Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke
“Oh, you don’t? Fancy flying down there yourself, fur-face?” inquired Lola. “Come on, let’s go, humblecuss!” She took Twigleg’s hand. “We’re going to make ourselves useful,” she said and turned to Firedrake. “Comes in handy having a couple of really small people along, right?”
Firedrake nodded. “Very handy,” he replied. “I’ll tell you something, Lola. I believe the world will belong to small people one of these days.”
“That’s okay by me,” said Lola.
Then, with Twigleg in tow, she climbed over Ben’s knees, scuttled along Firedrake’s back, and guided the homunculus down to where her plane was still safely tied to the dragon’s tail. They undid the thin chains, Lola opened the cockpit, and the two of them climbed in.
With a faint smile, Twigleg cast a last glance at Ben, and the boy waved to him. Then Lola Graytail started the engine. Its hum filled the night air like the chirping of crickets as the little plane took off with the two scouts on board, swooping down toward the Eye of the Moon.
45. The Eye of the Moon
“Pretty big, this lake!” shouted Lola through the noise of the engine. “Yes,” whispered Twigleg. “As big as a sea.” Looking out of the window, he could hear his teeth chattering. The sound of the engine rang in his ears, and his knees were knocking. Flying in a tinny little plane! What a horrible thought. Nothing but a bit of metal and a whirring contraption between him and empty air. He wished he was still on Firedrake’s strong back, on Ben’s warm lap, in the backpack, anywhere but in this infernal machine.
“Come on, let’s have your report. See anything suspicious, homuncupus?” asked the rat.
Twigleg swallowed. But you can’t get rid of fear by swallowing. “No,” he said in a trembling voice. “Nothing. Only the stars.”
They were reflected in the water like tiny fireflies.
“Fly closer to the bank,” Twigleg told the rat. “That’s the kind of place where he likes to hide, lurking in the mud.”
Lola immediately turned and flew toward the bank. Twigleg’s stomach was doing somersaults.
The lake lay below them like a mirror of black glass. Humming, the plane flew over the water. All was dark. Only the flowers on the bank glowed a mysterious blue.
Twigleg looked over his shoulder to where Firedrake had landed, but there was no sign of the silver dragon. He had probably hidden and was watching for their signal from a cranny in the rock. Twigleg turned again and glanced down at the water. Suddenly, as if coming out of nowhere, a strange trembling shook his chest.
“He’s here!” he cried in terror.
“Where?” Lola clutched her joystick and peered into the dark, but she could see nothing suspicious.
“I don’t know where,” cried Twigleg, “but I can feel it. Quite clearly.”
“Could be something in what you say.” Lola pressed her sharp nose to the cockpit window. “There’s kind of a suspicious ripple on the water there ahead. As if a large stone had just dropped into it.” She throttled back the engine. “I’ll turn off the lights,” she whispered. “We want to get a closer view of this.”
Twigleg’s knees were knocking again. The mere idea of seeing his old master once more froze his blood. Lola flew in an arc toward the suspect spot. She didn’t need lights; like Twigleg, she had the eyes of a nocturnal creature, and starlight was enough for her.
Where the ripples were curling and little waves lapped the shore, the stems of the flowers were bent as if someone had been making his way through them. It must have been some small creature, no bigger than a dwarf.
“There!” Twigleg jumped up from his seat and hit his head on the roof of the aircraft. “It’s Gravelbeard — running along ahead of us!”
Lola steered her plane toward the bank. The startled dwarf stuck his head out of the glowing flowers and saw the buzzing aircraft heading straight for him. Gravelbeard didn’t stop to think twice. He ran back to the water like lightning.
Lola Graytail wrenched the plane around.
She caught up with the dwarf on the shoreline, where Gravelbeard was still running as fast as his short legs would carry him.
“Grab hold of him, humpusklumpus!” shouted Lola.
Opening the cockpit, she flew so low that the undercarriage of the plane brushed the flowers. Twigleg summoned up all his courage, leaned right out of the plane, and tried to seize Gravelbeard by the collar. But the waters of the lake suddenly erupted, foaming. A mighty muzzle emerged from the waves — and snapped at the fleeing dwarf.
