by Rebecca Rupp
“Now,” it said, “please take down that annoying signal flag.”
They flew by night, sailing dreamlike over endless water. There was a thin crescent of moon and the stars were reflected beneath them, glittering in the dark rolling sea. They hung from the dragon’s claws, safely wrapped in a hammock made from the white-and-orange parachute. Father, hypnotized by Fafnyr’s cool silver eyes, slept. Hitty and Will were wide awake. Wind rushed warmly through their hair and from above them came the rhythmic comforting thrum of powerfully beating wings.
“We’ll be home soon, Hitty,” Will said in Hitty’s ear. “Home. Doesn’t that sound good? Ice-cream sodas and sleeping in your own bed again. . . .”
“And Mother,” Hitty said. “She’ll have been so worried. Still . . .” She looked up at the shining golden dragon, winging its way steadily through the summer night. “Still, I hate for this to be over.”
Will reached down and squeezed her hand.
Hours later, they landed on another, colder beach. The dragon laid them down gently on the sand. The children crawled out of the entangling folds of parachute and stood up. Above them shone the yellow lights in the windows of a house.
“Our house,” said Will. “At last. Thank you for everything, Fafnyr.”
“Your father will wake up soon,” the dragon said. “I suggest you have a suitable story prepared. Perhaps you were picked up by a passing ship while he was ill.”
“We’ll think of something,” said Will. “We won’t give you away. Don’t worry.”
Hitty laid a hand on the dragon’s smooth golden scales.
“Where will you go from here?” she asked. “Back to your hut on the island?”
The dragon was silent for a moment. “I think not, my dear,” the dragon said. “Your arrival, from the standpoint of privacy, was the beginning of the end. It is clearly only a matter of time before others follow in your . . . er . . . footsteps.”
“But if you don’t go back . . . ,” began Will.
“I must consider,” the dragon said.“There are so few places left. Antarctica, perhaps? Still quite empty.” Its voice dropped and it seemed to be talking to itself.“But so unpleasantly cold. And all those monotonous penguins.”
“Fafnyr,” Hitty said suddenly, “you could stay here.”
“This is a private island,” said Will. “I mean, our family owns it. Nobody lives here but us. We go back and forth to the mainland by boat.” He pointed across the dark water to the distant lights of a town.
“At the north end of the island,” said Hitty, “there’s a hill, and in it there’s a cave. Nobody ever goes there. We went inside it just once, with a lantern. It’s enormous. You’d be safe living there forever. And we’d never tell anyone about you — never, as long as we live.”
The dragon’s silver eyes glistened, and its voice, for a moment, wavered.
“A Resting Place,” it said. It looked from Hitty to Will and back again.“I am staggered,” the dragon said. “I am overwhelmed.”
“A Resting Place?” asked Will.
“A Resting Place,” the dragon said, “is a sanctuary. An utterly safe and hidden place. A haven.” Then it said, in more down-to-earth tones, “A good place to sleep.”
“You’ll be quite alone there,”said Hitty. “It’s very peaceful.”
“I am in your debt,”the dragon said.“I accept your most generous offer.”It blinked rapidly and sniffed. “Perhaps you would come and visit me sometimes.”
Then the dragon said solemnly,“Please hold out your hands.”
Hitty and Will, exchanging a puzzled glance, each held out a hand, palm upward. The dragon lifted a golden claw and pricked their extended hands, precisely in the center. Hitty gave a little cry of surprise. There was a sharp sting, which quickly vanished, followed by a soothing warmth. The children stared, wide-eyed, at their hands.
“I sparkle,” said Hitty, in a whisper.
Will said, “So do I.”
In the center of each child’s hand was a tiny gleaming point of dragon-gold.
“We are bonded,” said the dragon huskily. “I am sorry I misjudged you in the early days of our acquaintance. You are true Dragon Friends.”
There was a heartfelt pause.
“The gift of your cave,”the dragon said. “That was a dragonish thing to do.”
“We’ll never forget what you did for us, Fafnyr,”Hitty said.“We wouldn’t have survived without you.”
The great golden dragon bent down and gently smoothed the hair of first one, then the other, with a polished claw.“Ah, yes, you would, my dear,” the dragon said. It tapped Hitty lightly on the forehead. “Use your head,” it said. “It was all right there, all the time.”
Then with a pounding rush of wings, the dragon rose into the air and turned toward the north. Hitty and Will stood looking after it, until it had faded in the distance, into an almost invisible pinprick of gold.”
“And is that the end of the story?” asked Hannah.
“It can’t be,” said Zachary. “What happened to Will? Did he become a pilot when he grew up?”
The dragon bristled. “Certainly not,” it said. “He had more sense. He became a famous botanist, a world expert on marine plants. A new species of seaweed was named after him, but he always preferred its common name. He called it dragonweed.”
“What about Hitty?” asked Sarah Emily. “She was my favorite. What happened to her?”
The dragon inclined its golden head. “Why,” it said, “I thought you knew. For heaven’s sake, child, use your head!”
Sarah Emily thought for a moment and suddenly her eyes opened wide. “Hitty!” she said. “It’s a nickname for Mehitabel. Hitty is Aunt Mehitabel!”
