The Dragon's Lair (35 page)

"Be right back," Ven promised. He ran back down the rotten boards of the pier, leaping and jumping over the holes, until he was standing on the sand.

"Char—"

"You decided ta go with her, didn't you?"

Ven exhaled happily. "Yes. And I can't stay long, because the tide's going out."

Char nodded. "All right."

"Will you say goodbye to everyone at the Inn for me? Especially Mrs. Snodgrass and McLean? Tell them I'll miss them—and take care of the others, especially Ida."

Char stared at him, thunderstruck.

"What the heck are you talkin' about?" he demanded. "I'm not goin' back to the Inn if you're goin' into the
sea,
for pity sakes! How many times do you need it said to get it into your thick head? I'm supposed ta keep an eye on you—
Captain's orders
. You decidin' to become part merrow, or whatever you're doin', doesn't change that. I'm goin' with you."

"Are you sure? You understand what it takes to do it?"

Char's hand went immediately to his neck, and he swallowed hard. "Yeah." He checked Ven's neck. "I hope that he doesn't slice off
all three
o' your whiskers."

"Three? There are
three
?"

"Yeah, looks like you grew another one."

Ven grinned broadly. "Guess my beard's growing in seriously at last. All right, then. If we're going with Amariel, you make sure she's willing to have you. Tell her I'll be right back."

He jogged back to the wagon, where Tuck was waiting patiently beneath his straw hat. Clem was sleeping peacefully in the back, but Ida was wide awake, watching him closely.

Ven climbed into the back of the wagon. He picked up the bundle with all his possessions in it, then stepped over the wagon board and sat down beside the Lirin forester.

"Thanks for everything, Tuck," he said. The forester nodded. "Will you please do something for me?"

"If I can."

He handed Tuck his journal. "Please give this to the king. Congratulate him for me, and tell him about all the things we saw together, especially the dragon's egg and the river of gold and—oh, everything you can remember! Everything I remember is in here, written up as best as I could tell it. I signed all my drawings with my initials so that when he is compiling his book of all human knowledge, he will know where some of it came from, just in case I don't get back to compile the rest of it for him."

"I will do so," said Tuck.

"And this," Ven said, handing him the dragon book. "I hope he will let me have it back one day—but there's no point in risking water damage. Will you give it to him as well?"

"I will."

"And please tell him that I appreciate whatever surprise he had for me, and that it will drive me crazy until I come back and find out what it is."

"Done. Travel well, Ven. It's been a pleasure being in your company."

"For me, too." Ven shook the forester's hand. Then he climbed back into the wagon bed and crouched in front of Ida.

"I'm going away for a while," he said to the Thief Queen's daughter. "I wish I could take you with me."

Ida snorted, but she smiled her crooked smile more broadly.

"I really do," Ven insisted. "I want you to be safe from your mother. So I'm going to lend you something until I get back."

"What?"

Ven patted the nest of Black Ivory where the dragon's egg had rested. "This," he said simply. "Sleep in it—you seem comfortable there. While you're in it, I don't think Felonia, her thugs, her spies, or anyone else can find you. Get someone to help you carry it into Mouse Lodge—it's
really
heavy. Stay safe and take care of yourself until I get back. Please. And take care of the others." He nodded toward Clem. "Mrs. Snodgrass, too."

"All right, get goin', Polywog," Ida said tartly. "You're the only one who thinks anyone's gonna miss ya."

Ven laughed. He gave the bony girl a quick hug and climbed out of the wagon before the look of shock left her face.

"Oh," he called over his shoulder. "By the way—you know that molten gold the Nain put in those pots to keep the egg warm? Well, it's solid now—and the egg's not using it anymore. There's plenty for you, and Clem, and Mrs. Snodgrass—so now you only have to pick pockets if you're bored."

He ran back down the pier, where Char and the merrow were staring awkwardly at each other.

"You ready?" he asked his best friend.

"Guess so," said Char doubtfully.

"Not too late to change your mind."

"You know better'n that."