One gulp and he was gone.
Lola turned the plane with a sudden jolt, and Twigleg dropped back into his seat.
“He ate him!” cried the rat incredulously. “He just ate him!”
“Get out of here!” moaned Twigleg. “Get out of here, quick!”
“Easier said than done,” cried Lola, struggling desperately to control the little aircraft with her joystick as it staggered and spun in the air. Surely it couldn’t escape Nettlebrand’s gnashing teeth as he snapped and snapped again. He was crawling farther and farther out of the water, driven by his fury at the whirring little nuisance.
With a hunted expression on his face, Twigleg looked out of the back window. What had happened to Firedrake? Was he flying away?
“You didn’t loop the loop!” he wailed. “That was the signal.”
“They could hardly miss seeing the monster down here,” Lola shouted back. “They’ll have noticed him without our signal!”
The plane shuddered as the engine coughed and spluttered.
Twigleg was shaking all over. Once again he glanced through the back window and saw a gleam of silver on the black mountainside.
“Fly away!” cried Twigleg as if the dragon could hear him. “Fly away before he sees you!”
And Firedrake flew, spreading his wings wide — but instead of escaping he came diving down toward the lake.
“No!” shrieked the terrified Twigleg. “Lola, Lola — Firedrake is flying this way!”
“Oh, bother it all!” said the rat crossly as she narrowly avoided another swipe of Nettlebrand’s claw. “He thinks he has to help us! Hold on tight, Twigleg!”
Wrenching the nose of the plane upward, Lola looped the loop right above Nettlebrand’s open jaws. Then she rose higher and looped the loop again and yet again, until Twigleg felt his stomach was in his throat. The homunculus stared down at his old master flailing around in the water. Then he looked the other way — and saw Firedrake hovering motionless in the air.
“Fly, oh, please, please fly to the cave!” whispered Twigleg, although his heart was racing with his fear of Nettlebrand, and his eardrums ached with the monster’s roaring.
“What’s going on? Has he seen our signal? Is he turning away?” shouted Lola, flying in a spiral around Nettlebrand’s neck with death-defying daring.
Now Firedrake did turn in the air.
He shot off like an arrow, while the golden dragon had eyes for nothing but the little aircraft, the silly little thing that had the impertinence to pester him.
“Yes, he’s flying away,” cried Twigleg, his voice almost breaking with delight. “He’s flying back toward the mountains.”
“Excellent,” replied Lola, stepping on the gas and whizzing right between Nettlebrand’s legs. He struck out at the plane with both forepaws, but the weight of his armor made him drop back into the water, snorting.
Twigleg saw Firedrake rise higher and higher until he landed on a snowy slope — and then suddenly disappeared! As if he had simply been wiped off the face of the earth.
“Rat!” cried the homunculus. “We’ve done it. Firedrake’s gone. He must be in the cave.” He dropped back into his seat with a sigh. “You can fly away now!”
“Fly away?” cried Lola. “Just when we’re having such fun? Not likely! Here goes!” And she brought the plane around in a wide arc and made for Nettlebrand’s horns.
“What on earth are you doing?” cried the horrified Twigleg.
Disbelievingly
“Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more!” cried Lola. “Full throttle ahead!”
She whirred past Nettlebrand, so close to his armored brow that Twigleg slid down between the seats with his hands over his eyes.
“Yoohoo!” shouted the rat as she flew around Nettlebrand’s horns. “This is better than surveying mountains! This is something else! Yoohoo!”
Snorting, the golden dragon whipped around. He turned, he snapped, he snapped again and again and again — and never got anything but empty air between his teeth.
“Whoo!” cried Lola, flying around Nettlebrand until he was twisting and turning in the water like a dancing bear. “Whoo! Your old master must be getting along in years a bit, humpleclups, right? Not as quick off the mark as he might be, anyway.” She waved through the windshield. “Bye-bye for now! Why not just lie back down in the mud and rust away, stupid?”
Then she pulled out of her circling maneuver and took the plane up steeply, until Twigleg didn’t know whether he was on his head or his feet.
