench and fetched a box of matches from a shelf. She struck a match and held it up in front of the gas bag. “Now squeeze it!”

Ulf squeezed the gas bag, and a jet of flames shot out through the doors of the operating theater.

“Wow!” he said. “Dragon fire!”

Slowly the gas bag emptied, and the flames stopped.

Orson poked his head in. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Everything's fine,” Dr. Fielding said, stepping over the trench, back onto the operating table.

Plunging her arms inside the dragon, she felt the stomach sack, pressing it with her fingertips.

The stomach wall was ripped.

“A rupture of some sort,” she muttered to herself.

“Urgh! It stinks,” Ulf said, getting a waft of the dragon's last meal.

Dr. Fielding reached into the stomach and pulled out a half-digested mountain lion.

“It didn't die of starvation, then,” Ulf said. He was pinching his nose. He watched as Dr. Fielding picked up a metal crowbar from among the tools and began prising open the dragon's ribcage.

She climbed inside the chest cavity and checked the lungs. They looked like two enormous sponges. “Come see,” she said.

Ulf stepped onto the operating table.

The top of each lung was colored bright red.

“Those colored patches are from screeching,” Dr. Fielding explained. “This dragon was screeching when it died. It must have been in pain.”

Ulf wrote on his notes:
Screeching.

Next, Dr. Fielding reached for the dragon's heart.
She lifted it with both hands, and sticky blood oozed over her fingers. The heart had burst open. “Severe internal damage,” she said.

Underneath the heart, Ulf saw something shiny and black. “What's that?” he asked. It looked like a ball.

Ulf put his hand in and touched it. It felt hard and cold.

“Lift it out,” Dr. Fielding instructed, pulling the ruptured heart out of the way.

Ulf dug both hands in, trying to grip the object. It was perfectly round. His fingers were slipping.

“It's heavy,” he said, trying to lift it. “
Very
heavy.”

All at once, he heard a sucking sound, and then a squelch as the object loosened and came free.

Ulf lifted it out, staggering, then he dropped it on the metal slab.

“What is it?” he asked.

It rolled into the trench.

Dr. Fielding stared at it, and the dragon's heart
slipped out of her hands. “It's a cannonball,” she said. “This dragon's been shot.”

She walked around to the dragon's side and looked again at the wound beneath the wing. “Write this down, Ulf. Cause of Death: cannon fire.”