Fire Star (10 page)

T
here!” Russ shouted, raising his voice over the drubbing revolutions of the helicopter blades. He pointed left and down, toward a wide expanse of flat, white ground just to the west of the body of sea ice.

Zanna nodded and put up her thumb. “Isn’t that tundra?” she shouted back.

Russ pushed his headphones back a little, freeing his ears so he might hear more clearly. “Yeah,” he replied, starting the chopper on a decline toward it.

“Thought you were letting him go on the ice?”

“Too dangerous,” he said, mouthing the words carefully. At this volume, repetition was hard on the throat. “The ice is newly formed. Can’t trust the surfaces. Too broken up to risk putting us down there.

The bear will have enough to walk or swim across, but there are too many pockets of water for the chopper.”

Zanna peered down at the blue-white jigsaw, glistening in the sweep of the pale yellow sun. It was hard to tell precisely where the join between ocean and continent lay, but where the flow of the water had been stopped by cold, the ice had stacked into long, uneven ridges, as if a giant hand had forced it against the barrier of land, making it pile up and heave off dozens of blocks, all caught in a chilled and motionless froth. Between these compressed, marshmallowlike regions were flatter areas, pebbled with smaller lumps of wreckage or long blue gashes of thinly iced water. They reminded Zanna of a transparency Bergstrom had shown the students when they had first arrived at the Polar Research Base, of ice floes and the water around them looking, according to the enigmatic lecturer, like wounds in the chest of a slumbering white giant.

“Tega, we’re ready, get the hatch,” Russ shouted. Zanna watched the Inuk move, sullen-faced, toward the doors in the belly of the helicopter. He threw a
clamp and slid them open, making hardly any sound against the throb of the engines. Cold air rushed in, pulling his normally flat black hair out into an inch-high rippled fringe.

“Can I watch?” Zanna shouted.

“Wait,” Russ said, looking at his instruments. He skillfully adjusted altitude, turning them sweetly into the wind as the helicopter yawed crablike to its left. When it was hovering still, he said, “All right, scoot. But be careful, OK?”

Zanna smiled and unclipped her belts. She joined Tootega at the open hatch. The Inuk gave her a sour-faced glance, then tipped his body forward to gauge the distance to the specked white tundra. The helicopter’s slightly elongated shadow could just be seen beneath the drugged and netted body of the bear. Zanna guessed they were some twenty feet off the ground.

Tootega stretched an arm back and tipped his fingers, to indicate that Russ should take them down farther. The helicopter dropped like a well-oiled elevator. The vortex of its blades stirred the ground below,
blowing loose snow aside and flattening the dark green tufts of sedge that were brave enough to poke through the ever-present permafrost.

“Good,” Tootega yelled.

The ‘copter paused, pitching its nose no more than a degree. Zanna saw the netting crumple and noted the curve in the slackening cable. Tootega released the hook and threw the loose cable onto the ground, taking care to aim it away from their cargo. The bear had landed.

“Done!” Zanna called.

“Hold tight,” Russ shouted. The helicopter jerked again, cruising forward some twenty yards, before turning tight through ninety degrees and settling down with hardly a bump.

Russ killed the engine, bringing the blades to a puttering halt.

“Can I take this off now?” Zanna asked, already unstrapping the yellow crash helmet she’d been forced to wear throughout the flight. “Doesn’t do much for a girl’s image.”Russ laughed and banged his door open, kicking out
a folding flight of steps. “Come on down when you’re presentable, Miss Martindale.” Leaving the radio channel open, he took off the enormous set of headphones he’d been wearing, then removed his baseball cap as well, replacing it, as always, with his cowboy hat. With one foot on the doorsill, he missed the steps entirely and jumped the short drop onto the snowcaked ground.

Zanna dropped her helmet onto a seat. “Now’s your chance, Inuk.”

Tootega stared back darkly at her.

“Give me the tooth. Don’t make this awkward.”

From outside Russ called, “C’mon, guys, let’s do this.”

A crowcall cracked the morning air.

Tootega jumped as if the sound had pierced his heart.

“Hand it over,” Zanna said. “I know you stole it.”

“Go home,” said Tootega, and kicked his door open.

And once again Zanna had to bite her tongue.

By the time she had rejoined the men, Russ had the net untied and spread. “Take a tug while we shuffle him,” he said to Zanna.

She picked up her side of it and took the strain. With Tootega at the hind legs and Russ at the front, they rolled the bear over onto his back, then heaved him with a twisting motion off the net.

“He’s a big one,” Russ exclaimed, ungritting his teeth. He let go and the bear flopped onto his side, staring drunkenly at the horizon, his pelt quilted into squares by the ropes. Then, with a flicker that made Zanna jolt, his eyes took a snapshot of the shallow landscape.

“He blinked,” she said.

Tootega snorted at her ignorance and started to gather in the cable and net.

