“It certainly seems strange,” said Dr. Drake. “We only arrived here today to pay our respects to Ebenezer. He had other friends too. We might like to raise some money to replace his gravestone.”
“Well, you have come to the right place,” said Mrs. Patterson.
“We are a little worried that some people thought the wording on his stone a trifle irregular,” said Dr. Drake. “We would like to consider replacing the stone with a similar wording, but we cannot find out what that was.”
“Well, it was a long time ago — almost ten years — but there was something unusual about those words, as I recall. In fact, I think my husband may even have kept a note of them. He usually does. Please let me to go and search for them while you drink your tea.”
Ten minutes later, the woman returned with a sheet of paper, which she handed to Dr. Drake. “Here,” she said. “I knew there was something unusual about it. Apart from the name, Ebenezer Crook, and the dates, 1799 to 1875, there was just this poem. And there’s a misspelling, you’ll see. He must mean worms.” Beatrice and I strained to look at it over his shoulder and read:
DR. EBENEZER CROOK
S.A.S.D.
A Child of Bodmin
1799–1875
Brave did I live and bravely die;
Earth holds no secrets here.
Nigh every man shall come to wyrms
Who seeks to persevere.
Yet seeking here is all in vain —
Vain, but still not wrong,
In me you see the thing you seek,
Sought far, so fair, so strong.
“I see what you mean,” said Dr. Drake as he handed back the piece of paper. “I think that we may go for something more simple.”
He handed back his empty teacup as well. “Please let your husband know that we will be in touch,” he said as he ushered us to the door. “Unless the police find the original stone and arrest the villains who stole it.”
And we set off up the road.
“Did you manage to decipher anything?” I asked.
“Not now,” said Dr. Drake with a smile. “We must find our way to the railway station. It is just outside of town. I think it is time to return to London.”
As we waited at the station, Dr. Drake took out a new notebook he had bought and, on a clean page, copied down the words on the stone from memory.
“Beatrice,” said Dr. Drake, “you were the one who guessed that Ebenezer took a secret with him to his grave. Try reading this and see what you make of it.”
She and I both stared at the verses. I knew she would be keen to beat me to the answer. She wrinkled her brow as she concentrated. Then suddenly, she relaxed and smiled.
“Of course!” she said. “Didn’t people used to write codes using the first letter of each line?”
“The first letters?” I said, “Why that’s B-E-N-W Y-V-I-S. Is that a place in Wales?”
“No,” said Beatrice, laughing. “It doesn’t say that. Daniel, do you remember when we were very young? Mother and Father took us to Scotland. We stayed in a hotel near Inverness, at a place called Dingwall. Father had some business up there, I think, and we had a grand time. You were only four and you nearly got bitten by a snake.”
“Yes,” I said. “I just about remember it. It took us a long time to get there because of a problem with the trains.”
“Well, do you remember the mountain Father climbed nearby? We stayed at the bottom and had a picnic. There was Little Wyvis . . .”
“Of course! And Ben Wyvis. If you climb up it on a clear day, you can see all the way to Ben Nevis! And that’s where I was nearly bitten. But it wasn’t a very bad bite, luckily.”
“No, but Mother was quite upset. She said something about us being too young to go on expeditions.”
“And it was the year after that that Father got ill, and we started boarding school two years later,” I said. “Are we going to Ben Wyvis, Dr. Drake?”
“We are indeed,” he said. “But first we must return to London and go back to my shop. I need to speak to Emery. And then we shall take a trip to the Highlands. There is something that puzzles me about this answer, though.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“Well, I know Ben Wyvis pretty well. It is the mountain where Scorcher’s mother, Scramasax, lives. I know her very well. She was the dragon that was guarding Saint Gilbert’s horn. But I am worried about what Ignatius may do now that he has both the horn and the dragon dust, and so I am going back to London to pick up a certain piece of equipment. But it is strange, because I am absolutely sure that the Dragon’s Eye will not be there.”