“Tantantara, tantantara, gone awaaay!” The rat tapped the instrument panel of her plane appreciatively. “Well done, my old Tin Lizzie! I’d call that something special.”
Behind them, Nettlebrand was bellowing so loudly that Twigleg put his hands over his ears. But the aircraft was already well out of the monster’s reach.
“Well, what about it, hompelclompus?” said Lola, drumming happily on the joystick. “Think we’ve earned our breakfast?”
“Oh, yes!” murmured Twigleg. He looked back at his old master. Nettlebrand’s bloodred eyes were following them, as if his fierce glare alone could blast them out of the sky. Had he recognized Twigleg when he tried to grab Gravelbeard?
The homunculus sat there all hunched up. “I never want to see him again,” he whispered, clenching his fists. “I never, ever want to see him again.”
Even if he flew around Nettlebrand’s nose a hundred times, even if he escaped those teeth two hundred times, even if he spat on his armored head three hundred times — Twigleg would always, always be afraid of him.
“I’m going to land where we came down before,” said Lola. “Okay by you?”
“Okay by me,” murmured Twigleg, heaving a deep sigh. “But then what? How will we find the others?”
“Oh,” said Lola, flying a couple of arcs and grinning, “they’ll come find us. But first, we’ll have breakfast. If you ask me,” she said, smoothing her ears with satisfaction, “we’ve worked enough for a whole week, don’t you think, hinclecompulsus?”
Twigleg nodded.
Down in the lake, however, Nettlebrand dropped back into the water, dived, and disappeared from sight as if he had been nothing but a nightmare.
46. The Dragons’ Cave
Firedrake stood in the snow and looked down at the lake. It was far beneath them now, but his keen dragon eyes could see Nettlebrand reeling about in the foaming water, striking out at the tiny aircraft as it whirred around and around the thrashing monster, taunting him.
“Come on,” said Burr-Burr-Chan, climbing off Firedrake’s back. “You saw the rat’s signal. She’ll manage. And we must hurry, or that monster may look our way again.”
The Dubidai marched rapidly through the snowfield. Ben and Sorrel followed him to a high wall of rock, white with snow, too. Burr-Burr-Chan stopped in front of it.
Firedrake came up beside him and glanced at him inquiringly. “Well?”
Burr-Burr-Chan chuckled. “I told you. You can look straight at it and never see it.” He pressed one furry finger to a certain spot on the smooth rock, a place that he could only just reach. “See that groove? Lean your shoulder against it and brace yourself against the rock.”
Firedrake did as he was told. As soon as he pushed at the icy stone the rock swung aside, revealing the entrance to a dark tunnel. Cautiously the dragon leaned forward to look inside.
“Come on, hurry up and get in there!” Burr-Burr-Chan pushed Ben and Sorrel into the darkness.
Firedrake cast one last glance down at the lake, where Lola Graytail was still infuriating Nettlebrand. Then he turned and disappeared down the tunnel.
A familiar odor met him. It was quite faint in the cold air, which was getting warmer with every step they took into the heart of the mountain. It was Firedrake’s own aroma, sharp and fresh as the air above the clouds — it was the scent of dragons. All of a sudden, he felt as if he had come home.
The tunnel led downward. Sometimes it turned left, sometimes right. Several times, narrow passages forked off it, passages just high enough for brownies. A tempting smell of mushrooms wafted out of some of these passageways. Sorrel’s stomach rumbled, but she resolutely walked on.
“It’s not at all dark in here,” said Ben when they were deep inside the mountain. “Why not?”
“Moonstone,” replied Burr-Burr-Chan. “We made the walls of moonstone. It soaks up light like a sponge. You only have to let moonlight in now and then, or blow a little dragon-fire down the tunnel, and it’ll last for years. Even so, the place is much darker than when I was here last.” He looked up at the shimmering walls and shrugged his shoulders. “They’ve probably stopped letting any moonlight in, for fear of the golden dragon. I can’t wait to hear what they say when they know he’s paddling around right down there in the lake!”
“They’ll be furious, that’s what,” muttered Sorrel, nervously tugging at her ears. “Simply furious. They probably won’t even bother to ask what we’ve come for.”
