The Fire Ascending

by Chris D'Lacey

  She gave him that “explain to me” scowl.

  This was getting worse. He took a deep breath and looked along his bookshelf for inspiration. The Five-Year-Old’s Guide to Quantum Physics appeared to be out on loan again. Drat. “Well, in Grandad’s universe the loaf of bread the toast came from would have an infinite number of slices.”

  “What does ‘infinite’ mean?”

  “Lots. Everlasting. As many peanut butter sandwiches as you can think of.”

  “Grandad’s got an everlasting loaf of bread?”

  “Well …”

  “I thought you said he didn’t do spells? He’d have to be magic to make a loaf go on forever. And, anyway, that’s stupid, because lots would go stale.”

  “Yes. Good point. I’ll mention that to him. He might want to dismantle the entire foundation of theoretical physics based on that conclusion. Anyway, you like this picture?”

  “Yes. Why do we need a picture?”

  He let the air settle in his lungs again. It was strange how she could disarm him so quickly with such a seemingly innocent query. “People at funerals like a picture. It helps them to remember.”

  “I remember Grandma.”

  “I know you do.” He bent forward and kissed her head. “I hope you always will.”

  Then she hit him where it really hurt. “We haven’t got a picture of Joseph Henry.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “No, we haven’t.” He glanced at a piece of paper secured to the pin board above his desk. Written on it were the numbers 3:15:22. One tragic point in time that would be etched through the middle of his heart forever.

  “We could pretend, couldn’t we?” Alexa said suddenly.

  “Sorry?” he said, shaking that awful memory away.

  “We could pretend that’s him.” She pointed excitedly at baby Lucy.

  A tear pushed itself over David’s cheek. “I don’t think that would be right, Lexie.”

  She heard the drip on the arm of the chair and prodded the wet stain with her finger. She looked up at his face, then again at the blot. “Daddy, why are tears hot?”

  He intercepted the next one before it could fall. “Oh, it’s just … the dragon coming out of you.”

  Alexa looked up at one of the sculptures. Four of her grandmother’s award-winning creations were ranged on the shelving above the computer. “Does a dragon keep its fire in its tears, then?” She gasped in that extraordinary way a child does when it knows it has made a great discovery.

  “Oh, yes,” David heard himself saying. No matter the mood, his storytelling functions always kicked in. “Not many people know about it though.”

  “Can I tell Bonnington?”

  “I think he probably knows.”

  There was a pause. Then she said, “Are you going to do a story about them?”

  “What, dragon tears?”

  “Yes!” She bounced with glee, as if she’d already placed an order for the first edition. “I want to be in it. I want to be a fairy. No, a boy. No, an angel!”

  Boy? That intrigued him. He slotted that away for future musing. “You’re already an angel,” he told her. “Well, sometimes.”

  “David, the cars are here!”

  “Time to go, Angel.” He lifted her down.

  “Do it tomorrow.”

  He laughed and tapped the screen, sending the photograph to his printer. “No. Not tomorrow.”

  “The day after, then!”

  “No.”

  She huffed like mad. So Lucy. So Merriman. His mother had always loved that.

  “What about —?”

  “After Christmas, okay? I’ll think about it then. When I’m done … writing about Rosa.”

  “And Joseph Henry’s got to be in it.”

  David picked up the print. “You want Joseph in the dragon book, too?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “Because then we’ll have a picture of him, in here.” She was pointing to her head, but looking past her father as if she had seen the boy’s face at the window.

  “What is it?” said David. “What can you see?”

  Alexa shrugged and let her gaze drift into the future. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s snowing again.”

  The Nathan James Television Show, eighteen years later

  The lights dim on a lavish television studio. A desk is positioned to the right-hand side, angled to face a comfortable sofa and coffee table. Behind the desk is a panoramic backdrop of the New York skyline. To the left of the studio a music stage is set for a band: microphones, drum kit, tuned guitars glistening on their stands. A red light blinks on an amplifier. A stage manager in a headset comes out. He silences the audience, then counts from five to zero with his fingers. At zero, the lights come up, the entrance music begins, and a pair of doors slide open. Nathan James, the well-known talk show host, steps out to greet his whooping audience.