“Do you think Ignatius will actually use the horn to tame a large dragon?” asked Beatrice.
“With Alexandra’s help, I am sure of it,” said Dr. Drake. “And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he used it on the dragon that was summoned by my whistle. If his first attempts were unsuccessful, that would certainly explain why his father’s house has now burnt down.”
Suddenly Dr. Drake looked up.
“We are being spied on,” he said.
“Where?” asked Beatrice.
“There,” he said, pointing to a tall tree on the other side of the track.
It was Flitz. He screeched mischievously and then took off from the branch he had been sitting on, swooping low over our heads before disappearing in a blue flash over the top of Bodmin Station.
We arrived in London early the next morning. As we walked up Wyvern Way, I saw that there was a man standing outside Dr. Drake’s Dragonalia as if guarding the entrance. As we got closer, I realised that it was Emery. He gave me a conspiratorial smile as Dr. Drake whisked us straight through the shop front and down the stairs, barely stopping to greet Mr. Flyte, who was serving behind the counter. Dr. Drake led us down the short corridor at the bottom of the stairs and smiled as he opened a pair of double doors and ushered us into a room that seemed far too grand to be in the basement of an ordinary shop. There were several other doors round the room, a marble floor, and in the centre, a magnificent golden statue of a dragon in flight. It was a room that belonged somewhere else entirely.
“Welcome again,” said Dr. Drake as he gestured round him, “to Dr. Drake’s Dragonalia. Or as I should call it, the London headquarters of the Secret and Ancient Society of Dragonologists!”
“My goodness!” I exclaimed. “How old is this place?”
“The headquarters of the Society is more than six hundred years old,” said Dr. Drake. “The shop upstairs is merely a disguise to fool those whose interest in dragons proves superficial. There is much here that I would very much like to show you, but now is unfortunately not the best time for a tour. I must just pick up one or two things in preparation for our trip.”
And with that, he led us into another room that was full of trunks and boxes, along with a row of what looked like dragon masks on a shelf.
Although he searched furiously, he could not find what he was looking for. And he was just scratching his head when Emery came in. Dr. Drake explained to him everything that had happened. Then he asked, “Why isn’t my flameproof cloak here?”
“I am afraid that Mr. Tibbs paid us a visit last night,” said Emery. “Along with Lord Chiddingfold. The police had told the Minister about the fire at Ebenezer Crook’s house. He believes that things are ‘getting out of control’ and that it is Mr. Tibbs, rather than yourself, who should be sent to track down Ignatius.”
“Mr. Tibbs?” exclaimed Dr. Drake. “And how would he track down Ignatius?”
“I have no idea,” said Emery. “The trouble is that Mr. Tibbs demanded your flameproof cloak. He also took a lot of other things. He and Lord Chiddingfold are worried that you might make things worse if you try to go after Ignatius. They wanted to speak to you the minute you got back.”
“Then I must go and speak to Lord Chiddingfold immediately,” said Dr. Drake.
“I wouldn’t do that, Doctor,” said Emery. “I think they are planning to arrest you. ‘For
your own good,’ apparently. And Algernon Green has told the police that you are holding two children against their will. They have been here at least once already. If I were you, I would leave London at once.”
In less than half an hour, we had left Dr. Drake’s Dragonalia and had taken a hansom cab towards Euston Station. As soon as we turned out of Wyvern Way towards the Seven Dials, we saw three policemen heading in the opposite direction. But our luck did not seem to last. As we reached New Oxford Street, another cab that had been going in the opposite direction, turned round and started to follow us.
Dr. Drake leaned his head out of the window and called to our driver, “I’ll give you half a crown if you can manage to lose that cab.”
“Very good, sir,” said the cabby.
He shook the reins and our cab set off at a brisk pace, but so did the cab behind us. We sped past University College and managed to leave the other cab behind as we turned into Euston Road.
