The Dragon's Eye

by Dugald A. Steer

When he came back, the bottle of linctus was empty. Dr. Drake put it down next to the front door. Then he peered at me closely, in much the same way he had peered at Scorcher the day before, and gestured for me to follow him. We headed up the drive and along the path that led into the forest. There we walked silently for some distance — it may have been about two miles — before Dr. Drake paused and offered me a cheese sandwich and a drink of lemonade from a bottle that he was carrying in his bag.

  “Now,” said Dr. Drake when we had both eaten, “have you heard of the Knucker Hole?”

  I had to admit that I hadn’t.

  “It is a very deep pool about thirty miles from here that lies just outside of the village of Lyminster, near the south coast. People used to say that the pool was so deep that it actually had no bottom. They also used to say that it was the home of a dragon. But only one of those two things was correct.”

  “The part about the dragon?” I asked.

  “Indeed. The dragon that lived there used to be what is called a knucker. They are quite small for dragons. They are long and thin, and they have very small wings and cannot actually fly. But I don’t want to tell you too much at the moment, as I need you to find out everything you can on your own. Take out your record book, and make a note of your first assignment: tonight I want you to make a list of all the differences you notice between the knucker and Scorcher, who is a European dragon. Providing you can remember much about Scorcher, of course.” He said.

  “I remember Scorcher’s eyes quite well,” I said.

  “Really?” said Dr. Drake. “I would have thought that his fangs, wings, tail, scales, or the smoke coming from his nostrils — which is quite a remarkable phenomenon for such a young dragon, by the way — would have been more memorable. In order to compare the two dragons, you are going to have to meet a knucker. And while there is no knucker at Lyminster anymore, there is one here in the forest, which I have been studying for quite some time. When I am at home, I like to make a daily record of her behaviour, and I am going to introduce you. I call her Weasel.”

  “Does Weasel live in a pool, too?” I asked.

  “No. A knucker does not always need a pool. Weasel has a hole in the side of one of the streambeds. Knuckers are very lazy. Weasel is happy living here because the soil is mostly sand, which is easy to dig burrows in, and she is rather partial to rabbit. But I would be careful not to get too close to her until she gets to know you. It is sometimes said that a hungry knucker will take a stray child for its dinner, if it finds one. Now, I am going to tell you no more about knuckers, but I want you to note down everything you see.

  “Dragonology, as I am sure you realise, is not a very well known area of study, and most books about it are not at all reliable. So a dragonologist’s record book — or dragon diary — becomes his most precious resource, with information on everything he has ever learned or found out about dragons, and notes on all the different things he plans to find out as soon as he can. When you study a live dragon, it is particularly important to record the time, the weather conditions, the sort of dragon you are studying, and any dragon behaviours that you note, including whether it can talk or not.”

  I must have looked surprised — and probably rather sceptical at this — because Dr. Drake continued: “Dragons are practically the only creatures, apart from humans and unicorns, of course, that can talk. Not all of them have this ability, however. Knuckers generally don’t, but there have been some exceptions. But to find out anything, of course, you have to find the knucker. Which means a spot of tracking. Why don’t you look around? I suggest starting with some soft ground.”

  Dr. Drake gestured with his stick, and I climbed down a steep bank and through some thick undergrowth to where I could hear the trickling stream. I was amazed to discover a set of large lizardlike footprints in the sandy mud.

  “You must make a record of what those tracks look like, Daniel,” said Dr. Drake. “Draw a picture of them. Then you will be able to recognise them again. Try to show how deep the various bits press into the sand, and make sure you get the proportions right.”

  And so I bent down to study the tracks and drew a careful picture of the clearest of the tracks as best I could. There were three long, thin toe marks at the front, each with a claw at the end that had made only the lightest of impressions. There was a deep pad mark and another mark left by the beast’s single hind claw. When I had finished, I showed my work to Dr. Drake.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Now follow the tracks.”

