Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke
“Stay here? Not likely!” replied Sorrel. “No, we’ll be flying on as soon as the sun has set.”
“Then I’ll look in again just before nightfall, if that’s all right,” suggested the professor. “I’m sure you could do with some provisions for the journey, and I have a few more questions to ask.”
“We’ll be glad to see you,” said Firedrake, nuzzling Sorrel’s back.
“Yes, that’s right, we’ll be glad to,” she muttered impatiently. “Okay, can I finally tell the rest of you about my adventure now? Or isn’t anyone even interested to hear how I nearly got stuffed and put on display in a museum?”
14. Professor Greenbloom Explains
The sunset sky was already turning red when Barnabas Greenbloom came back with a big basket in one hand and a large battered saucepan in the other.
“I thought I’d make us some supper before we part,” he said. “I’m not as good a cook as my wife, but she’s taught me a few things. It’s a pity she isn’t here to meet you. Forest brownies are one of her special interests.”
“You have a wife, then?” asked Ben, interested. “And children, too?”
“Yes,” replied the professor. “One daughter, Guinevere. She’s about your own age. At the moment I’m afraid it’s her school term time, so she can’t be here, but the three of us often go on field trips together. My dear dragon,” he added, throwing a handful of dry leaves on the floor of the cave, “would you be so kind as to let us have a little of your blue fire?”
Firedrake breathed a small tongue of flame at the leaves, which immediately ignited. As the fire flickered up, the professor put a few stones around it and stood his saucepan on them.
“I’ve made some soup,” he said. “Chickpea soup with fresh mint, a favorite recipe in these parts. I thought a brownie, a boy, and a skinny homunculus could do with a hot meal before setting out again. As for dragons, they live entirely on moonlight, unless I’ve been misinformed.”
“That’s right.” Firedrake nodded, laid his muzzle on his paws, and looked into the fire. “Moonlight is all we need. Our strength waxes and wanes with the moon itself. On nights when the moon is new, I’m often too tired to leave my cave.”
“I hope that isn’t going to be a problem on your journey,” said the professor, stirring the pan.
Sorrel crouched beside the fire, sniffing hopefully. “If that’s not ready soon,” she muttered, her stomach grumbling, “I’ll have to try one of those prickly plants over there.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Barnabas. “Sandmen often live in cacti, and you don’t want to fool around with sandmen. Anyway,” he added, tasting a spoonful of soup, “this is nearly ready. I think you’ll like it. I know a good deal from my wife about the tastes of brownies.” He turned to Ben. “And do you have a family yourself? Apart from Sorrel and Firedrake, I mean.”
Ben shook his head. “No,” he mumbled.
The professor looked at him thoughtfully for some time. “Well, there could be worse company than that of a dragon and a brownie girl, wouldn’t you agree?” he said at last. Searching his basket, he took out three small bowls, three soupspoons, and a tiny sugar spoon for Twigleg. “But if you do ever happen to feel you’d like human company — I — er,” said the professor, rubbing his nose in some embarrassment. “Listen, I don’t even know your name.”
The boy smiled. “Ben,” he replied. “My name’s Ben.”
“Well then, Ben,” said the professor, filling a bowl with soup and handing it to Sorrel, who was already licking her lips impatiently, “if you ever fancy you’d like some human company you must visit my family and me.” He took a crumpled and rather dusty business card out of his pants pocket and gave it to Ben. “There, that’s our address. We could have some interesting conversations about brownies and dragons. Your friends might even care to come, too. I’m sure you’d like my daughter. She knows a lot about fairies — much more than I do.”
“Th-thanks,” stammered Ben. “That’s really very kind of you.”
“Kind? Not in the least.” The professor gave him a bowl of hot soup. “What’s so kind about it?” He handed Twigleg the tiny spoon. “Could you share Ben’s bowl? I’m afraid I only brought three.”
The homunculus nodded and perched on Ben’s arm. Barnabas Greenbloom turned back to the boy.