“It was Aunt Mehitabel who told us to explore Drake’s Hill,” Hannah said. “She must have wanted us to find you here.”
The dragon bent its head. “She is an honored and beloved friend,” it said, “and very wise. She has kept the Resting Place safe for many years.”
“She sends you her regards,” Sarah Emily said softly.
“I miss her visits,” the dragon said.
“She’s very old now,” Hannah said gently. “She has to walk with a stick. I know she would come if she could.”
“We’ll keep the Resting Place safe, too, Fafnyr,” said Zachary. “We’ll never tell anyone either.”
“We all promise,” said Hannah.
“And if you ever need any help . . . ,” began Sarah Emily.
The dragon nodded. “Thank you, my dears,” it said. Then it said, “Please hold out your hands.”
The three children each held out a hand, the palm facing upward. Slowly and ceremoniously the dragon extended a golden claw. It pricked each outstretched hand, precisely in the center; first Hannah’s, then Zachary’s, and finally Sarah Emily’s. Each child felt a sharp stinging pain, then a beautiful feeling of well-being and warmth. Sarah Emily raised her hand toward her face.
“It does sparkle,” she breathed.
“We are bonded,” the great golden dragon said.
“Oh, Fafnyr,” Hannah said shakily. “We are honored.”
Zachary reverently touched the tiny golden glitter in the center of his palm. Then he looked up, regretfully. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We should go before people start wondering where we are. Thank you, Fafnyr, for everything.”
“And thank your brothers for us,” added Hannah.
The dragon nodded. The golden head drooped. The silver eyes closed. The light in the cave grew dim. Softly the children turned to leave.
Sarah Emily lingered behind.
“Will we see you again, Fafnyr?” she asked. “We don’t live here, you know. We’re just visiting and we’ll have to go home soon. It could be a whole year before . . .”
She stopped. The dragon was asleep.
Sadly Sarah Emily turned to follow Zachary and Hannah. She groped her way carefully upward, running one hand along the rocky wall. Then a husky voice spoke behin
d her out of the darkness.
“When you come back,” the dragon said, “we will still be here.”
A letter arrived at last from Aunt Mehitabel, sweepingly addressed to the children in peacock blue ink. “By now,” wrote Aunt Mehitabel, “you know the secret of Drake’s Hill. The time has come for me to pass on the trust. I am not getting any younger and Fafnyr needs friends and protectors. I feel sure that you three will keep the Resting Place safe.”
“But why didn’t she just tell us about Fafnyr?” Sarah Emily asked.
Hannah smiled over the top of the letter. “There’s a P.S. at the end,” she said, “and it’s underlined in gold ink. It says, ‘Some things are best when you discover them for yourself.’”
Zachary chuckled. “She sounds just like Fafnyr,” he said.
Sarah Emily said, “She sounds like Hitty.”
The time had come to leave the island. Suitcases and duffle bags were packed. Shell collections were carefully wrapped in newspaper. Bathrooms and bedside tables were checked for things left behind. The children hugged Mrs. Jones, who hugged each of them tight and pressed bags of fresh oatmeal cookies into their hands. “You’ll be back next summer,” she said, “and it will be here sooner than you think, so don’t let me see any of those long faces. You watch: It will be June quicker than a wink, and you’ll all be here to help me make strawberry jam and blueberry pies.”
“And dig clams,” put in Mr. Jones, “and keep a weather eye on the night sky.” He patted Zachary on the shoulder. “The captain’s telescope will be here waiting for you, young man.”
The children looked mournfully around the house one last time.
“I hate leaving,” Sarah Emily said. “I wish we could stay here forever.”
“I’ll miss everything about this place,” said Hannah. “Even that awful elephant’s-foot stool.”
“But what we’ll all miss most . . . ,” began Zachary. Then he stopped abruptly and turned away to look out the window.
“Fafnyr,” Sarah Emily whispered.
“Fafnyr,” said Hannah. There was a catch in her voice.
They trooped sadly down to the shore and loaded their belongings onto the now-familiar green boat, the Martha. Mother tucked the last bag under the seat in the bow. “Just one more look around,” she said, straightening up. “It’s been a wonderful summer. And it’s been good for you children, spending time here. We’ll come back again.”
There was a sound of boots crunching over sand and stones as Mr. Jones approached. “All aboard,” he said. They climbed reluctantly into the boat. Sarah Emily cast off and the Martha chugged westward toward the mainland and home. The island began to grow smaller and smaller in the distance. The children sat up straighter, gazing longingly back at it over the swelling blue waves.
“Good-bye, Fafnyr,” whispered Zachary.
“Good-bye, Fafnyr,” murmured Hannah. Her eyes were filled with tears.
But Sarah Emily looked straight into the wind, with a look of pride and determination on her face. “We’ll always remember!” she shouted as loudly as she could. “And we’ll be back!”
In the far distance behind them, from the receding peak of Drake’s Hill, came — for just an instant — a dazzling sunbeam flash of pure gold.
Here’s a sneak peek at the sequel to The Dragon of Lonely Island!
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. Zach
ary, 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.