  So I stepped over the narrow stream and followed the tracks up to where they disappeared among the leafy bracken.

  “Be careful, Daniel!” whispered Dr. Drake behind me.

  I peered ahead into the gloom and realised that there was something slithering gently ahead of me through the undergrowth. It was the knucker.

  “Weasel is hunting rabbits,” whispered Dr. Drake. “She almost always hunts in the early morning.”

  As I edged forwards, I trod on a stick, which broke with a loud snap and caused Weasel to stop and raise her head. As she turned towards me, I could see that she had two bright, snakelike eyes. But her eyes didn’t have the intelligence of Scorcher’s eyes.

  “Be careful, Daniel,” said Dr. Drake in a loud whisper. “Stay absolutely still.”

  I stayed as still as I could. The knucker, which must have been very used to Dr. Drake by now, glanced over at him and then ignored us. I studied her carefully. She was leathery brown and seemed to have skin rather than scales. I could see two little bunches near her front legs, which must have been the useless wings Dr. Drake had mentioned.

  Meanwhile Weasel continued her rabbit hunt. She slithered into a thick patch of undergrowth, her attention fixed on a patch of grass. Several rabbits, which had been disturbed by the noises I had made, had returned to feed. Weasel’s head quivered in anticipation as she watched one particularly fat-looking rabbit hop over to join two others on a patch of clover. Suddenly she leapt forwards, her tail flicked around behind, and her snakelike body curled into three loops, which she dropped neatly over the three rabbits’ heads. Soon they were dangling from the loops in Weasel’s body like clothes bobbing on a washing line. Then, with three quick gulps, they were gone. The knucker stretched, gave a happy little shudder and wiggle, then slithered away.

  “Now,” said Dr. Drake, when Weasel had gone, “that is your first lesson completed. I would like you to complete the first entries in your record book by this evening if possible.”

  And with that, we returned through the forest, and back to Castle Drake.

  When we arrived, I found Beatrice sitting at a little table in the drawing room. She was reading a book, and I saw that she had a record book just like mine, lying open beside her, with a dictionary next to it. She seemed to have completed quite a large entry on the knucker already. She looked up.

  “How was your trip?” she asked. “Did you track Weasel, then watch her hunting?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, tomorrow Dr. Drake will probably take you to Weasel’s lair,” she said, smiling. “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m having a bit of trouble with the idea behind this book. Dr. Drake says that you understand it quite well, but I’m not sure where to begin.”

  She showed the book to me. It was Darwin’s On the Origin of Species.

  “Are you studying that too, then?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Beatrice. “Dr. Drake says that it’s exactly the sort of thing a dragonologist needs to understand in order to study dragons in what he calls ‘the proper scientific manner.’”

  I felt pleased that Beatrice needed my help, so I said, “Well, as far as I can see, Darwin visited some islands called the Galápagos, where he noticed that different tortoises and birds were slightly different on different islands. So he came up with a theory. All baby animals are born with small differences between them. One may be bigger, another faster, or another may just have a longer neck. If those differences give them an adva
ntage over other animals — in defending themselves, perhaps, or in finding food — then they are more likely to survive until they have babies themselves, and the babies may well exhibit the same traits. Over millions of years, these differences can grow and grow until the animals become so different that they can turn into a completely new species. It’s called natural selection.”

  “Thank you, Daniel,” said Beatrice.

  Beatrice went back to reading the book and occasionally looking up words in the dictionary, which was something that, annoyingly, I hadn’t thought of when I’d been trying to read it. I took out my record book and, pencil in hand, opened a new page and laid out my records as I had been taught by Dr. Drake:

  When I had completed the record of everything I had seen, I made a new entry listing the differences between Weasel and Scorcher.

  For the next few days, I got up early with Dr. Drake to go and study Weasel. On the second day, after watching her feed again, Dr. Drake let me track her to her lair and taught me how to tell the difference between fresh tracks, which are unbroken, and tracks that have crumbly edges or tiny bits of twig or grass over them, which are a day old or more. He made me crouch among the bracken, looking for signs of hidden tracks such as broken stems, or bits of slime where Weasel’s tail had rubbed against the boles of trees. He also taught me how to track the knucker from upwind, so that she would not smell me coming.