  He is dressed in an immaculate gray suit and over-extravagant matching tie. He waves and says “thank you” several times to the crowd, smiling as if he has won an election. He passes a hand through his shoulder-length hair, which is almost as well-groomed as his suit. He walks to his mark and straightens his cuffs. A smile as bright as Times Square lights his face. A woman wolf-whistles. He says “thank you” to her. The audience laughs.

  For the next two minutes, he delivers some weak, anecdotal humor, based on topical issues in the news. Then he invites the audience to look toward the studio screen to see who is appearing on his show this evening. They see Eddie Supple, the popular gymnast, four-time Olympic gold medal winner, and face of Stretch, the best-selling moisturizer for men. Next to him is the TV chef and occasional magician, Pierre Crouton. He greets Nathan with a conjurer’s flourish and produces a large blue egg in his hand. The audience claps. Nathan asks Pierre if he’s planning an omelette for his next trick. Pierre waggles a finger and flips his hand. The egg disappears (making Nathan go, “Whoa!”) but there is nothing in the magician’s hands. His eyes, however, suggest that the camera should pan sideways. Nathan buys it and says, “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got….”

  The camera alights on what appears to be an empty seat, but slowly drops down to show a small clay dragon. It is Gadzooks. The audience claps and cheers. “All right,” says Nathan. “I think we all know who that belongs to. Assuming Pierre’s not moved her into a parallel universe, let’s get her out here. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my first guest, a rising movie star. The one and only, the gorgeous, the super-talented, Angel Merriman!”

  Enraptured clapping fills the studio. Angel appears at the sliding doors. She nods warmly to the audience. Her electrifying smile lights up the set. She is indeed gorgeous. Her famous cascading hair has been tied back to look like a fox’s bushy tail. She is wearing an elegant gown, dark blue, perfectly matched to her eyes. She walks on to the sound of her father’s song, “Fire Star,” which is riding high on the download charts. She exchanges a pouting air-kiss with Nathan, then walks to the sofa as if ice itself could not unbalance her. She sits down, picks up Gadzooks, and puts him on the table, turning him to face the interviewer’s desk.

  Nathan leans forward, reaching out a hand. Affecting an air of worry, he whispers, “Is he real? Does he bite? Does he, y’know …?” He makes a reasonable attempt at a hurr.

  Angel smiles. She adjusts her dress so she can sit back comfortably. “Only if you don’t believe in him, Nathan.”

  The audience chuckles.

  Nathan leans back in his leather chair. “I take it he’s just …?”

  “Acting solid — for the cameras, yes.”

  The audience chuckles again.

  “And is he the real one, the original Gadzooks?”

  “This is him,” Angel says adoringly. “Gretel wanted to come as well, but we might not have kept her under control.”

  Nathan grins, showing off a set of piano keys for teeth. He likes the fact that he’s being teased. “Gretel, she’s the one with the flowers, right?” />
  “The feisty one. The one you don’t want to mess with.”

  “I wouldn’t want to mess with any of them,” he says. He peers at Gadzooks. “Is he looking at me?”

  “Probably. He does like you. He watches your show all the time at home.”

  Nathan laughs and pats a hand on his desk. “Knock it off, will you? Now you’re freaking me out.”

  Angel raises a taunting eyebrow.

  The audience laughs at Nathan’s pretense of discomfort. He glances at Gadzooks again, then stacks his notecards and cheerily says, “So, what do I call you? Alexa or Angel? Or Agawin?!” he adds before she can respond.

  She laughs and says, “Anything you like — maybe not Agawin. It’s usually ‘Angel.’”

  “How did the name come about? I’m assuming, of course, you don’t actually have wings.”

  She puts out her hands and flaps them a little.

  “Stop it-t-t,” he says.

  The audience laughs again.

  “There was another Alexa in my class at drama school. Calling myself Angel seemed a good way of avoiding confusion. It just stuck. I like angels. They’re cool, don’t you think?”