“Who was that?” I wondered as we reached Euston and hurried into the station.
“I don’t know,” said Dr. Drake. “Wait here, while I go to purchase our tickets.”
But as we waited, what should we see but the same cab pulling up outside the station doors? Whoever was inside must have guessed where we were going. We were just about to make ourselves scarce when a familiar voice cried, “Hang on! We’ve got something for you!”
It was Billy. He and Alicia came dashing out of the cab towards us, carrying a parcel. They looked almost as furtive as we did, and we all shook hands conspiratorially.
“I heard you were coming back to London,” said Billy. “Couldn’t let you go without wishing you good luck. We spotted you just as we were turning into Wyvern Way, but you sprinted off.”
“We thought you might be Ignatius or someone,” said Beatrice.
“Not likely,” said Billy. “Anyway, we brought you something.”
He handed us the parcel.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ll see,” he said. “Alicia managed to get it. I think she’s taken all that stuff about girls being quick to heart. You’ve ruined her.”
But he was smiling.
Beatrice grinned, too. Alicia blushed, but looked pleased.
“Good for you,” said Beatrice. “We’ll have to tell you about our adventures later.”
“They’re not over yet,” I added. “And I hope you two don’t get into trouble over this.”
“Oh,” said Alicia, “I’m afraid we will. But there is one more thing we can do for you.”
It was then that I noticed that rather a lot of policemen had suddenly come into the station.
“They are probably looking for you,” said Billy. “But Alicia has a plan. See you later.”
Billy winked, and he and Alicia then headed over to a policeman. Billy deliberately bumped into the policeman and said, “Oh no! Beatrice! Run!”
“Quick, Daniel!” cried Alicia.
Billy and Alicia then ran headlong out of the station and back to their cab, which took off at full speed. The policeman, clearly thinking that these must be the two children they were looking for, started after them, shouting, “It’s those two children who are in cahoots with that Drake fellow! Stop them!”
Which was just as well. For as I turned round to look for Dr. Drake, I saw that another policeman had been on the very point of placing his hand on my shoulder.
Nearly everyone has heard of the famous train known as the Flying Scotsman, which leaves Platform 10 at King’s Cross Station in London at ten o’clock every morning and travels from London to Edinburgh in ten and a half hours. It is nearly quicker than flying. However, Dr. Drake had said that the route onwards from Edinburgh to Inverness would have been too slow. He had therefore opted to travel by a more direct route, which led from Euston, where the train to Inverness leaves at five minutes to nine in the morning, stopping at Carlisle and Perth before arriving at its final destination at ten o’clock at night.
Dr. Drake arrived with our tickets and a trolley for our luggage. We walked along the platform until we came to our carriage, which was near the front of the train. Just as we were about to get on board, I noticed that the policemen had come out onto the platform.
“They must have caught up with Billy and Alicia,” said Beatrice. “I hope that they are all right.”
“They brought us this,” I said to Dr. Drake, pointing at the parcel.
“Ah,” he said. “I wondered where that had come from.”
Two policemen were beginning to walk along our platform.
“This is Uncle Algernon’s doing,” said Beatrice. “They are looking for us.”
We quickly boarded the train just as the guard began blowing his whistle and the doors were slammed shut, leaving the policemen on the platform.
We found our seats and placed our luggage in the overhead racks as the train began to pull out of the station. Soon, it was chugging out of the smoky atmosphere of London and into the countryside.
Now that we could relax, we told Dr. Drake about Billy and Alicia.
“I wonder what’s in the parcel,” I said.
“There’s only one way to find out,” said Beatrice.
She tore it open. Inside was Dr. Drake’s flameproof cloak.
“Excellent,” said Dr. Drake. “By the way, when we were at the S.A.S.D. headquarters, I just had time to pick up a couple of books for you both to help pass the time.”
He opened his case and took out two thick volumes.