“We can’t fight human beings,” said Firedrake. “If we drive away a hundred, then a thousand will return. But we can deal with Nettlebrand.”
“What?” Sorrel barred his way. She looked uneasy. “Are you talking about that again — fighting and so forth? When we set out, it was to find somewhere you dragons could live in peace! Now you’re planning to fight that monster? Huh!”
“The Golden One is rather cumbersome in a fight,” said Burr-Burr-Chan behind her. “With his heavy armor, he soon gets out of breath. And he doesn’t seem to be especially clever. Look how the rat flew rings around him.”
“Nonsense!” Sorrel turned on him angrily. “Absolute rot, rubbish, garbage! He’s twenty times larger than Firedrake!”
“Larger, yes.” Burr-Burr-Chan shrugged his shoulders. “So what?”
“Don’t upset yourself, Sorrel,” said Firedrake, gently pushing the brownie girl aside. “Let’s go on.”
“Okay!” growled Sorrel crossly. “But no more nonsense about fighting, right?”
They went on in silence. For a while, the tunnel continued downward, but then it turned a sharp bend and a huge cavern opened out before them. The ceiling glittered faintly with thousands of moonstones. Stalactites hung from it like frozen sea spray, and stalagmites grew upward from floor to roof.
Ben took a couple of steps forward in astonishment. He had never seen such a place before. Here, far inside the mountain, the rock seemed to have come to life. He felt as if he were standing among strange plants and trees and hills, all made of shimmering silver stone.
“Well?” said Sorrel behind him. “Where are the other dragons, then?”
“Crawled away into hiding, you bet your life,” replied Burr-Burr-Chan.
Hesitantly Firedrake stepped into the cavern. Sorrel followed him. Burr-Burr-Chan and Ben came slowly after them. In the middle of the cave, among mounds of stone shaped like spiny dragon crests, Firedrake stopped.
“Where are you?” he called.
There was no answer but the echo of his own voice.
“Hi there! Hello!” shouted Sorrel. “Look, dragons, we’ve flown halfway around the world — you might at least show your faces and welcome us.” But she got no answer, either.
There was nothing to be heard but a faint rustling from a thicket of stalactites and stalagmites at the very back of the cave.
Firedrake nodded.
“It’s too dark in here,” he said. “I’ll give us a bit more light.” Arching his long neck, he breathed fire. It ran hissing among the stones, licked its way up the dark walls, and blazed blue all the way to the roof. The whole dragon cave began to shine so brightly that for a moment, Ben had to half close his eyes. The moonstones shone down from the roof, the walls glowed, and dragon-fire collected in crackling flames on the tips of the stalactites and stalagmites.
“Yes!” cried Burr-Burr-Chan, raising his four arms in the air. “Yes, that’s just how it ought to look!”
Firedrake closed his muzzle and looked around.
“Firedrake,” whispered Ben, placing a hand on his scales, “there’s something back there. Do you see those eyes?”
“I know,” replied the dragon quietly. “They’ve been there for some time. Let’s wait.”
All was still for a few moments. Firedrake’s dragon-fire still burned among the stones, crackling and hissing. Then, suddenly, a dragon emerged from the stalactites and stalagmites at the back of the cave. This one was smaller than Firedrake, with more delicate limbs, but its scales shone with just the same silvery gleam.
“It’s a she-dragon,” whispered Sorrel. “You can tell by the horns. They’re straight, not curved like Firedrake’s.”
Ben nodded.
The she-dragon snuffled and moved tentatively toward Firedrake. For a moment or so they stood looking at each other in silence.
“You’re not golden,” the she-dragon said at last, in a hoarse voice.
Firedrake shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I’m like you.”
“I — I wasn’t sure,” said the she-dragon uncertainly. “I’ve never seen the Golden One myself, but I’ve heard terrible tales of him. He’s said to be very cunning, and sometimes he has small creatures with him.” She looked curiously first at Sorrel, then at Burr-Burr-Chan.
“These are brownies,” said Firedrake. “You must have heard of them, too.”