“On the contrary, Ben, it would be kind of you to accept my invitation. You’re a nice lad, and I’m sure you’ll have some fascinating tales to tell after this journey. Now I come to think of it, I’d call it rather selfish of me to invite you.”
“We’ll bring him over as soon as we’re back,” said Sorrel, smacking her lips. “That way we’ll be rid of him for a bit. By chanterelles and champignons, this soup tastes good!”
“Really?” Pleased, the professor smiled. “Well, if a brownie girl says so it must be true. Wait a moment, you need some of these fresh mint leaves to sprinkle on it. Here you are.”
“Mint! Mmm!” Sorrel rolled her eyes. “We ought to take you along to cook for us, Professor!”
“Oh, I’d love to come!” sighed the professor. “But unfortunately I get vertigo even at moderate heights, let alone when I fly. And I’m meeting my family soon. We’re traveling by ship in search of the winged horse, Pegasus. Nonetheless, I feel deeply honored by your offer.” He made a small bow and then helped himself to a bowl of his delicious soup.
“Firedrake told us you think it was his presence that attracted the basilisk,” said Ben. “Is that right?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.” Professor Greenbloom gave Ben a second helping of soup and a piece of pita bread. “I am firmly convinced that one fabulous being attracts another. In my view, the reason Firedrake hasn’t noticed the usual signs before is that he always is in the company of a fabulous creature — meaning you, my dear Sorrel. But most fabulous creatures start to itch as soon as they come near one another, and curiosity would attract many of them your way.”
“A nice prospect, I must say!” muttered Sorrel. She gave the steaming pan a dark glance. “Those mountain dwarves weren’t so bad, but judging by all I’ve heard about that baseltwist …” She shook her head gloomily. “Dear me, what next, I wonder?”
Barnabas Greenbloom’s glasses had misted up with the steam from his soup. He took them off his big nose and cleaned them. “The fact is, there aren’t so many fabulous creatures left on this planet. Most of them became extinct centuries ago. Unfortunately the less friendly specimens have proved best at surviving. So you’d better be ready for anything if you have a journey of any length ahead of you.”
“Professor?” Ben swallowed the last of his soup and put the bowl down in the silver basilisk dust that still covered the cave floor. “Have you ever heard of the Rim of Heaven?”
Sorrel nudged Ben sharply in the ribs. Firedrake raised his head. Twigleg pricked up his ears.
“Oh, yes,” said the professor, wiping out his soup bowl with a piece of pita bread. “The Rim of Heaven is a legendary mountain range, said to contain the valley from which dragons first came. But I don’t know much more about it.”
“What else do you know?” asked Firedrake.
“Well,” said Barnabas Greenbloom, frowning, “the Rim of Heaven is thought to be in the Himalayas. A defensive ring of nine white peaks, almost all the same height, surround a fabulous valley. My wife, Vita, and I were going to look for it a few years ago, but then we found unicorn tracks. Well.” He shook his head. “Around the same time, a colleague of mine, the famous Zubeida Ghalib, did go looking for the Rim, but unfortunately she didn’t find it. However, she knows more about dragons than anyone else in the world.” The professor looked at Firedrake. “Perhaps you ought to visit her. She’s in Pakistan at the moment, and if you’re going to the Himalayas that’s on your way.”
“Hm.” Sorrel looked hopefully at the steaming pan, and Barnabas Greenbloom made haste to fill her bowl again. “Firedrake knows all about dragons, anyway. I mean, he’s a dragon himself.”
The professor smiled. “Undoubtedly. But Firedrake can’t fly unless the moon is shining, am I right?”
Sorrel wrinkled her nose. “No dragon can.”
“Yes, but was that always the case?” the professor asked. “Zubeida wrote to me recently to say she’d found something that she thought could replace the power of the moon, at least for a limited period. As for exactly what it is, she was very cagey about that. And of course she can’t prove it will work because she doesn’t know any dragons to try it out for her.”
