Ben and the two brownies looked at one another in alarm.
“Fight him?” Maia looked at Firedrake. “I’ve wanted to do that a hundred times — a thousand times — when the others told me how he hunted them. The dragon-eater, protected by his golden skin, armed with a thousand ravenous teeth. Is he as terrible as they said?”
“They weren’t exactly exaggerating,” growled Sorrel.
Firedrake nodded. “Yes, he is terrible indeed, but I will fight him.”
“Yes,” murmured Maia. She fell silent again, looking around at the cave that was suddenly so bright once more. “I’ll help you,” she said. “Together, perhaps we can do it. That’s what I always told the others: United we’re stronger than he is. But they were too frightened to try.” Sadly she shook her head. “See what fear does to you.” She pointed with her head to the petrified dragons. “See how they cower there, motionless and lifeless. I don’t want to end up like that. You know what I think?” She came close to Firedrake. “I think you were meant to bring him here. It was bound to be so, and the two of us will overcome him. Just as the old stories say: When the dragon rider returns, silver will be worth more than gold.”
“Just the two of you? Oh, wonderful!” Insulted, Sorrel wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you think you could use a bit of help with all this fighting?”
“Er … they didn’t count me in, either,” said Ben.
“Don’t be silly — we can do with all the help we can get,” said Firedrake, nuzzling Sorrel in her furry stomach.
“Right, that makes five of us. Or no,” said Sorrel, perching on the tail of a stone dragon, “no, seven! Twigleg and the rat, too.”
“Twigleg and Lola!” cried Firedrake “They’re still out there somewhere!”
“Oh, moldy matsutake!” Burr-Burr-Chan jumped up. “They’ll be waiting for us where we first landed. There’s a mushroom cultivation tunnel that leads there. Come on, Sorrel, let’s find them.”
“Just a moment, I have to get out of these human clothes!” Sorrel quickly stripped off the clothing the monks had given her for the flight, and then the two brownies raced off together.
Ben stayed in the cave with the two dragons.
“A rat and a — er — a twigleg?” asked Maia curiously.
Firedrake nodded. “Neither of them is much bigger than one of your ears, but they are very brave.”
For a few moments, they stood in silence, looking at the dragons who had turned to stone.
“Could they be revived?” asked Ben.
Maia shook her head. “How could you bring the moon down here?”
“Perhaps moon-dew would help?” Ben looked inquiringly at Firedrake.
“Moon-dew?” asked Maia.
“Yes. You know what we mean,” replied Firedrake. “The dew that on any moonlit night gathers on the blue flowers growing down by the lake. If you lick it off the petals and leaves, you can fly by day as well as by night. Didn’t you know?”
Maia shook her head.
“Forget it,” said Ben. “How are we going to collect dew from the flowers with Nettlebrand lurking down there in the lake?”
“I have a few drops left,” said Firedrake, “but they would hardly be enough. And who knows, we may yet need them ourselves.”
“You’re right,” murmured Ben, disappointed, and he patted the scaly backs of the stone dragons.
47. No, No, and No Again
“No, I’m not coming out, so there!” said Gravelbeard.
He was in the great cavern of his master’s belly, sitting on the golden casket that held Nettlebrand’s heart and staring crossly down at the fermenting brew of the golden dragon’s digestive juices. Acrid vapors wafted up from them, stinging his nose.
“Come on out, armor-cleaner!” bellowed the voice from above.
“No, no, and no again!” Gravelbeard shouted up the huge throat. “Not unless you promise never to swallow me again! I’m sick and tired of being swallowed. Suppose I go down the wrong pipe? Suppose I land in all the muck down there next time?” Shuddering, he stared at the bubbling, hissing, filthy liquid below him.
“Don’t talk nonsense!” came Nettlebrand’s furious voice from above. “I swallowed that treacherous Twigleg a thousand times, and he never went down the wrong pipe.”
“Oh, yes,” muttered Gravelbeard, straightening his hat. “All very well for you to talk! And I’m all shaken up from splashing around in the water, too!” he shouted up. “Did you catch that tinny hornet thing? I don’t see it swimming around down here.”
“It got away!” growled Nettlebrand. Gravelbeard felt the vast body quivering with rage. “It flew up to the mountains and landed where the silver dragon had been sitting.”
“Oh, yes?” In a thoroughly bad temper, Gravelbeard scratched his chin. “And where’s he now? Did he show you where the other dragons are hiding?”
“No!” Nettlebrand spat. “He’s disappeared. Come up out of there this minute! I want you to climb up to where the tin hornet landed. You saw who was in it, didn’t you? That spider-legged traitor! Aaarrgh! I’m going to crush him like a wood-louse, but he must lead us to his new master first.”
“Oh, yes?” Gravelbeard was still sulking. “And what do I get if I find him? Him and the tin hornet?” Putting his hand under his shirt, he felt Barnabas Greenbloom’s wedding ring.
“You dare ask that?” bellowed Nettlebrand. “Come on up, or I’ll shake myself so hard you really will fall into my guts.”
“Oh, all right.” Gravelbeard rose to his feet and climbed up his master’s throat, muttering crossly into his beard.
“I can understand why that Twigleg took off,” he grumbled. “Oh, yes, I can understand it very well indeed.”
48. The Captive Dwarf
“They’ve forgotten us!” wailed Twigleg, pacing restlessly up and down. “Talk about ingratitude!”
“Oh, come off it!” said the rat, stirring the pan on her tiny camping stove.
As the sun climbed slowly in the cloudy sky, a thick mist was clinging to the mountain slopes. Its white vapor hid everything: the flowers, the lake — and Nettlebrand, if he was still around. Lola tasted the concoction bubbling in her pan, licked her whiskers, and went on stirring. “Oh, do sit down, humpelcuss!” she said. “This is about the hundredth time I’ve told you, they’ll come back when it gets dark, if not before. I really don’t know why you’re making all this fuss. We have all we need — something to eat and a nice hot drink. I even have sleeping bags. Two, luckily.”
“But I’m so worried,” wailed Twigleg. “Who knows what those other dragons are like? Maybe they’re the sort of dragons you read about in fairy tales. Maybe they’re particularly fond of eating human boys!”
The rat chuckled. “Oh, honestly! Believe you me, that boy can look after himself. And if he doesn’t, well, Firedrake’s there. Not to mention those furry-faced brownies.”
Twigleg sighed and looked down into the mist.
“Are all hompulkisses like you?” asked Lola.