Ven laughed. "I do. So let's not talk about it further." He looked down at the water, where the light of First-sun was spilling over the merrow, making her beautiful scales shine like a thousand jewels.

"We're ready, Amariel," he said. "Show us your world."

The merrow just smiled.

"Come along," she said. "Hope you can keep up, 'cause I'm not waiting for you."

ENDNOTE FROM THE
DOCUMENTARIAN

This is where the last of the three journals of Ven Polypheme found in our archaeological dig site ends. Unlike his first two notebooks, there is no final comment. It just ends.

Inside it was a sealed letter with only the words
Polypheme, Vaarn, the Great Overward
written on the outside.

It had never been opened.

Our dig took place in what is believed to be the site of the city of Vaarn on the continent of The Great Overward, as it was called in ancient times. The dig unearthed several old dwellings and what appears to have been a factory. Its closeness to the harbor leads us to believe these sites may have been the Polypheme family home and shipbuilding factory. If this proves to be historically true, perhaps Ven sent these notebooks home to his family after the information in them was added to
The Book of All Human Knowledge
.

We hope that's the case, because if it is, perhaps there are more journals out there to find.

As of this writing, we have three more dig sites going in various places around the world, but alas, so far the search has turned up no more of Ven's writings.

The Book of All Human Knowledge,
as well as the tome known as
All the World's Magic,
were both lost at sea long ago, so we don't know anything about them for certain. We know that Ven is credited in other historical texts for doing some of the research in these magical reference books, but whether he wrote a little, a lot, or all of them remains a mystery.

It is hoped that one day we may recover more of his journals, so that we may continue to look back in time to places where the magic he saw in his travels might one day be found. We have already found evidence that some of it has survived.

Just today, as I finished the last of my restoration efforts on this last of the journals, I noticed a rather large flock of black birds perched on one of the trucks we use in the archaeological dig. There were so many that they covered the entire vehicle. When I went outside to shoo them away, however, an enormous shadow passed overhead, and the ravens flew off.

I shielded my eyes and looked up to see if I could catch a glimpse of the bird.

I did not. It flew away too quickly.

But I did see a huge feather drifting down on the wind.

It was as long as my arm.

And now I am wearing it in my pith helmet.

I am off to work, hoping to find more of Ven's journals, and more of the ancient magic of the world recorded therein.

—Elizabeth Haydon

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In addition to the luminaries I thanked in the first two volumes, who still hold warm places in my heart (which I would like back when they are done with them, please), I would like to acknowledge the following helpful people for their contributions to our ongoing archaeological dig:

First and foremost, as always, Dr. Alexander Vandersnoot, Vaarn expedition leader, who has handled every aspect of the dig as well as updating our blog at
www.venbooks.com
.

T. L. Scott, noted camel guide, who, like other two-initialed authors such as T. E. Lawrence, T. S. Eliot, and T. H. White, entertained me with his writings as we were crossing the endless desert of Jyl on an unbalanced dromedary. (Hope your saddle sores heal quickly, Scott.)

Mr. "Woomph" Ralboosh, Expert in Everything, our expedition's concierge. (It may seem strange that an archaeological expedition
has
a concierge, but gracious living out here in the wastelands is a must among documentarians—we have so little else to live for.) That raspberry-scorpion sorbet flambé was the best I've ever had! Thanks mucho.

Dr. Swishy Humdinger, the dig's physician, who tirelessly tends to our sandburned fingers and sunburned skin. Swishy, get some rest. If you haven't got your health, then you haven't got anything.

Miss Jodi Rosoff, the expedition's communications expert, wherever she is. She was last seen atop a towering sand dune under the full moon, tapping Morse code into her cell phone receiver, trying to order carry-out sushi in the middle of the desert. The many reports of a hovering disc-like ship in the area have not yet been confirmed. Jodi, phone home!

Lady Beatrice Evelyn Voleny, for the loan of her giant flashlights and all her sage advice about how to sooth sand-flea bites.

Professor Baxter "Bax" McCracken, the group's slave driver, for keeping round-the-clock shifts going by blowing a screeching whistle into our tents every four hours like clockwork. Reports that he was buried alive in an unmarked sand dune are mostly false. (We
will
get you yet, Bax. When you least expect it, expect it.)