Firedrake, who had been staring thoughtfully at the silver dust left by the basilisk, raised his head.
“That’s interesting,” he said. “Ever since we set off I’ve been wondering what will happen if we reach the high mountains at the dark time of the moon, before the new moon rises.”
“Well, as I was saying,” repeated the professor, shrugging his shoulders, “Zubeida is on the track of something, but she didn’t want to tell me the details yet. At the moment she’s living in a village on the coast of the Arabian Sea, near the estuary of the river Indus. Besides researching moonlight, she’s studying the strange story of an incident said to have taken place near this village more than a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Is the story about dragons?” asked Ben.
“Yes, indeed.” The professor smiled. “What else? Zubeida is a dracologist — that’s a dragon specialist. I believe the story concerns whole flocks of dragons.”
“Flocks of dragons?” repeated Firedrake, hardly able to believe his ears.
“That’s right.” Barnabas Greenbloom nodded. “Several of the villagers claim that their grandparents used to see flocks of dragons appearing off the coast every night when the moon was full, flying down from the mountains to swim in the sea. Then something strange happened.” The professor frowned. “One night, about a century and a half ago, a monster emerged from the sea and attacked the dragons while they were swimming. The creature can only have been a sea serpent. The odd thing is that sea serpents and dragons are distantly related, and I’ve never heard of a single other case of their fighting one another. However, this sea monster did attack the dragons, and after that they disappeared. Zubeida suspects they went back to the Rim of Heaven and never left their hiding place again.”
Firedrake raised his head. “Taking flight, hiding, being hunted— that’s what all dragon stories seem to be about,” he said. “Aren’t there any other stories? Happier ones?”
“Yes, indeed there are!” cried the professor. “In fact, where you’re going, the dragon is regarded as a sacred creature, a bringer of good fortune. But I’m not sure what people would say if a real dragon turned up,” he added, shaking his head. “You’d better be careful.”
The dragon nodded.
“And we’d better beware of sea serpents, too,” said Sorrel gloomily.
“Oh, that was all long ago,” the professor assured her. “And there’s only the one story about it.”
“It wasn’t a sea serpent, anyway,” muttered Twigleg, and immediately clapped his hand to his mouth in alarm.
Ben turned to him in surprise. “What was that you just said?”
“Oh … er … nothing!” stammered Twigleg. “I only said … er … there can’t be any such things as sea serpents these days. Yes, that’s what I said.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Barnabas Greenbloom thoughtfully. “But if the story interests you, then you really ought to stop off in Pakistan and visit Zubeida. She might even help you to fly without the power of moonlight, who knows?”
“That’s not a bad idea!” Ben put Twigleg down on the ground, jumped up, and went over to the rock where he had spread out Gilbert Graytail’s map. It was perfectly dry now and rustled as Ben unfolded it in front of the professor.
“Can you show me the fishing village where your dracologist friend is at the moment?” he asked.
Barnabas Greenbloom bent over the map in amazement. “Young man, this is remarkable,” he said. “A true masterpiece of cartography, I’d call it. Where did you get it?”
“From a rat,” replied Sorrel. “Not that it’s been all that much use to us so far.”
“A rat! Well, well …” murmured the professor, examining Gilbert Graytail’s masterpiece more closely. “I wouldn’t mind having that rat make a map for me. These areas of yellow shading, for instance, are very interesting. I know some of them. What does the yellow mean? Ah,” he said, reading the key to the colors. “Yes, I see. Yellow means bad luck, danger. Yes, indeed, I can confirm that. And here, do you see?” He placed a finger on the map. “This is where we are now. All yellow. Your map should have warned you about this cave.”
“Well, we weren’t really supposed to land here at all, you see,” Ben explained. “Last night’s storm drove us westward and off our course. See that?” He pointed to the golden line that Gilbert Graytail had drawn. “This is the route we were meant to take. I don’t suppose it passes near your friend’s village, does it?”