“Remember,” he said, “while dragonology may seem very exciting, you will never get very far with it unless you have a grasp of quite a number of other sciences: physics, geography, chemistry, mythology. They are all useful fields of study for the budding dragonologist.”
He gave one book to each of us. Mine was an Elizabethan natural history book by a man named Edward Topsell. It was called The History of Four-footed Beasts. It was full of rather fantastical illustrations of all sorts of animals — both real ones and others that I had always considered imaginary. Dr. Drake told me to make notes on anything I found that was obviously incorrect. I thought this would keep me busy for quite a while, since just by thumbing through the pages, I saw plenty of things that seemed wrong, such as a story that giraffes were a sort of cross between camels and wild pigs and an idea that hippopotamuses — or hippopotami — were savage carnivores who love to eat meat even more than crocodiles do.
Beatrice’s book was a guide to rearing tropical snakes and lizards from the egg. She didn’t look quite as happy with her choice as I felt with mine, until Dr. Drake said that he wanted her to read it from the point of view of a person who has been given a dragon’s egg to hatch.
“The information isn’t exactly suitable for dragons, but it will get you thinking along the right lines,” he said.
By around seven o’clock, I grew tired of making notes about things that seemed incorrect in Edward Topsell’s book and took to gazing out of the windows. We had left Perth and were speeding through the Scottish Highlands. There were lochs with ruined castles on their shores and mountains covered with purple heather. It was a beautiful summer’s evening, and I could see for a long way.
I searched the horizon. In the distance, I saw what looked like an eagle swooping up over one of the mountains ahead. It hovered in the air, and I wondered what it was hunting. But as it came closer and closer, I realised that it wasn’t an eagle at all. Its wings were too large, and they were ribbed like an umbrella. It had a long tail with an arrowhead at the end. It had four legs. Its huge horned head turned directly to look at the train. I gasped. It was a European dragon. It wasn’t red, like Scorcher. Instead it was green and it was fully grown. It must have been about fifty feet long, and it was flying straight towards the train!
“Dr. Drake!” I cried, excitedly pointing out the dragon.
The creature was now nearly upon us, sweeping round towards the back of the train, almost as though it meant to attack it directly. It was a sp
ectacular sight, but it made my heart pulsate with fear. The dragon swooped so low that its wing tips nearly touched the ground, then it slowed down, flying right alongside the train, its snaky bulk clearly visible through the carriage windows. I watched as it sniffed in great breaths of air and looked into each of the windows with its great eyes. Wisps of smoke streamed back from its nostrils as it flew.
“It’s looking for someone!” cried Dr. Drake.
Beatrice and I looked at him in amazement.
“I am a dolt!” he exclaimed. “Ignatius must have sent it after the train in order to attack us!”
“Duck!” he cried as the dragon approached our carriage. But just at that moment, someone must have pulled the emergency handle. The brakes began screeching and the dragon disappeared behind us as we tumbled over and over. When we got up again, the train had stopped and I saw Dr. Drake grab the flameproof cloak.
“Stay here!” he commanded. “And stay down!”
He disappeared.
I went over to the door to close it behind him but I could not resist looking out to see where either Dr. Drake or the dragon had gone.
Suddenly I found myself being pushed back by the same ruffians who had attacked us in Cornwall.
“Help!” I cried. “Leave us alone!”
“Got you!” cried one of the men as he sprang into the carriage and grabbed hold of Beatrice.
I kicked the other man in the shins, and he let me go, but only for long enough to let me see that he was still carrying his pistol. Then the two villains dragged us off the train and marched us across a patch of grass towards a road. A moment later, a black carriage appeared. There was a crate lashed to the back. The two men bundled us inside, and we found ourselves facing Ignatius Crook, who was absentmindedly stroking Flitz and gazing intently at something out the window. Next to him sat the same pale-skinned woman in the black cape and riding boots that I had seen in St. Leonard’s Forest. Flitz turned and hissed at us like a cat, his forked tongue flicking in and out as he watched us.
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