The Wyverns' Treasure

by R. L. LaFevers

  If the motorbike made Greasle happy, the train waiting for them at the station made her ecstatic. "It's like a giant plane!" she said, clapping her hands in delight.

  "Well, it doesn't fly, exactly," Nate tried to explain. "See? It has wheels."

  "I don'ts cares about them. It's the engine I wants to see." She smacked her lips.

  Aunt Phil frowned. "This is exactly the sort of thing I was worried about; gremlins could quickly infect all sorts of engines and motors. You should have left her at home."

  Nate opened his eyes wide and tried to look innocent. "But then she'd be all alone with your plane. I didn't think you'd like that."

  Aunt Phil grimaced. "No, I wouldn't have liked that. But keep a close eye on her. And I will deal with this when we return."

  Nate and Greasle exchanged worried looks, and then Nate scooped her up. "Be good," he said, putting her back into his rucksack. Once he'd fastened the top, he could hardly even hear her squeaks of protest.

  As Nate settled into his seat, he realized this train ride wasn't nearly as nerve-racking as the last one he'd taken. He wasn't alone, for one thing. But also, compared to the past two weeks, a train ride to the city was a piece of cake. He spent the whole time drawing.

  They arrived in London just before lunch. When they got on board a double-decker bus, Greasle wanted to know if it had two engines.

  "No," Aunt Phil said. "And get back into the pack before anyone sees you." She let Nate sit up on the top level, something his old governess, Miss Lumpton, had never let him do.

  When the bus reached their stop, Aunt Phil checked her slip of paper for directions. "It should be just down this street here," she said, pointing the way.

  "It looks familiar," Nate said.

  "Excellent. Come along."

  They proceeded down the street until they came to number 436. Nate scratched his head, puzzled. "It didn't have boards on the windows last time I was here."

  Aunt Phil pursed her lips. "Well, it looks quite deserted now." All the windows were boarded shut, and there was a great thick lock on the door. Aunt Phil knocked anyway, but there was no answer. Nate sat down on the top step and rested his chin on his knees.

  "That's a bit of a setback." Aunt Phil took a seat beside him.

  "So now what?" Nate asked. His voice wobbled, so he cleared his throat.

  "Now we try to track down Miss Lumpton. Do you know where she lived before she came to take care of you?"

  Nate shook his head. "I never thought about her living someplace else. She's been with me since I can remember."

  "Well, she must have a home or some remaining family. Perhaps there is a record of it back at your parents' house. At the very least, I'd like to search there to see if there was any correspondence with your parents."

  "I told you, they never sent any letters," Nate said glumly.

  "That you know of," Aunt Phil clarified. "Come along. If we hurry to the station, we can catch a train and be at your house by teatime."

  Chapter Four

  THEY ARRIVED IN UPTON DOWNS just after lunch. Stepping off the train, Nate was flooded with sights and sounds that were achingly familiar. And welcome. He wondered if he would see anybody he knew. Then he realized he didn't actually know that many people. Just Miss Lumpton, the grocer, their gardener, and the milkman, who had come to their house Mondays and Thursdays.

  Upton Downs was too small to have buses or taxicabs, but the stationmaster recognized Nate and let them use his bicycle.

  "But there's only one," Nate said, plucking his gremlin away from the greasy chain.

  "It will do. Hop on." Aunt Phil patted the handlebars.

  "There?"

  "Of course. We used to do it all the time as children. Now come along. I'll give you a boost."

  With Nate perched precariously on the handlebars, Aunt Phil began pedaling down the street. The bike wobbled horribly, and Nate held on for dear life. Every time they went over a bump in the road, his teeth snapped together. As they came around the last bend, the familiar tower roof of Nate's house came into view. His heart lifted and he forgot all about the handlebars digging into his backside. He was almost home. Had it really been only two weeks? It felt more like two years.

  When they turned into the driveway, Nate was shocked at how overgrown the lawn was. Normally cut short, it was now up to his knees. Even worse was the deserted feel the house had. All the gabled windows stared back at him like empty eyes; an air of loneliness and neglect hung over the house like a cloud. As Nate got off the bike, he tried to swallow a huge lump of disappointment.