Barnabas Greenbloom shook his head thoughtfully. “No, but stopping off there wouldn’t take you too far out of your way. You’d just have to set a course a few hundred kilometers farther south, which wouldn’t make much difference to the vast distances you still have to go. Although,” added the professor, frowning, “as I was saying earlier, Zubeida won’t be able to help you in your search for the Rim of Heaven. She’s already tried to find it herself, and she got nowhere. No, as for that quest of yours,” said Barnabas Greenbloom, shaking his head, “I doubt if anyone can help you. The location of the Rim of Heaven is one of the world’s great mysteries.”
“We’ll just have to look everywhere then,” said Ben, folding up the map again. “Even if we have to fly all over the Himalayas.”
“The Himalayas are vast, my boy,” said Barnabas Greenbloom. “Unimaginably vast.”
He ran his fingers through his gray hair and then drew some hieroglyphs in the dust with a little stick. One of them looked like a narrow eye.
“What do those signs mean?” asked Ben curiously.
“These? Ah, well …” The professor suddenly straightened up and looked at the dragon.
Firedrake returned his gaze in surprise.
“What is it?” asked Ben.
“The djinn!” cried the professor. “The djinn with the thousand eyes!”
“A thousand eyes?” murmured Sorrel, licking her bowl clean. “I don’t even know anyone with three eyes.”
“Listen!” The professor leaned forward in excitement. “So far the fact that you attract other fabulous creatures has done you more harm than good, right? Or, at least, you haven’t reaped any benefits from it?”
The dragon shook his head.
“But suppose,” continued the professor, “suppose you were to attract a fabulous being who could help you in your quest?”
“Meaning this djinn?” asked Ben. “The kind that comes out of a bottle?”
The professor laughed. “Asif is unlikely to let anyone put him in a bottle, my boy. He’s a rather important djinn. They say he can be as large as the moon or as small as a grain of sand. His skin is blue as the evening sky and covered with a thousand eyes that reflect a thousand parts of the world. And every time Asif blinks, a thousand different places appear in the pupils of those eyes.”
“Doesn’t sound like someone I’d fancy meeting,” growled Sorrel. “Why would we want to attract his attention?”
The professor lowered his voice. “Because this djinn knows the answer to every question in the world.”
“Every question?” asked Ben skeptically.
Barnabas Greenbloom nodded. “Why not fly to see him? Ask him where the Rim of Heaven lies.”
The three companions looked at one another. Twigleg shifted uneasily on Ben’s shoulder.
“Where can we find him?” asked Firedrake.
“The way there will take you off your direct route, but I think it could be worth it.” The professor unfolded another section of Gi
“Have you ever seen him?” asked Ben.
Barnabas Greenbloom shook his head, smiling. “No, he’d never show himself to me. I’m not nearly interesting enough. But a dragon,” he said, looking at Firedrake, “a dragon would be a different matter. Firedrake must lure Asif to come out and show himself, and then you must ask the question, Ben.”
“Me?” asked Ben, surprised.
The professor nodded. “Yes, you. Asif answers questions only if three conditions are met. First, a human being has to ask the question. Second, the djinn must never have been asked that question before. If Asif has had the same question put to him before, then the questioner must serve the djinn for the rest of his life.” Ben and Firedrake exchanged glances of alarm. “And third,” the professor continued, “the question must be asked in exactly seven words, no more and no less.”
“Then it’s no!” Sorrel jumped up, scratching her furry coat. “No, no, and no again! This doesn’t sound good, not good in the least. My own coat itches at the mere idea of meeting this thousand-eyed djinn. I think we’d do better to follow the route that conceited rat recommended.”
Firedrake and Ben said nothing.
“Your rat, yes,” remarked the professor, collecting his bowls and cooking utensils and stowing them in his basket. “He knew about the djinn, too. He shaded in the Wadi Jum A’Ah Gorge with yellow as bright as a quince. I tell you what,” he said in the silence that followed. “Sorrel is probably right. Forget the djinn. He’s too dangerous.”