  When I reached Weasel’s lair, I saw that it was dug among some tree roots by the edge of the stream, in one of the deepest parts of the forest. Small piles of what looked like fur and bones lay scattered round. I rushed to examine one, but Dr. Drake called me back.

  “Daniel,” he said, “a dragonologist must remember to remain concealed when approaching a dragon, particularly one in its own lair. It can be highly dangerous to introduce yourself too soon. Even though this knucker knows me and is unlikely to attack us, you ought always to follow this practise so that you will be prepared if you have to attract the attention of an unknown dragon.”

  I nodded, and Dr. Drake then reached into his bag and handed me two small parcels covered with waxed paper. One of them contained sliced onions, while the other was full of sausages.

  “Now,” said Dr. Drake, “a dragon can often be tempted to the mouth of its lair by offering it a suitable gift. With a more intelligent specimen, such as Scorcher, this might involve something shiny, since European dragons love to collect treasure. However, he is only a juvenile, so it is unlikely that he is yet able to tell the difference between true gemstones and shiny bits of glass. Weasel is a much simpler creature, so food will have to suffice. I mixed up the onions and sausages overnight, so the onions should have taken on some of their smell. Throw them towards the mouth of the lair.”

  I did this and was not surprised to see Weasel’s head emerge from the hole, twisting about until she spied the parcel of onions, which she sniffed. She did not seem very pleased. In fact she came halfway out of her lair, padding to the left and right, arching her back and making a whining noise like an angry pig.

  “Now,” said Dr. Drake, “throw the parcel of sausages.”

  When the sausages landed, Weasel bent down and sniffed them, arched her back again, gave a sort of little whinny of pleasure, and gobbled them down in one go. Then she wriggled back into her lair.

  “Now that Weasel knows we mean her no harm, we may move just a little closer,” said Dr. Drake.

  We went over to examine one of the piles of bones and fur. It looked very much as though it had come from one of the rabbits.

  “What do you make of that?” he asked.

  “Well,” I suggested, “Weasel eats her food whole, so maybe she regurgitates what she can’t digest, like an owl?”

  “Indeed,” said Dr. Drake. “But you must be careful. Look.”

  And he pointed with his stick to several small round drops of purple goo that had dripped onto the bones.

  “That is knucker venom. As well as being able to kill its prey by constriction, the knucker also has a highly venomous bite. If you were to accidentally touch that venom with unbroken skin, it would not do much damage, but if it were to get into a cut or into your mouth or eyes, then you would have a problem. A small amount would most likely not kill you, but it would be a rather nasty experience and you would be incapacitated for several weeks.”

  On the third day, Dr. Drake took me to the lair while Weasel was out hunting. He had brought a long coil of rope with a weight and a net on the end. He asked me to cast it into the mouth of the lair and see what I could bring out.

  “Remember that we do not have much time,” he said. “We do not want to be caught stealing from a dragon’s lair.”

  I threw the weight down into the hole. It took the rope and the net with it. Although the rope was long, there was a jerk, as if the weight had fallen down a vertical shaft.

  “Don’t let go,” said Dr. Drake as nearly the whole of the rope disappeared down the hole. I gradually pulled it back out, hand over hand. The net must have caught something, for it felt heavy. At last I pulled the net out of the hole and dumped out its contents. I don’t know what I had expected to find — treasure, perhaps, or maybe more rabbit bones, but all I found were several old glass bottles and about ten clay pipes.

  “All right,” said Dr. Drake. “Now you must put it back.”

  And so I used my stick to push the bottles and pipes back down the hole. Then Dr. Drake opened his leather bag and took out three more old-looking clay pipes and one of his empty linctus bottles and laid them near the mouth of the lair.

