The Flight of Dragons Page 3

  The twins looked at each other. Conducta shrugged, and Globula rolled her eyes. Thistly saw the exchange and picked up a rolling pin. Her daughters heaved themselves to their feet and dragged themselves to the door.

  “You’ll be sorry for this, Ma,” Conducta said grimly as she lifted the old wooden latch.

  “Really sorry,” Globula echoed as she followed her sister out into the lane that led to the market square.

  The Canker twins had no heart. Few of the Cankers did; as they were descended from zombie ancestors, this was a family weakness. Or strength, depending on your point of view. Conducta and Globula had no use for such an organ; their beady-eyed observation of other girls had led them to believe the possession of a heart was a distinct disadvantage. All that weeping and wailing about boys. And stupid tears about icky-picky kittens with no whiskers. No. The twins had their dreams, and there was no trace of sentimentality or concern for others to get in their way. The two of them fully intended to get extremely rich as soon as possible and spend the rest of their lives ordering people around and eating chocolate. Conducta preferred the dark sort, with rose-scented cream inside, dribbling as she sucked out the soft pink centers. Globula had a passion for chocolate with nuts, which she gleefully crunched into pulp with her yellowing tombstone teeth. Not that they had had much access to such delights; it was many months since their father had helped himself to a large heart-shaped box of mixed centers left in a royal coach. The coach had been standing outside the blacksmith’s shop while the driver negotiated terms for a new wheel; Weasel Canker had seized his opportunity and departed with a fur rug, three satin cushions, and the chocolates. Biting hard on a chocolate Brazil nut with a rotten tooth had resulted in a sudden decision to donate the box to his daughters; the rug and the cushions had been sold to a useful contact beyond the borders of the Five Kingdoms and the proceeds spent in a dark, dank, and generally unpleasant little inn on the edge of Howling Mere. Conducta and Globula, however, had tasted heaven and found the Meaning of Life.

  “Out!” The rolling pin crashed against the door, and Conducta scowled. A woman passing by with a baby in her arms saw her expression and hurriedly covered the baby’s eyes with her hand; the small boy trailing behind her burst into tears and clung to his mother’s leg.

  “Little sissy! I’ll bite your nose off!” Globula hissed, and the little boy’s cries ratcheted up to an ear-splitting scream of terror. His mother snatched him up and ran.

  “Nasty little snot-faced brat,” Conducta remarked as she tucked her arm through her sister’s. “So — what are we going to do now?”

  “Think of something really, really nasty to do to Ma?” Globula sounded hopeful — but Conducta shook her head.

  “That can wait. No — we need money. Money — and somewhere to live. And I’ve got an idea.”

  “Tell!” Globula’s tiny piggy eyes gleamed.

  Her twin looked first left, then right. Satisfied that she couldn’t be overheard, she whispered, “We’ll go and find Great-Grandpa.”

  Globula opened and shut her mouth, then swallowed. “You mean . . . Dad’s grandpa? The one who lives outside the border? The BAD one?”

  Conducta nodded. “That’s right.”

  “But . . . we don’t even know if he’s still alive!” Globula still had the expression of a startled goldfish.

  “Of course he is,” Conducta snapped. “Why do you think Ma never ever lets us go with Pa when he visits Grandma? It’s ’cause she’s scared. Scared we’ll meet Great-Grandpa, and he’ll turn us evil, just like he is.” She gave an admiring grunt. “Fancy being so evil, you’re not allowed into the Five Kingdoms!”

  Globula sniggered. “Who’d want to be a goody-goody, though? ’S much more fun pinching babies to make them scream . . .”

  “And twisting arms until we get pennies,” Conducta agreed.

  “And throwing stones at puppies . . .”

  “And sneaking plums from the market . . .”

  “And spitting the stones into the village well!”

  The twins grinned at each other.

  Then Globula asked, “Do you know where Great- Grandpa lives? Will we be able to find the way?”

  “I know which path goes to the border,” Conducta told her. “After that we can ask, but it can’t be far. When Pa goes to see Grandma, he’s back in a day.”

  “Unless he gets drunk at the Howling Arms,” Globula pointed out — but Conducta ignored her.