  Nathan is clearly not sure how to answer this. He opts for, “This is the essence of your father’s books, isn’t it? They play around with the idea that dragons and angels and so forth are real.”

  “Careful,” she says. “He’s got very good ears.” She nods at Gadzooks.

  The audience laughs as Nathan sighs. “Will you give this up now?”

  “Okay,” she peeps.

  He prepares to ask his next question, but amuses the studio by checking on Gadzooks again, just in case. “Is it okay to talk about the books? I know your dad’s not very forthcoming about them.”

  Angel sits back, crossing her legs. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He just hates the idea of taking his writing apart and putting it back together again. He wants people to read them and think.”

  “They are pretty deep,” Nathan prompts. “My eldest daughter, Jess, has read them all. She says they’re challenging.”

  Angel nods. “Kids often write in and say they’ve read them four or five times before they’ve grasped what Dad was getting at, or what they think he was getting at. But the true fans seem to like the intrigue. The movie will make it clearer.”

  Nathan swivels his seat. “You’re talking now about Icefire, of course.”

  “Have you seen it?”

  “I have. I loved it. I thought you were fantastic. My kids were enthralled.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll see a clip from the film in a minute. But I have to ask, was it strange, playing the role of your mother? The characters, I believe, are based very much on your family setup.”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  “So, Mom? How was that?”

  “Fine,” Angel says with a shrug of modesty. “I got to boss my ‘dad’ around. That was cool.”

  The audience approves of this.

  “You also had to kiss him. That must have been weird?”

  “Kissing Johnny Delph? Oh, no, that wasn’t weird.”

  The women in the room clearly appreciate where Angel is coming from.

  Nathan tells them to calm themselves — then raises the temperature for the men. “We’ve got a photo of you and your mom at the premiere.”

  “Really?” Angel turns to look at the screen. Sure enough, a picture comes up of herself and Zanna on the red carpet, linking arms. Zanna, in all black, looks amazing — ice cool and very chic. A point not lost on Nathan.

  “Wow, she is a good-looking woman, isn’t she?”

  Angel gapes at him now. She can’t quite believe what he just said. Then she reveals, “She’s in the audience, actually.”

  “What?!” Nathan is genuinely shocked. “No?”

  “Yeah. Dad’s here, too.” She scans the faces. “There.”

  The camera picks them out. David smiles politely. His hair is shorter than his eponymous hero’s and there is a neat line of stubble on his chin these days. Zanna doesn’t smile. She simply melts the camera with her gothic stare.

  Nathan wiggles his tie. He blows a breath to cool his exaggerated rapture. In a conspiratorial fashion he says, “Do you think you can put in a word for me …?”

  “With Mom?”

  Nathan makes his eyebrows dance.

  “You’re not her type.”

  The audience howls as Nathan feigns hurt. He tries again. “I’ve got this polar bear outfit I wore for the office Halloween party….”

  Angel laughs and chews her lip. “I see you more as a squirrel.”

  “Awww …” Nathan throws up his hands at this rebuff. But he laughs and takes it all in stride. “Seriously, could I meet her? I use her products!” He smooths his face. He’s referring to the fact that Zanna has a successful line of natural health and beauty products, used by men and women alike.

  Angel nods. “She’d approve of that. I’m sure she’d be happy to chat with you afterward.”

  The camera picks out Zanna again. She barely raises a smoldering eyebrow.

  “Was that a yes?” begs Nathan.

  “As close as it ever gets.”

  “All right.” He straightens his shoulders, tosses back his hair. He’s a happy host now. “Let’s have a look at you being your mom. This is one of my favorite scenes, where David and Zanna first meet the villainess of the piece, Gwilanna.”

  They turn to the screen again.

  We see the interior of Wayward Crescent, specifically the Dragons’ Den. Zanna has picked up a bronze-colored egg, claiming she can feel something moving inside it. David snaps at her to put it down, saying Liz, his landlady, will go crazy if she comes homes and finds anything out of place. Little does he know the alarmed face of Gruffen is already watching from a shelf in the background. Zanna refuses. Experiences like these are what she was put on this Earth for, she says. They argue, but she won’t give up the egg. Despite the bickering, the romantic tension between them is obvious. Then the doorbell sounds. David and Zanna freeze. Gruffen is seen to gulp. David hurries downstairs, certain that Liz has forgotten her keys. Zanna follows. All the way, the bickering continues. David yanks the door open. There is Gwilanna. Stern and scary. On the suitcase beside her sits the potions dragon, Gretel. David says, dumbly, “You’re not Liz.” Gwilanna replies, “No, boy, I’m not. Trick or treat …?”