  “The knucker will know we have been here, so perhaps leaving her some gifts will make up for it,” he said.

  When we were on the way back home, Dr. Drake asked, “What do you make of that, Daniel?”

  I didn’t know what to answer.

  “That knuckers like to smoke and drink?” I said, smiling.

  “Dear me, Daniel,” said Dr. Drake, laughing. “Knuckers may be stupid in dragon terms, but they are not that stupid. The important thing to learn is that all dragons love to hoard treasure. Now, knuckers aren’t very particular about what they hoard. They will take almost any small objects that humans leave lying round, as long as they can drag them into their lair. And all Weasel has managed to find is an old rubbish heap.”

  On the fourth day, Dr. Drake announced that Darcy and Beatrice were going to come along. By now I was spending the afternoons discussing with Beatrice what she had seen and comparing it to my own experiences. Beatrice was making great strides with Darwin and had copied several of the dragon pictures into her record book.

  “I wish there were a book on dragonology,” she said as we were waiting by the front door for Dr. Drake to appear. “I’d like to see pictures of some of the different species of dragon Dr. Drake talks about.”

  Darcy arrived. He had overheard Beatrice, and he smiled.

  “Well, tomorrow you may be in luck,” he said. “Dragon school is starting. This will be our last day before classes begin and today, Dr. Drake wants me to take you out into the forest. Our goal is to find out just how far Weasel ranges, so we have to look out for all the signs that we can. And we have to be careful,” he added.

  “Isn’t Dr. Drake coming with us?” asked Beatrice.

  “No,” said Darcy. “But don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be safe. Weasel will recognise your smell by now, and we have a map of the forest.”

  He led the way, but instead of heading towards Weasel’s lair, we headed towards the part of the stream where I had first seen her.

  “Now,” said Darcy, “since no one has managed to record any knucker tracks farther down the stream than here, we can be pretty sure this is as far as she goes. Dr. Drake wants us to estimate her range and mark it on the map. Has anyone got any ideas?”

  Beatrice thought for a moment and said, “How about plotting Weasel’s lair on the map, and then setting off in a circle around it, looking for tracks and signs?”

  Darcy and I both agreed,
and we headed towards the lair. After marking it on the map, we set off through the forest in a series of spirals that got larger and larger, searching the forest in a fairly wide band. It was difficult, but occasionally we would come across faint bits of purple gloop, or darker bits that had dried on trees, or parts of the forest where there seemed to be fewer rabbits. Each time we did so, Beatrice, who had commandeered the map from Darcy, made a small X. It took us a couple of hours, but as our circles ranged farther out into the forest, we soon came to areas where there were no more signs of dragon activity. To do the job more quickly, we had spread out, and every five minutes we shouted to each other to keep in contact.

  “Daniel! Don’t go too far off,” Darcy shouted to me when I had gone about two hundred yards on my quest to find bits of purple gloop in the woods.

  “I won’t!” I shouted back. But then I saw something just a bit farther on that intrigued me, so I went to investigate. It was a tall fence that had been broken down. It seemed to be an enclosure of some kind. Just beyond it were several trees that had long gashes scored in them. I could tell that the gashes were quite recent, because sap was still dripping from the cuts. I assumed that they were evidence of the knucker sharpening its claws, but I wasn’t sure, since I hadn’t seen any other trees like that. I took out my record book and had begun to sketch the gashes when Darcy and Beatrice came running up.

  “Didn’t you hear us calling?” said Beatrice.

  “Look what I’ve found,” I said, pointing to the broken fence and the claw marks.

  Darcy looked rather shocked when he saw the fence.

  “We’ve gone too far,” he said.

  “But weren’t these gashes made by Weasel?” I asked.

  “No, that’s not a knucker. Knuckers don’t sharpen their claws like that. They use bits of stone or flint, or the bricks around the edge of wells.”

  Suddenly, there was a thunderous roar. We all jumped. It was much too loud to have come from Weasel.