  “We’ll get going straightaway. If Great-Grandpa’s as bad as Ma says he is, he’s bound to have some ideas for making easy money. Or maybe he’s got a treasure stash from when he used to turn puppy dogs into meat pies, and he’ll give us a bag of gold.”

  “And then”— Globula stuck her grubby fingers in her mouth and sucked noisily —“we can buy CHOCOLATE!”

  Conducta didn’t answer. She was watching a small boy dressed as a palace page hurrying across the market square. He was clutching a piece of parchment, and even at a distance, a golden crest could easily be seen, glinting in the sunshine. It was the same crest that had adorned the large box of stolen chocolates, the box that was still the twins’ most prized possession. Conducta’s eyes gleamed. “I think,” she said, “we might like to see what’s on that piece of paper, don’t you, Globula?”

  Globula sniggered. “Why? Do you think it’s an invitation to a ball?”

  Conducta took no notice and set off toward the unsuspecting Bobby. He was trying to fix the parchment to a board with the aid of a bent nail and a rusty thumbtack and failing miserably.

  “Not making much of a job of that, are you?” Conducta sneered.

  Bobby jumped and looked around. “Oh! Erm . . . excuse me, miss . . .”

  Globula appeared on his other side and plucked the parchment out of his hand. “ ‘The job of a lifetime,’ ” she read aloud. “ ‘Come and join the happy team at Niven’s Knowe Palace. Two maids and a cook. Only those with the very best of references need apply. Signed, Princess Fedora. P.S. Come to the palace early tomorrow morning.’ Hmph!”

  “If you please, miss,” Bobby said, “can I have that back? I promised I’d put it on the notice board, and if I don’t get home soon, they’ll be worrying.”

  The twins looked at each other, and an unspoken message passed between them. Then, as one, they turned back to Bobby.

  “There’s no need to be a worrywart.” Conducta did her best to smile, and Bobby took an alarmed step backward. “Don’t you fret. Just leave it to us. We’ll make sure your notice gets to all the right people, won’t we, Globula?”

  “Oh, yes.” Globula smiled, too, and cold shivers ran up and down Bobby’s spine. “All the right people.”

  Bobby had a strong suspicion that the twins’ idea of “the right people” was unlikely to meet with Princess Fedora’s approval, but he was desperate to get away. “Well . . .” he said doubtfully. “I suppose it might be OK . . .”

  “It will.” Globula folded up the parchment and stuffed it deep into her pocket. “You run along.”

  Bobby, however, was engaged in a last-ditch battle with his conscience and didn’t move. Conducta oozed nearer. “We’ve got a relation who works at the palace,” she said in conciliatory tones. “Her name’s Saturday Mousewater. She’ll tell you all about us.”

  The cloud lifted, and Bobby felt his responsibilities drop away. “Oh, yes! She’s my friend. Oh — thanks!” And he sped off toward the pie shop.

  “Excellent!” A satisfied smile spread over Conducta’s face. “Just wait until Ma sees that! A job at the palace . . .”

  Globula was horrified. “We’re not going to have to work, are we?”

  Conducta gave her twin a sour look. “Don’t be so stupid. Of course we aren’t. We’ll show Ma the parchment and tell her we’ve got the job. She’ll stop nagging — and then we can go out all day every day and do exactly what we want.”

  “But . . .” Globula had spotted a problem. “What about when she asks for our wages?”

&nbs
p; “That’s why we’re going to see Great-Grandpa, isn’t it?” her sister snapped. “To find some way of getting money.”

  Globula opened and shut her mouth, a blank expression on her face. Conducta seized her by the hair and banged her head against the notice board. “Do you really think Ma’s going to approve of anything Great-Grandpa suggests?”

  “OW! OW!” Globula retaliated by trying to stick her fingers into her twin’s eyes, and they scratched and slapped at each other until Conducta began to laugh. “What is it?” Globula asked angrily, rubbing her cheek.

  “You. You’re so stupid, it’s funny. Come on — let’s go.” And Conducta marched away. After a moment Globula followed her, glowering. A large and balding crow perched on a nearby chimney pot had been observing what was going on with an expression of keen interest. As the twins set off on their journey, he gave a satisfied squawk, spread his wings, and flew off ahead of them, in the direction of the southern border.