  They hadn't gone far when Aunt Phil put her hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

  "What?" he asked.

  "The door is ajar. Look."

  Indeed, the dark green door stood open a few inches. Was someone home after all? Excited, Nate hurried forward. "Miss Lumpton! Miss Lumpton, I'm back!" He clattered into the hallway, his feet halting at the great emptiness there.

  "She's not here, Nate," Aunt Phil said from behind him. "In fact, I think your house has been ransacked, just like mine."

  Aunt Phil was right. In the living room, the green velvet sofa that hardly anyone ever sat on had been sliced to ribbons. Fluffy white stuffing spilled out onto the floor. Tables had been swept clear, lamps overturned. The kitchen reeked of sour milk.

  "Pew!" said Greasle, pinching her nose shut.

  "Let's try upstairs," Aunt Phil said, without much hope.

  Nate led her up the stairs. She stopped at the first room on the right. "Whose room is this?" she asked.

  "Miss Lumpton's."

  "Excellent. Just what I was looking for." She came around him into the room, then frowned. "Where are all her things?"

  Nate shrugged. "I don't know."

  "Did she take them with her that day you went to London together?"

  Nate thought back to the few possessions in the suitcase of hers he'd grabbed by mistake. "No, she packed enough only for a night or two."

  "Which means she must have returned at some point to collect the rest of her belongings. Hmmm." Aunt Phil did a quick inspection of the room but found nothing remotely interesting. She even looked in the little wastebasket near the bed. She fished a piece of paper out and slipped it into her pocket.

  "What did you find?" Nate asked.

  "Not much," she admitted. "Was there a study or library she used?"

  "We both shared the library downstairs. I'll show you." He turned and hurried down the stairs, glad to be away from the empty bedrooms. "Here." He opened the door to

  the library, where he'd done his lessons under Miss Lumpton's watchful eye.

  This room, too, had been searched. All the papers and books on the desks and tables had been swept to the floor. The towering bookcases were knocked over, their entire contents spilled out onto the rug. "Well, this makes no sense," Aunt Phil said. "If Obediah Fludd had The Geographica, why would he search your parents' house?"

  Nate nudged a globe with his foot and watched it roll across the floor. "Maybe he doesn't have it."

  "But then how was he able to pinpoint the beasts' locations so accurately?"

  "You did say there were other bestiaries."

  "Yes, but they are far less reliable. Hang on a minute. I want to have a quick look in the desk." She went over to the large mahogany desk, righted the chair behind it, and sat down. Quickly and efficiently she opened the drawers and began rifling through them.

  "Wow, this is some mess, it is," Greasle said.

  "Yeah," Nate agreed. It was hard to believe he was staring at his home, his house. He could not get his mind around the fact that someone had thought there was something that valuable here.

  "Well," Aunt Phil said with a sigh. "There's nothing. No journals, no letters, nothing. I cannot believe your parents wouldn't have sent some record of their journeys and discoveries over the years. It's part of the Fludd Protocol—always be sure a record of your discoveries is left behind, in case..." Her voice trailed off and she cl
eared her throat, as if remembering Nate was in the room. "We'll just have to move to plan B," she said, firmly shutting the last desk drawer.

  "What's plan B?" Nate asked.

  "I'm not sure yet. I need to think on it a bit."

  Nate left Aunt Phil sitting at the old desk and wandered into the hall and out the front door. Greasle scampered off to chase a dragonfly buzzing among the overgrown grass. Nate sat on the front porch, his shoulders sagging. There were no answers, no new clues. Feeling hopeful and then having it taken away was even worse than having no hope at all, he decided.

  There was a loud squawk. Then a faint thud. He sat up, suddenly alert. Greasle was nowhere to be seen. However, the overgrown grass off to his right was waving crazily. He got to his feet and took a step toward the wriggling grass. "Greasle?" he called out, feeling nervous.

  "I caughts something," she squeaked. "And it's a biggie."

  Chapter Five

  AUNT PHIL APPEARED on the front step. "Nate, where is your father's—what's your gremlin got now?" she asked.

