The Dragon's Eye (16 page)

The town of Bodmin is said to have been founded a great many years ago by a Cornish saint named Petroc. According to Dr. Drake, Saint Petroc, who was also the founder of Padstow — or Petroc's Stowe, as it was originally known — was one of the earliest dragonologists to live in this country. One legend tells of him banishing a fearsome dragon named Tregeagle and another tells of his great kindness to a dragon with a splinter in its eye. Until recent times, water from a well in the grounds of Saint Petroc's church was said to have the power of curing all sorts of eye complaints and, of course, Saint Petroc's healing chalice was listed among the twelve treasures of the Secret and Ancient Society.

As we set off through the town, Dr. Drake said, “I'm sure I don't need to mention that we must be very careful here not to run into Ignatius or Alexandra or, indeed, both of them.”

“But why would Ignatius come here?” I asked.

“There is every reason to suppose that Ignatius has found the clue about Ebenezer's grave in my diary. Although I failed to understand the clue, I'm guessing that he and Alexandra will at least come here to check it out.”

“Where is the grave?” I asked.

“It is in Saint Petroc's churchyard,” said Dr. Drake. “We are going there now.”

When we arrived, the churchyard was empty except for a gardener who was working in the far corner. We went in and began to search around for a gravestone bearing the name Ebenezer Crook. Although we must have looked over every gravestone at least twice, there did not seem to be any sign of his at all.

“I am quite sure that he was buried in this churchyard,” said Dr. Drake.

Beatrice and I went to ask the gardener if he knew where Ebenezer Crook was buried. He was tending a grave that did not yet seem to have a stone.

“Are you relatives?” he asked. “For if not, I must ask you why you are interested in Mr. Crook. And if you are, then I must ask you to prepare yourselves for a shock.”

“We are the children of two of his friends from London,” Beatrice explained, waving Dr. Drake over.

“There has been a terrible business here,” said gardener, shaking his head. “I know some people in this town did not like Ebenezer Crook, and many liked his son Ignatius even less. They said that Ebenezer had strange interests not fit for Bodmin folk. There were a number of people who said that the words on his gravestone were more than a little strange. The truth of it is that his son returned to the town yesterday and his father's gravestone was stolen last night. What is worse is that there was a fire at his house. It was completely destroyed, and now there is no sign of young Mr. Crook anywhere. It would seem that he must have perished in the blaze, although there is no sign of a body. That is strange, too.”

“Are the police investigating the matter?” asked Dr. Drake.

“I should say so,” said the man. “They are going round the town now. I expect you will be able to prove where you were last night?” And he raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed,” said Dr. Drake. “We have just arrived from St. Austell. But can you tell me which one was his grave?”

“It is this very one I am trying to tidy up here,” said the man.

“Thank you,” said Dr. Drake. “I don't suppose you remember the words that were on his gravestone?”

“I don't, I'm afraid,” said the gardener. “There is one person who might be able to help. Mr. Patterson, the local stonemason, cut the words into the stone. If anyone could remember them, it would be him.”

He told us how to find Mr. Patterson's house.

As we left the graveyard, Beatrice said, “Do you think Ignatius took the stone?”

“It certainly seems likely,” said Dr. Drake.

“And what about his father's house?” I asked.

“Much as I would love to go and look at it, I don't think we're going to find anything there apart from a lot of policemen.”

“Do you think Ignatius would have survived, then?”

“If they have not found a body, then I think it is very likely.”

When we arrived at Mr. Patterson's workshop, we found that he too was out, but his wife, who offered us some tea and sandwiches, was able to help us.

“It's a strange business,” she said. “No one round here liked Ignatius Crook much. He owed people money, and he had a nasty, bullying way about him. But the theft of the gravestone and the burning of his father's house coupled with his sudden appearance and disappearance have given people a lot to talk about. Old Mrs. Hopkins said that she thought she saw streaks of fire coming from the sky just before the house burnt down. But she says all sorts of things. Perhaps it was a warning. Or perhaps Ignatius really did have some kind of — communion — with strange beasts.”

“It certainly seems strange,” said Dr. Drake. “We only arrived here today to pay our respects to Ebenezer. He had other friends too. We might like to raise some money to replace his gravestone.”

“Well, you have come to the right place,” said Mrs. Patterson.

“We are a little worried that some people thought the wording on his stone a trifle irregular,” said Dr. Drake. “We would like to consider replacing the stone with a similar wording, but we cannot find out what that was.”

“Well, it was a long time ago — almost ten years — but there was something unusual about those words, as I recall. In fact, I think my husband may even have kept a note of them. He usually does. Please let me to go and search for them while you drink your tea.”

Ten minutes later, the woman returned with a sheet of paper, which she handed to Dr. Drake. “Here,” she said. “I knew there was something unusual about it. Apart from the name, Ebenezer Crook, and the dates, 1799 to 1875, there was just this poem. And there's a misspelling, you'll see. He must mean
worms.
” Beatrice and I strained to look at it over his shoulder and read:

“I see what you mean,” said Dr. Drake as he handed back the piece of paper. “I think that we may go for something more simple.”

He handed back his empty teacup as well. “Please let your husband know that we will be in touch,” he said as he ushered us to the door. “Unless the police find the original stone and arrest the villains who stole it.”

And we set off up the road.

“Did you manage to decipher anything?” I asked.

“Not now,” said Dr. Drake with a smile. “We must find our way to the railway station. It is just outside of town. I think it is time to return to London.”

As we waited at the station, Dr. Drake took out a new notebook he had bought and, on a clean page, copied down the words on the stone from memory.

“Beatrice,” said Dr. Drake, “you were the one who guessed that Ebenezer took a secret with him to his grave. Try reading this and see what you make of it.”