  Professor Scallio was still sitting at his desk. He had spent the night in the library, and the day was now well advanced. The tottering pile of books beside him was in severe danger of falling over and crushing him, but every so often he jumped up and took yet another ancient tome from the shelves. “There must be something here,” he muttered to himself. “Something that’ll tell me more about dragons. What can they be looking for? What are they after?”

  “Got another problem, Prof? Tell old Marlon. All inquiries treated confidential, and no questions asked where no questions needed.”

  Professor Scallio looked up. “Marlon? Thank heavens you’re back. Have there been any more sightings?”

  “Nope. Would have told you, wouldn’t I?” The bat flew down and landed on the pile of books. There was a worrisome wobble before it stabilized. “Phew!” Marlon waved a wing. “Living dangerously, eh, Prof ?”

  “Oh — I do hope not,” the professor said with a sincerity that made the bat’s ears twitch. “Marlon, I’ve been wondering about the dragons that were driven out of Niven’s Knowe. Could there be a connection, do you think? Could they be planning . . . revenge?”

  “Dragons of Niven’s Knowe . . .” Marlon folded his wings while he considered. “Nah. Before my time. You’d need to ask Great-Uncle Alvin. Used to live in Niven’s Knowe Palace, and he’s as old as the hills.”

  Professor Scallio leaned forward, an eager expression on his face. “Where would I find him?”

  Marlon rolled his eyes. “Uncle A. had a row with my dad and fled. Ancient history. Not been seen in the Five Kingdoms for years. He’s been hangin’ out in a cave near Fracture, mumbling and complaining. Says the world’s going to rack and ruin. Pops out from time to time to see the kid, though . . . took a shine to her, he did.” Marlon gave an affectionate sigh. “That’s Truehearts for you. Even ol’ misery-guts raises a smile when our Gracie Gillypot’s around.”

  The professor stroked his chin. “Ancient history . . . that’s what King Horace said. Your great-uncle Alvin might know something useful.”

  “Doubt it,” Marlon scoffed.

  “Didn’t he ever tell you stories about dragons when you were a baby?” The professor sounded hopeful — but the bat shook his head.

  “Nope. Not a word. Deprived childhood ’n’ all that.”

  “Poor old Dad. No one to tell you stories . . .” A smaller bat came fluttering down to join Marlon, and the pile of books gave up and collapsed to the floor with a crash. “Oops! Sorry, Professor.”

  Professor Scallio ignored the landslide. “Have you seen the dragons again, Millie?”

  Millie nodded. “Saw the gold one. All on her own she was, circling in the South. You know what, Prof? I was watching her, and I think she’s lost a little one. She looks just like Mum does when Freddie goes missing.”

  The professor stared at Millie for so long, she began to blush. “Don’t look at me like that, Prof! What have I said? Didn’t mean no harm. It was just a suggestion.”

  “Millie,” the professor said slowly, “you’re a genius. Why ever didn’t I think of that? Of course that’s what she’s after.” He shook his head. “I’m getting old. No doubt about it.”

  Millie puffed out her extremely small chest. “Just call it woman’s intuition, Professor. Sometimes you men just can’t see what’s obvious to us girls.”

  Marlon coughed. “Hate to break in here, guys, but we ain’t seen no baby dragons. Not a snip. Not a whisker. And we’ve got full surveillance out in the South.”

  “What? What do you mean, whiskers? Oh!” Professor Scallio’s brow cleared. “No, no, Marlon. I didn’t mean there was a baby dragon. I meant an egg. An egg laid while the dragons were still in Niven’s Knowe . . . an egg that must still be out there somewhere.”

  “That was eighty years ago,” Marlon said soothingly. “Be addled by now. No need to worry —”

  “NO!” The professor jumped up from his desk. “No, no, NO! Eighty years is more or less how long it takes a dragon’s egg to hatch.” He began to pace up and down, while the two bats watched him. “An egg . . . a dragon’s egg. Goodness gracious me . . . and there I was thinking they were planning some kind of revenge against King Horace.”