Technical guru Godeye Luft de Raideres, superhero of technology, hiding behind the persona of a mild-mannered New York skating instructor, for all his help untangling the strings on our transatlantic tin cans and using ground-penetrating radar to locate Ven's family artifacts (though I
still
don't believe his mother had a shaving brush, Godeye, no matter how much you insist).

Mistress Karen Barry, the world's foremost expert in kiran berries, for her kind assistance and support.

And finally, a cheerful shout of camaraderie to the talking sand-turtles of the Hishgigumbo oasis. The water might have been a mirage, but our conversation about world politics was one of the most meaningful I've ever engaged in. Many thanks, fellas, and stay wet.

—EH

A NEW NOTE FROM THE
DOCUMENTARIAN

As noted at the end of the third of the Ven Polypheme Journals,
The Dragon's Lair,
the original dig site contained only three volumes of Ven's notes and drawings. Ongoing expeditions have been searching for more of the mythical lost journals, but as of yet we have not been able to definitively authenticate any more examples of his writing.

That does not mean we are not working to do so, however.

Recently, a new discovery was made in the jungle lands ruled by the ferocious Womba Looma tribe of the tropical island of Rompa Snizz. While it has not been officially confirmed as a genuine Lost Journal, because it was greatly damaged by sea water, our team has been working around the clock in an attempt to restore it. We hope to discover whether it is, in fact, a later episode in Ven's story of magical adventure or just a clever forgery. A third possibility exists in that it could be, in fact, the real story of someone else entirely, with friends who had miraculously similar names to Ven and
his
friends. In any event, there is a great possibility that whoever penned this journal might have met an unfortunate ending after writing it.

The Womba Looma are cannibalistic; or at least they were back in the Second Age of history, when Ven lived. Our archaeological team escaped intact, but one scientist did have his hat eaten.

We will not publish the entire contents of the journal, which is called
The Tree of Water,
until we are absolutely certain it is genuine. But here is a snippet of one of the stories that survived being buried in the jungles of the Womba Looma, which apparently takes place under the sea.

—Elizabeth Haydon

Elizabeth Haydon is now working
to restore the fourth volume of
The Lost Journals of Ven Polypheme,
The Tree of Water
.

See below for a sneak peek for your eyes only.

S
HHHH," AMARIEL WHISPERED. VEN COULD TELL BY THE SIZE OF
her eyes that she was terrified.

He pressed himself up against the ghostly coral structure, its glowing formations hard as rock, though Ven knew it was actually a mass of living creatures. He tried not to shudder as something wiggled against his back.

Above them the stalagmites tapered up toward the surface, growing lacey and fragile as they reached up into the patchy darkness toward the hazy green light. The higher up they grew, the thinner and wispier their purple and green arms became. They reminded Ven of the frail threads of spun sugar that he saw from time to time in the Magical Confectionery in town.

Just then, the light disappeared, as an enormous black shadow passed overhead, blotting it out.

Megalodon,
Ven thought. He had seen the giant shark once before, while aboard Oliver Snodgrass's ship, the
Serelinda
. The lookout in the crow's nest had shouted the name, and suddenly every sailor fell silent and stood utterly still.

Their eyes looked exactly as Amariel's did now.

The last time he had seen the beast, it was nothing more than a giant fin the size of the mainsail of the
Serelinda
and a shadow that passed beneath the hull. Now that he was in the water, feeling the pressure of its wake as it swam above him, it felt as if the moon itself had fallen out of the sky and was growing to crush them into the sandy ocean floor.

He could feel Amariel's hand slip into his own, the webbed fingers trembling. He could hear her voice, clear from being in the air, just before they had submerged.

And for goodness' sake, if we come upon a shark, hold still and don't make any noise or movement until I discover if it's one of my friends or not. They can tell where you are by your movements. And your smell, of course, especially if you're bleeding. Even my friends might eat you by mistake if you're bleeding
—
or even me. Blood in the water kind of cancels out any notion of politeness
.