She and I both stared at the verses. I knew she would be keen to beat me to the answer. She wrinkled her brow as she concentrated. Then suddenly, she relaxed and smiled.

“Of course!” she said. “Didn't people used to write codes using the first letter of each line?”

“The first letters?” I said, “Why that's B-E-N-W Y-V-I-S. Is that a place in Wales?”

“No,” said Beatrice, laughing. “It doesn't say that. Daniel, do you remember when we were very young? Mother and Father took us to Scotland. We stayed in a hotel near Inverness, at a place called Dingwall. Father had some business up there, I think, and we had a grand time. You were only four and you nearly got bitten by a snake.”

“Yes,” I said. “I just about remember it. It took us a long time to get there because of a problem with the trains.”

“Well, do you remember the mountain Father climbed nearby? We stayed at the bottom and had a picnic. There was Little Wyvis . . .”

“Of course! And Ben Wyvis. If you climb up it on a clear day, you can see all the way to Ben Nevis! And that's where I was nearly bitten. But it wasn't a very bad bite, luckily.”

“No, but Mother was quite upset. She said something about us being too young to go on expeditions.”

“And it was the year after that that Father got ill, and we started boarding school two years later,” I said. “Are we going to Ben Wyvis, Dr. Drake?”

“We are indeed,” he said. “But first we must return to London and go back to my shop. I need to speak to Emery. And then we shall take a trip to the Highlands. There is something that puzzles me about this answer, though.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“Well, I know Ben Wyvis pretty well. It is the mountain where Scorcher's mother, Scramasax, lives. I know her very well. She was the dragon that was guarding Saint Gilbert's horn. But I am worried about what Ignatius may do now that he has both the horn and the dragon dust, and so I am going back to London to pick up a certain piece of equipment. But it is strange, because I am absolutely sure that the Dragon's Eye will not be there.”

“Do you think Ignatius will actually use the horn to tame a large dragon?” asked Beatrice.

“With Alexandra's help, I am sure of it,” said Dr. Drake. “And I wouldn't be at all surprised if he used it on the dragon that was summoned by my whistle. If his first attempts were unsuccessful, that would certainly explain why his father's house has now burnt down.”

Suddenly Dr. Drake looked up.

“We are being spied on,” he said.

“Where?” asked Beatrice.

“There,” he said, pointing to a tall tree on the other side of the track.

It was Flitz. He screeched mischievously and then took off from the branch he had been sitting on, swooping low over our heads before disappearing in a blue flash over the top of Bodmin Station.

We arrived in London early the next morning. As we walked up Wyvern Way, I saw that there was a man standing outside Dr. Drake's Dragonalia as if guarding the entrance. As we got closer, I realised that it was Emery. He gave me a conspiratorial smile as Dr. Drake whisked us straight through the shop front and down the stairs, barely stopping to greet Mr. Flyte, who was serving behind the counter. Dr. Drake led us down the short corridor at the bottom of the stairs and smiled as he opened a pair of double doors and ushered us into a room that seemed far too grand to be in the basement of an ordinary shop. There were several other doors round the room, a marble floor, and in the centre, a magnificent golden statue of a dragon in flight. It was a room that belonged somewhere else entirely.

“Welcome again,” said Dr. Drake as he gestured round him, “to Dr. Drake's Dragonalia. Or as I should call it, the London headquarters of the Secret and Ancient Society of Dragonologists!”

“My goodness!” I exclaimed. “How old is this place?”

“The headquarters of the Society is more than six hundred years old,” said Dr. Drake. “The shop upstairs is merely a disguise to fool those whose interest in dragons proves superficial. There is much here that I would very much like to show you, but now is unfortunately not the best time for a tour. I must just pick up one or two things in preparation for our trip.”

And with that, he led us into another room that was full of trunks and boxes, along with a row of what looked like dragon masks on a shelf.

Although he searched furiously, he could not find what he was looking for. And he was just scratching his head when Emery came in. Dr. Drake explained to him everything that had happened. Then he asked, “Why isn't my flameproof cloak here?”

“I am afraid that Mr. Tibbs paid us a visit last night,” said Emery. “Along with Lord Chiddingfold. The police had told the Minister about the fire at Ebenezer Crook's house. He believes that things are ‘getting out of control' and that it is Mr. Tibbs, rather than yourself, who should be sent to track down Ignatius.”

“Mr. Tibbs?” exclaimed Dr. Drake. “And how would
he
track down Ignatius?”

“I have no idea,” said Emery. “The trouble is that Mr. Tibbs demanded your flameproof cloak. He also took a lot of other things. He and Lord Chiddingfold are worried that you might make things worse if you try to go after Ignatius. They wanted to speak to you the minute you got back.”

“Then I must go and speak to Lord Chiddingfold immediately,” said Dr. Drake.

“I wouldn't do that, Doctor,” said Emery. “I think they are planning to arrest you. ‘For your own good,' apparently. And Algernon Green has told the police that you are holding two children against their will. They have been here at least once already. If I were you, I would leave London at once.”

In less than half an hour, we had left Dr. Drake's Dragonalia and had taken a hansom cab towards Euston Station. As soon as we turned out of Wyvern Way towards the Seven Dials, we saw three policemen heading in the opposite direction. But our luck did not seem to last. As we reached New Oxford Street, another cab that had been going in the opposite direction, turned round and started to follow us.

Dr. Drake leaned his head out of the window and called to our driver, “I'll give you half a crown if you can manage to lose that cab.”

“Very good, sir,” said the cabby.

He shook the reins and our cab set off at a brisk pace, but so did the cab behind us. We sped past University College and managed to leave the other cab behind as we turned into Euston Road.

“Who was that?” I wondered as we reached Euston and hurried into the station.

“I don't know,” said Dr. Drake. “Wait here, while I go to purchase our tickets.”