  The clip ends. The audience applauds.

  “She is scary, isn’t she?” Nathan opens up. He means Gwilanna, of course, played to perfection by the grande dame of cinema, Helena Meeren.

  “Almost as scary as the real thing, Dad reckons.”

  “Tell me about this,” says Nathan. He undoes one button of his suit, feeling, perhaps, that he has gained a little more intimacy with his charming guest. He leans forward again, focusing the intrigue of the entire studio on to Angel’s eyes. “Is it true that Gwilanna is based on your great-aunt Sibyl?”

  Angel nods. “The whole family is more or less written as they are.”

  “But the books were intended for you?”

  “Kind of. I gave Dad the idea, but his ultimate motivation was to give his brother, Joseph Henry, a life.”

  Nathan takes this in and immediately adopts a more somber tone. “I want to tread lightly here because this is quite tragic, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t mind talking about it,” Angel replies.

  Nathan nods. He puts his notes aside. “Correct me if I’ve got this wrong, but your grandmother, Elizabeth, the one who made these beautiful dragons, died giving birth to a stillborn son who would have been named Joseph, right?”

  “Joseph Henry, yes.” Angel picks it up from here. “It’s just one of those awful tragedies that families suffer from time to time. I don’t think any of us ever got over it. Dad dealt with it the best way a writer knows how: in words and stories. He told me once that when Grandma first found out she might die, she held his hand and told him a dark fire had entered her.” (Th
ere are heartfelt sighs from parts of the audience.) “He never forgot it. The loss was very hard for him.”

  “He was adopted, wasn’t he?”

  “Mmm, when he was twelve, which is why he made himself a ‘tenant’ in the books, though when he wrote some of the timeline changes he became their son, just to satisfy that need in him. Liz and Arthur adored him and treated him as their own. But if there was one thing Dad really wanted them to have, it was a ‘proper’ son.”

  Again, the audience makes their empathy clear. The camera picks out Zanna, who is close to tears.

  “That’s very moving,” says Nathan. And he means it. Not wishing to dwell on the subject too long he moves the conversation sideways a little. “And Lucy, your aunt. There’s some … mystery surrounding her as well, isn’t there?”

  “Only that we don’t know who her father is. Grandma would never talk about it. She had Lucy young, long before she married Arthur. We suspect that Great-aunt Sibyl knew the truth, but she took it with her to the grave. If asked, she always claimed that Lucy was hatched by a dragon.”

  The audience are relieved to stutter with laughter.

  “Yeah, but she was how old then …?”

  “Oh, pretty wrinkled.”

  “So she was …?” Nathan twists a finger next to his temple. He whistles, like a meerkat popping up and down a tunnel.

  “Well, you say that …” Angel opens her hands.

  “Come on, she was nuts!” Nathan is riding a mischievous wave. But he’s confident he has enough of her trust to be allowed to say something this outrageous. “She was as potty as him.” He points at Gadzooks.

  “But she said it with such conviction, Nathan. I think that rubbed off on all of us.”

  “So Gwilanna — if I may call Aunt Sibyl that — believed in dragons?”

  “Oh, totally.” Angel slides her hands to the front of her knees. “She encouraged Grandma to make the clay models.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. And the idea that the universe was made by a dragon came from Aunt Sibyl, too.”

  Nathan grins. He’s pleased she’s brought this up. “And your grandfather famously quoted this.” He turns to the audience. “I should explain, for those who don’t know, that Angel’s grandfather is the outspoken theoretical physicist Arthur Merriman, who once said, if I remember rightly, we know so little about the exact moment of the big bang that the idea of a dragon creating the universe isn’t that far-fetched.”