The Return of the Dragon (6 page)

“It’s not nearly as interesting as it sounds,” said Zachary. “It’s mostly in Latin and the pictures are all sort of smudgy. But look at this.”

It was an old-fashioned black-and-white photograph. There were two women in it, both wearing straw hats with ribbons around the crowns and droopy long-waisted dresses. The taller of the two had a long pointed nose on which were perched a pair of spectacles. She looked cross. The shorter woman was laughing and squinting into the sun. Between them was a little boy in a sailor suit.

“Who are they?” Sarah Emily asked.

Zachary turned the photograph over and showed them the back.

“‘Me, Anna, and Johann,’” he read, pointing. “And then this was written under it. It looks like it was added afterward.”

Hannah leaned forward.
“‘An Awful Warning,’”
she read slowly.

“I think it’s Aunt Mehitabel’s writing,” Zachary said

“Why is it an Awful Warning?” Sarah Emily asked.

“And who are they?” asked Hannah. “Who are Anna and Johann? And who’s Me?”

“Let’s ask Aunt Mehitabel,” Zachary said. “We should write her anyway. About J.P. King.”

“Somebody’s calling,” Sarah Emily said.

It was Mrs. Jones, downstairs, sounding very faint and far away.

“She’s saying ‘pancakes,’” Sarah Emily said.

“Let’s go eat,” Zachary said. “We can write Aunt Mehitabel after breakfast.”

After Mrs. Jones’s blueberry pancakes were finished — Zachary had eaten eight, with lots of maple syrup — and the dishes finished and the letter to Aunt Mehitabel written, the children prepared to hurry back to Drake’s Hill.

“Read it one more time,” Sarah Emily said. “Just to make sure we remembered everything.”

The letter was printed on Hannah’s best stationery, which was lavender with a border of purple pansies.

“Dear Aunt Mehitabel,” Hannah read.

“It’s fine,” Zachary said, busily stuffing granola bars, apples, and plastic bottles of lemonade into his backpack.

Hannah folded the letter, put it in a lavender envelope, sealed it, and stuck on a stamp.

“You can’t be packing
food,
” she said in tones of horror. “Not after all those pancakes. I’m so stuffed, I don’t think I ever want to eat again.”

“They were
small
pancakes,” Zachary said.

“They were not,” said Hannah.

Zachary ignored her. “Let’s get going,” he said.

They set off briskly, walking fast, eager to get back to the dragon’s cave. By the time they reached the foot of Drake’s Hill, the sun was high overhead. The sky was a clear deep blue, and the air smelled cleanly of the distant ocean. Nothing, it seemed, should go wrong on such a perfect morning.

“Let’s go check the camp,” Zachary said. “Before we go to the cave. Let’s just see if they’re still there.”

They were.

In the center of the cluster of white tents, next to a ring of rocks that had once held a campfire, was a group of people. There were several young men all dressed alike in what looked like uniforms: navy-blue pants and white windbreakers with name tags on the breast pockets. There was also a girl wearing a rubber wetsuit. She held a diving mask and a pair of rubber flippers in one hand, and there were air tanks in a harness on the ground next to her feet.

They seemed to be getting orders. A man with a clipboard was talking rapidly, pointing at each person in turn, and then making check marks on the clipboard with a pencil.

“I wish we could hear what they’re saying,” Hannah whispered in a frustrated voice.

Zachary gave a little exclamation and began to rummage in the backpack. He pulled out his tape recorder and microphone.

“We can,” he whispered excitedly. He switched on the tape recorder. “We just have to plant the microphone somewhere closer — it’s got a really long cord — and then we’ll be able to hear every word they say. You two stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Holding the tiny microphone, he crawled rapidly to the edge of the sheltering fir trees and tossed the tiny microphone toward the speakers. It fell invisibly into a clump of beach grass. Zachary scooted quickly backward to where Hannah and Sarah Emily waited.

“Now listen to this,” he said. He switched the tape recorder on.

“. . . underwater caves,” a scratchy voice said. “Mr. King seems to think there might be something of interest along this stretch of beach. That will be your job, Alison. Take Danny along to stand watch while you dive.”

There was an inaudible murmur that sounded like Alison asking a question.

“No, just caves,” the scratchy voice said. “See what’s in them. And Mike and Tony, you two head down the beach and see if you can spot anything else in the way of rock formations. And Ben can cover the hill.”

“Not
again,
” somebody — presumably Ben — said in tones of disgust. “I’ve been over every inch of that blasted rock pile.”

“Not quite,” the scratchy voice said. “Mr. King wants complete maps of the terrain — you haven’t delivered those yet — and detailed notes on the resident wildlife. And I might add, Ben, that if you’re interested in keeping your job, you’ll have to do better than one misspelled note reading ‘Saw a dum raccoon.’”

Ben snorted.

“All right, then,” the scratchy voice said. “Let’s get going. Report back here by five o’clock and we’ll compare notes.”

There was a confused mutter of voices as the group began to scatter, talking among themselves.

Zachary turned the little tape recorder off.

“Well, that’s that,” he said. “They’re looking for something all right.”

“Zachary,”
Sarah Emily said urgently. “That man . . .”

A man in a white windbreaker was just straightening up from the clump of beach grass, a puzzled expression on his face. In one hand he was holding Zachary’s microphone.

“Quick!” Hannah hissed. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Zachary yanked on the cord, struggling to unplug the microphone from the tape recorder. At the same time, the man in the windbreaker began to run toward the trees, following the telltale path of the cord.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he shouted as the children scrambled to their feet. “Who are you, anyway?”