  "I don't know." Nate hurried off into the grass. Greasle had a bird in a chokehold and was trying valiantly to drag it out into the open. It was almost as big as she was and was flapping its wings madly.

  "It's a pigeon," Nate called out to Aunt Phil. "Or maybe a dove. I can't tell."

  "Hold still, you big bag of feathers," Greasle muttered. She dug in her heels and tugged.

  "Stop!" Aunt Phil called out. Nate and Greasle froze. "Planes, trains, and motorcars aren't enough for you? Now you're going to eat my messenger as well?"

  Nate and Greasle looked at her blankly.

  "That's a carrier pigeon. With a message. See?" She pointed to the small pouch strapped to one of its feet. "Let it go," Aunt Phil ordered.

  Greasle scowled. "I caughts it fair and square."

  "Now," Aunt Phil said in her most stern voice.

  "It's just going to fly away again," Greasle mumbled. With one last glare at Aunt Phil, she let go of her prize.

  With a disgruntled coo, the bird rose into the air and headed straight for Aunt Phil. It landed on her shoulder and turned a fierce, beady eye on the gremlin.

  As Aunt Phil took the small pouch from its leg, Nate asked Greasle, "Do you really eat pigeons?"

  The gremlin shrugged. "I don'ts know. I eats anything if I'm hungry enough."

  "This is a prime example of why we don't need a gremlin wandering around," Aunt Phil pointed out before reading the note. "It's from Cornelius," she said at last. "He's received word from our caretaker in Wales. The wyverns are on the rampage for some reason and he needs immediate assistance."

  "Can't somebody else go?" Nate asked. "We're kind of busy here trying to find some clues."

  Aunt Phil looked at him over the top of the note. "Do you have any idea what damage a rampaging wyvern can cause?"

  "How could I?" Nate asked, exasperated. "I don't even know what a wyvern is."

  "Oh. Right. Well, it's a dragon—one of the last surviving breeds of dragon in western Europe. All those horrid dragon deeds you've read about in stories have been done by rampaging wyverns: breathing fire, ruining crops, drying up rivers, stealing cattle and sheep and young children. If the wyverns are on the rampage, it's our job to stop them. It's part of being a beastologist. Besides," Aunt Phil said gently, "there's nothing more to learn here."

  "You mean we're going to leave without any answers?"

  "What else would you have me do?"

  Nate didn't know, but he was sure it wasn't leave. "But what about my parents?"

  "We've come to a bit of a dead end," Aunt Phil said. "And

  we can't let other people come to harm in the meantime. There is no one else, Nate," she reminded him. "Only us. Now come along. We can talk more on the way. We must get there before they do any real damage."

  Something big and hot and prickly rose up in Nate's chest, but he tamped it back down. He gave a nearby pebble a violent kick before following Aunt Phil to the bicycle.

  Back at the Upton Downs train station, Aunt Phil used the stationmaster's telephone to put a call through to the caretaker. She told him they would take the train directly to Beddgelert, and he promised to be there to meet them.

  "We're not even going to go home first?" Nate asked.

  "No time," she said as the train pulled into the station. They bustled aboard and settled into their seats. Nate looked out the window, wondering if this would be the last time he ever saw his little village. The whistle blew and the train chugged forward until Upton Downs was merely a smudge in the distance.

  Once under way, Aunt Phil pulled The Book of Beasts from the large pack she carried with her at all times. She opened the book to W and quickly found Wyvern. Nate scooted closer and peered at the picture. He'd never seen a dragon before.

  The beast seemed impossibly big. In the picture, it towered over the oxen it had just snagged with its enormous, sharp talons. Its long body was serpentine and covered in scales. Immense wings sprouted from its shoulders. The tail was very nearly as long as its body and ended in a sharp point. The idea of meeting one of those face-to-face made Nate's insides turn all watery.

  He checked to see if Aunt Phil was watching, then opened the top of his rucksack so Greasle could see, too. The gremlin crawled out, her eyes growing wide when she saw the picture. In a quiet voice, Nate began to read.