Russ crouched down and thumbed the eye wide open. “Just the drug wearing off. Another half hour and he’ll be padding around like he owns the place again. Do you want to cradle his head for me? I need to put him into the recovery position.”

Zanna got into place and looked at him doubtfully. “What, so we’re doing first aid now?” Russ gave her a grin as wide as Texas. Leaning over, he grabbed two handfuls of blubber and pulled the
bear straight, then stretched its left leg forward and out, bringing the paw up to pillow the snout. “When he wakes, it’s important that the first thing he smells is his own scent, not ours. Or he might panic.”

Zanna nodded, settling the black nose into the scarred, but creamy, white fur. She stroked the bear’s head, noting with amusement that Tootega shuddered. “Aw, he’ll be OK,” she said. “Not the sort to be easily fazed, are you, Nanuk?”

Russ spluttered with laughter and tipped back his hat, squinting as the sunlight caught his eyes. He was about to pass comment when the radio crackled. “Tega, you wanna get that?”

The Inuk, who was closest to the aircraft, didn’t move.

Russ leveled his hat. “What is it with you today?”

Zanna twisted around, making her parka crunch. On the tip of the nearest rotor blade sat the great black raven. “Followed us here from Chamberlain,” she said.

The bird crowed loudly and mantled its wings.

Tootega stumbled back a pace, mumbling in terror.

“OK, OK, I’ll see to it,” Russ said. He stood up and patted Tootega on the shoulder, then walked on, calling to the bird to flee.

The raven daggered its small, sharp beak, darkening the ice with its malevolent stare.

“You get it yet?” Zanna said, brushing down her clothes. She stood up, threatening the Inuk with her eyes. “She’s not gonna let you go. That machine’s doomed unless you give up Ragnar’s tooth.”

“What you do with it?” he snarled, turning on her.

She dipped a finger. “Give it back to them.”

Tootega gave a shriek of disbelief and shook his head.

On the rotor blade, the bird gave an agitated call.

The bear for which David had written the name Ingavar tightened his claws and blinked three times.

“Last chance, Inuk. It belongs to them.
Give it.”

Tootega stood back again, breaking sweat. As his hand went limply to a pocket of his parka, a sharp
wind tugged at Zanna’s hair, making her turn her head to the north. “Well, what do you know? The boys are back in town….”

On the sea ice, in a mirage of gray mist and sunlight, three enormous bears were approaching.

I
have a solution.”

“You do?” Liz said. She lowered the kitchen blind and opened the door. Bonnington tripped in and leaped onto a stool, where he sat with a look of casual absenteeism as if he was practicing yoga for cats.

David, who was munching on a piece of toast, bumped back against the countertop and stared into the same space that seemed to be absorbing Bonnington’s gaze. It was ten o’clock at night and he was weary and pale, jet-lagged from his long flight home. “My writing,” he said. “My writing is the key.”

Liz stacked some plates into a cupboard.

“Gwilanna was right about that time-lapse effect. I often felt when I was writing
Snigger
that the scenes
were being mirrored in real life. That might also be why she snatched him from the library gardens, to see if it was him who had the gift, or me.”

“David, you’re tired. Go to bed,” Liz said, making no effort to hide the suggestion that he might be talking gibberish — the last sentence at least. “All day long you’ve been raking over this, pacing up and down, taking stock. Give yourself a rest. There’s nothing you can do.”

“But there is,” he said. “If the stories I create are somehow coming true, then all I have to do is write Lucy back here and deal with Gwilanna at the same time. The end.”

Liz took off her apron and hung it by the fridge. She nodded at Gadzooks, who was sitting on the table blowing smoke rings for Bonnington. Gretel, whose paws were unoccupied for once, blew a finer wisp of smoke into Bonnington’s ear, then flew around his head to see if it appeared on the other side. It didn’t, but the cat did burble and twitch his ears in an amusing manner.

“I don’t mean this unkindly,” said Liz (ticking Gretel off for being mean), “but I think you’d struggle without Gadzooks. Whoever sent Groyne to steal Zookie’s pad and pencil knows he’s your source of inspiration. That’s probably why they disabled him: to stop you interfering in the way you suggest. Either that, or they’ve plans of their own.” She opened the bread bin and put away the loaf that David had sawn through rather than sliced. Crumbs were everywhere, on the countertop, on the floor. She swept the excess into her palm, then opened the door again to throw them onto the patio for the birds.

“How can that
be,
though?” David said, his face contorted by agonized thought waves. “Very few people know about Gadzooks. I can’t believe Zanna would do a thing like that.”

“I agree,” said Liz, cutting Gretel off before she could sound a disapproving
hurr.
“She’s not developed enough. Gwilanna’s got that wrong.”

“Then it must be Bergstrom.”

“Must it?”

“Who else is there? He knows about Gawain and he’s capable of … well, all sorts of things.”