He had broad shoulders, short reddish hair, and a narrow sullen-looking face. The name tag on his pocket read
BEN
. He gave a vicious tug on the microphone cord, and the tape recorder flew out of Zachary’s hands and landed with a crunching noise on the ground.

Zachary, red-faced, bent to pick it up. Sarah Emily had turned pale.

“We’re studying birdcalls,” Hannah said, with great presence of mind. She put one arm around Sarah Emily. “For a school project.”

Zachary, whose mouth had fallen open, abruptly closed it and tried to look like a bird-lover.

“There was a sandpiper,” Hannah went on, looking up at the man with wide innocent eyes. It was an expression that often worked well on strangers but never fooled her family. Ben didn’t seem to be fooled either. He must have been smarter than he looked.

“I didn’t see any sandpiper,” he said suspiciously. “I think you kids better come with me. Mr. King, he doesn’t like people snooping around.”

“This is our aunt’s island, not his,” Zachary said boldly. “If anybody’s snooping, it’s you. We’re not going anywhere with you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ben said. He lunged forward, grabbed Zachary roughly by the upper arm, and yanked. Zachary, pulled off-balance, staggered forward. “Come on, all three of you. Move it.”

“Leave him
alone
!” Hannah cried. She grabbed Zachary’s other arm.

“What is all this?” a new voice said.

It was the elderly Chinese man they had seen coming out of the tent on the previous morning. He was still wearing his black suit and embroidered cap. Now that he was so close to them, the children could see that the cap was patterned with scarlet birds, gold flowers, and a wriggly sort of turquoise creature that might have been a winged serpent. He looked very tall and menacing standing there beneath the trees. His skin was the color of old ivory and his mouth was folded tightly shut in a thin slash like a knife cut. Beside her, Hannah could feel Sarah Emily shiver.

“Just kids snooping around, Mr. Chang,” the man named Ben said.

“Let the boy go, Ben,” Mr. Chang said. “Let them go.” He had a dry whispery voice that reminded Hannah of rustling paper. “They are nothing to worry about. Go about your business.”

Ben shambled off through the trees, looking resentfully backward over his shoulder. Mr. Chang pointed his finger threateningly at the children.

“Now leave!” Mr. Chang said. “And do not return!”

The children turned and ran.

They crept cautiously along the shelf of rock leading to the broad platform before the cave.

“Crawl,” Zachary said tensely. “Mr. King might be out on the deck with his binoculars. Looking for
puffins.
Or that Ben may be sneaking around.”

They scuttled across the ledge on hands and knees. From behind a sheltering rock, they peered down at the floating yacht. The deck was deserted.

Zachary heaved a sigh of relief. Then he gave a little gasp of dismay and pointed to the rocks below.

“Something fishy’s going on,” he said unhappily. “Look at that.”

A figure in a white windbreaker was working its way along the steep face of the hill, feeling at cracks and crevices, pausing every now and then to tap at the rock with a geologist’s hammer.

Sarah Emily drew a shaky breath. “I’m scared,” she said.

“Let’s go see Fafnyr,” Hannah said. “Right now, before anything else happens.”

The three children ducked quickly into the cave. Again, all was suddenly quiet and dark, the crashing roar of the waves gone utterly still. Zachary switched on his flashlight and the children edged their way inward and down, breathing in the tangy odor of smoke and cinnamon — the now-comforting smell of dragon. A streak of gold flashed in the gloom. Zachary’s flashlight had picked up the glitter of dragon scales.

There was a soft hiss as the dragon flamed, and the cave glowed with light. This time the second head was awake. Cool blue eyes surveyed the children. The dragon’s voice was deep and husky. “Hannah, Zachary, Sarah Emily,” the dragon began. “I am inexpressibly delighted to see you once again.”

Then its voice changed and it bent its neck to study the children more closely.

“Something has happened,” said the dragon in a concerned voice.

The children sank down on the cave floor, leaning back against the dragon’s warm golden tail.

“We met some people on the beach,” Sarah Emily said.

“They’re poking all over the island,” Hannah said. “Looking for caves. We were trying to find out what they were doing, but one of them caught us. He grabbed Zachary and yanked him around.”

“The mannerless cad,” the dragon said.

“They all work for Mr. King,” said Zachary. “And he’s written to Aunt Mehitabel, asking for permission to stay on the island.”

“He’s
dangerous,
” Sarah Emily said. She looked from the dragon to her brother and sister. “I just know he’s trying to find out about Fafnyr.”

“But how can he
possibly
know anything about Fafnyr?” Hannah said. “Besides, Aunt Mehitabel will tell him to go away.”

“What if he doesn’t pay any attention to her?” asked Zachary. “She’s in Philadelphia, with a broken ankle. She can’t really do anything. What if he sticks around anyway? How are we going to stop him?”

“We could fight them,” said Sarah Emily doubtfully.

“That’s easy to
say,
” said Zachary. “We’re just kids. And anyway I hate fighting. There are a couple of kids at school who always want to fight, just to see who’s bigger or better. If I don’t fight, they laugh and call names and say I’m a chicken. I’m not a chicken. I just think fighting is stupid.”

The dragon nodded sympathetically.

“Battle,” it said, “is a highly overrated activity.” The blue eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look. “That reminds me of a story,” the dragon said. “A tale of chivalry and honor. Perhaps you would like to hear it?”

“Knights and castles,” said Sarah Emily excitedly. “I love those stories. I’ve been reading all about King Arthur and Sir Lancelot and Guinevere. And the sword in the stone.”

“Fighting,” said Zachary glumly.

The dragon reached out a polished golden claw and smoothed his hair.

“There’s fighting and there’s fighting,” it said. “Just listen.”