  “So that’s an improvement, then,” Millie said cheerfully — but Professor Scallio shook his head.

  “No, no . . . this puts a whole new slant on things. Oh, dear me! A dragon’s egg could be more dangerous than open warfare. If the forces of evil inside and outside the kingdoms hear about it — why, they’d do anything to get ahold of it. Sorcerers, zombies, Deep Witches, Old Trolls . . . just imagine what power they would have if they had a dragon by their side! Oh, my goodness — the whole Five Kingdoms could be destroyed!”

  Marlon was looking puzzled. “Thought dragons didn’t hold with evil ’n’ such.”

  Millie nodded agreement. “Me, too.”

  Professor Scallio sank back into his chair. “You’re quite right — they don’t. Not as a rule. But a young dragon is like any other young animal. If treated with cruelty, then it will be cruel . . . and a cruel and cold-hearted dragon is more to be feared than any other beast.”

  There was silence while Marlon digested this information. “Well, I’ll be,” he said at last.

  Millie, seeing the professor’s evident distress, flew down to his shoulder. “It’ll be OK, Professor,” she told him. “You’ve got us on your side. And Mr. Prince and Miss Gracie. And the Ancient Crones . . .”

  “Yes. Yes, let’s keep hopeful. And, as far as we know, this is still our secret.” The professor jumped up again and began to search through the heap of books. “And the egg may not be due to hatch for quite a while, so we have time to find it. Let me see . . . where is it . . . YES!” He began to pace again, the book in his hand. “Listen to this. ‘The age of the maternal dragon must always be taken into account in any estimation of hatching time. A dragoness of sixty years should not expect to see her offspring until some seventy years have passed. A dragoness aged eighty must wait ninety years’ . . . and so on. You see? If we could find out how old the golden dragon is, we’d know when her egg is due to hatch.”

  “If there is an egg,” Marlon put in.

  “Yes, of course.” The professor nodded. “But I think we should assume there is, for the time being at least. Marlon, you must find your great-uncle Alvin and ask him to tell us everything he knows.”

  “Ah.” The bat shuffled up and down the arm of the professor’s chair. “Might be a problem. Ol’ misery-guts ain’t speaking to me just now. Bit of an argument, see.”

  Millie gave her father a reproachful look, and Professor Scallio visibly drooped. “Oh, dear . . .”

  There was another silence, and then Marlon coughed. “Ahem. Gotta suggestion. Like I said, the aged unc would do anything for Gracie. Tell her all he knows and most likely a whole lot more as well.” The bat gave the professor a sideways glance. “And you could trust her. Trueheart through and through, that one.”

  “You’re right!” The professor sat up straight
er. “Marcus was off to see her today. Maybe I should ask the two of them to go together. . . .”

  “Good plan, Stan!” Marlon’s eyes brightened. “Nobody’ll take a second glance at those two wandering around. They’re just kids. Uncle A will deliver the goods, and that’ll be that. You know what, Prof? I’ll lay an even fiver that this time next week you won’t have a worry in the world.”

  Marlon’s optimism was catching, and Professor Scallio smiled as he took off his monocle and polished it. “You’re on! I’ll take your bet, and we’ll hope you’re right. Could you tell Marcus and Gracie that I’d like to see them here? No. No, on second thought, just tell them what we have in mind. Much better that way. Saves unnecessary travel. And, Marlon — speak to the Ancient Crones. Ask them if they’ve seen any sign of trouble on the web.”

  “No prob.” Marlon flew a swift circle around the library. “Coming, kid?”

  Millie shook her head. “I’d better get back to the border, Dad. Got to keep an eye out for that poor dragon.”

  Her father waved a wing. “Old softie, ain’t she! Be back pronto, Prof.” And Marlon was gone. Moments later, Millie set off for the border.

  The professor watched them go. “I hope I’m not putting Marcus and Gracie in danger . . . but I really don’t think there’s any chance of that. Heigh-ho . . . how tired I am!” And he laid his head on the book in front of him and fell fast asleep. Even the crash of the door as Queen Bluebell came marching in failed to wake him.