Liz, still on her domestic tour, paused by a vase of flowers to rearrange the stalks and pluck out any dying ones. Gwillan, who was polishing the glass with his paw, flicked his tail and said hello. “I don’t doubt that Dr. Bergstrom is involved,” Liz said. “The Arctic is his domain. But I think you should be thinking in wider terms than him.”

David looked at her with questioning eyes.

She threw some rotten stalks into the bin, fluffed the spray of flowers, and came to sit down. “When I made Gadzooks, I constructed his shape and poured my love and know-how into him, much as I do with any dragon. But something far greater inspired me to make his pencil and pad, something in the universe that knew more than I did what he had to be. It was the same when Lucy made G’reth. At her age, she should not have been capable of making a wishing dragon anything as effective as him.”

“So what are you trying to tell me, that this whole
situation is being engineered by … a ‘force’ that’s beyond our control?”

Liz glided a knuckle down Bonnington’s ear, encouraging the cat to nuzzle her hand. “In truth, I don’t know what’s going on. Since you went to the Arctic and that contract was mailed, everything has been so topsy-turvy. Lucy is my daughter and I’d die for her, you know that. I want her back just as much as you. But I’m convinced that we should follow our faith and intuition rather than engage in an up-and-at-’em fight against Gwilanna — though it might still come to that.”

“But we can’t just sit back and wait for things to happen.”

“No, I agree. But we can’t rush headlong into anything either. Like you, I’ve had a bit of time to think, and I keep coming back to G’reth. Something very powerful took him away. Something deep in the heavens, where your fire star is. That’s where I think you … we … should concentrate our efforts.”

Hrrraar-rr-ruuw, Nanuk,
said Gadzooks.

Furff?
went Gretel.

“Quite. I didn’t get it either,” said Liz.

“It’s a line from my novel,” David explained. “You and I and all that we are, came from the center of these lights, Nanuk. A polar bear called Thoran — who may or may not have a strange association with the mysterious Dr. Bergstrom — says it to another bear while they’re following a star across the ice.”

Liz nodded and raised her thin dark eyebrows. “Then that’s what you should be doing as well. Following this star, learning about it. You’re speaking to yourself, David, through your writing. I have a theory that the wish you made, to know about Gawain and the secret of his fire tear, is still not done. Find G’reth, by whatever means possible, and I think you’ll have the key to outwitting Gwilanna.”

David blew a sigh and put his palms against his forehead. Find a little dragon, among billions of stars? It would be easier to tape clouds together. He put the thought away and picked up Gadzooks. “Can’t you just make him a new pencil and pad?”

Liz smiled sympathetically and shook her head. “The German language has a word called ‘zeitgeist,’ which roughly translated means ‘the spirit of the time.’ The creation of Zookie and all that he stands for was unique to the time you moved into this house. I can’t possibly recapture that moment. The only way you’ll restore him is to find his missing pieces, to see this through.”

“That’s going to please Dilys Whutton when she calls.”

“You can still write, David, just maybe not as animatedly without him. It sounds like your novel is taking shape anyway.”

“It was — or would have been — had I not destroyed it.”

“Destroyed it? Whatever for?”

“Gwilanna was in it. You might as well know that Zanna and I argued about it and she made me erase it from Bergstrom’s laptop — just before she ended our relationship.”

“Oh, David.”

“It gets worse,” he said. “Remember my polar bear tooth? The charm I was given to protect me against Gwilanna’s magics?”

“Yes.”

“I lost it during the skirmish in Chamberlain. I don’t know what happened, but it somehow came loose. In my story, I wrote that Zanna would somehow be involved in its theft and that Gwilanna was sending a bear to kill me, to make sure of it.”

“Then I’m very glad you’re here in Scrubbley,” Liz said.

David put Gadzooks into her hands. “I’m going to bed. I’ll talk to Henry about stars and stuff in the morning, see if it throws up any new leads. Don’t look so frightened. I ditched the story, honestly. It can’t come true.”

“No,” she said, and brushed his arm lightly as he left the room.

She waited for his door to close, then raised her gaze to the listener on the fridge. “When he goes to Henry’s,
call a meeting. I want to see all the special dragons in the den.”

Hrrr?
asked Gadzooks, meaning “why?”

A slight tear ran down Elizabeth’s cheek, making Gadzooks rattle every scale he had. The auma of a human burned brightly in their tears, just as much as it ever did in a dragon. “We have to protect him,” she whispered closely. “His writing, once created, can’t be destroyed. You remember it, don’t you, every word?”

Gadzooks gulped. Sometimes a special dragon’s role was hard.

“I want you and the others to get together and do anything you can to keep him safe,” said Liz.

“Anything?” hurred Gretel, flying onto Liz’s shoulder.

“Anything,” said Liz. And she took a pair of scissors from the table drawer and cut off a lock of her wavy red hair. She gave it to Gretel. “Absolutely anything.”