  Wyverns are one of the last remaining dragons in the west, confined mostly to their nesting area in the mountains of Snowdonia, Wales. From the tip of their snout to the barb at the end of their serpentine tail, they can reach a length of thirty feet. They stand approximately twenty feet high and have two legs and a pair of magnificent wings. Each of the wing spines has a large talon attached to it.

  They are quite fond of sheep, cattle, and oxen but will settle for humans if no hooved animals can be found. They will also feed on trout and salmon, but consider those more of a supplement than a true meal. They mate for life and hatch their eggs in an underground cavern. The hatchlings remain there until their scales have fully hardened and they can brave the outside world. Safe in the caves, the dragonlings practice hunting, hoarding, and breathing small plumes of fire. All the adult dragons share in the parenting duties.

  It takes five years for wyverns to reach maturity. They spend the last year of childhood hunting side by side with the adults.

  The wyverns' method of attack involves swooping down from the sky amid loud shrieks that are intended to paralyze their victims with fear. They use the massive talons on their feet for grabbing prey and the smaller claws on their wings to hold the prey while they rip into it with their razor-sharp teeth. The wyverns' lashing barbed tail can also do great damage.

  Since the wyverns entered into the Covenant with Lludd, the attacks on humans have been few and far between, usually perpetrated by a rogue wyvern who has been banned from his herd or a young wyvern who hasn't fully learned the rules yet.

  Well, that last part was almost reassuring, Nate thought. "Who is this Lludd fellow?" he asked Aunt Phil.

  She looked up from the book. "He was an earlier ancestor of Sir Mungo's. A Welsh chieftain, to be exact." She paused, thinking. "I suppose, in a way, he was the first beastologist, even though he lived long before Honorius coined the term. If it hadn't been for him, wyverns would still be attacking people and doing great damage and destruction. Would you like to hear the story?"

  "Yes, please." Nate settled more comfortably into his seat. It had been a long time since anyone had told him a story.

  "Well over a thousand years ago," Aunt Phil began, "a few hundred years before Sir Mungo Fludd was born, Lludd ruled over northern Wales. He was a wise ruler and his people trusted him. However, back then Wales was plagued with wyverns."

  Nate shuddered and tried to imagine living in a place where dragons roamed free.

  "The wyverns fought among themselves, snatched sheep and oxen from the fields, and terrorized the people with their fire-breathing skills. It was quite a probl
em, so Lludd decided to do something about it. Luckily, he had a brother who was even wiser than he was. This brother told Lludd to dig an enormous pit on the hill known as Dinas Emrys. When the pit was big enough, he was to fill it with mead, then lay a cloth over it to hide it.

  "Attracted by the smell of mead, the wyverns flocked to Dinas Emrys. They didn't see the pit hidden under the cloth, so they landed on top of it, and fell into the hole and were trapped. Lludd refused to let them out until they all agreed to a series of conditions, which we know as the Covenant."

  "What kind of conditions?" Nate asked.

  "They agreed to keep their fire breathing confined to specific areas where it wouldn't do any harm and to stop treating the villagers' herds of oxen and sheep as a pantry. In return, we promised to leave their caverns alone and quit trying to find their treasure. We also promised to provide them with livestock they could eat." Aunt Phil was silent for a moment before continuing. "Luckily, they were a bit tipsy from the mead or they might never have agreed."

  Chapter Six

  NATE VAGUELY REMEMBERED being awakened during the night and changing trains three times. Now he sat trying to blink the sleep from his eyes and feeling rumpled as the train chugged into the station.

  "Ah, we're awake now," Aunt Phil said, closing her book.

  Doesn't she ever sleep? Nate wondered.

  "We've just arrived in Beddgelert," she told him. "And there's Dewey now, come to pick us up." She pointed to a gentleman waiting on the platform. He held his tweed cap in his hand and was crooked over a bit, as if he'd spent his whole life ducking. He had a thick white mustache that looked like the handlebars of a bicycle.

  "It would probably be best if you put your gremlin away until we clear the station." Aunt Phil nodded at Greasle, who was curled up on top of Nate's sketchbook, fast asleep in his lap. "There's an awful lot of temptation out there."