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“How about a little reward?” he suggested. “Give me just one of your scales, Your Goldness!”
“What, for a few little lies? Shut up!” grunted Nettlebrand.
Gravelbeard muttered crossly into his beard.
“I’m going to pick up his scent now,” growled Nettlebrand.
“Whose scent?”
“The silver dragon’s, you pebble-brained idiot.”
“But there are human beings there.” The dwarf adjusted his hat nervously. “Lots and lots of them. Suppose they see you? Your scales shine in the moonlight, Your Goldness!”
“Shut your gob!” Nettlebrand waded through the mud of the riverbank toward the hill beyond which the village lay. The party was still going on, and the sound of music and laughter drifted their way on the wind, drowning out the roaring of the sea. Nettlebrand pricked up his ears and made his way to the top of the hill, still snorting.
And there he was. There was the silver dragon.
Firedrake was standing on the seashore, surrounded by people, and Ben and Sorrel were just climbing on his back.
Nettlebrand greedily inhaled the night air, snuffling and grunting. “Ah yes, I have his scent,” he breathed. “He can’t escape me now. At long, long last the hunt is over!”
He licked his dreadful lips. The thrill of the chase was running through him like wildfire, and he trod restlessly from one paw to the other.
“How are you going to follow him?” asked the dwarf, wiping a few splashes of mud off Nettlebrand’s armored brow. “He can fly and you can’t.”
“Huh!” Nettlebrand shook his head scornfully. “There’s only one way from here into the mountains, and that’s up the river. If he can fly, I can swim. We’ll be going the same way. And now that I have his scent I can always find him again. The whispering wind will tell me where he is.”
Down on the beach, Firedrake was moving. He turned his back to the sea, which gleamed silver in the moonlight, and looked north. The crowd around him stepped back, leaving only four of them standing there: a tall thin man; two women, one short and the other tall; and a child. The dragon leaned down to them.
“It’s that professor,” growled Nettlebrand. “The one who has my scale. How the devil did he get here?”
“No idea, Your Goldness,” said Gravelbeard, nervously putting a hand under his shirt to touch Barnabas Greenbloom’s wedding ring, which hung on a ribbon around his neck.
“I’ll deal with him later,” grunted Nettlebrand. “I can’t stop now. Yes, I’ll save some of the fun for later.”
“Look, Your Goldness,” whispered Gravelbeard, “the dragon is taking off.”
Firedrake was spreading his wings. They shone like spun moonlight.
“At last!” whispered Nettlebrand. “Off you go to the Rim of Heaven, my little silver sleuthhound, to find the other dragons for me.”
At that moment the boy glanced up at the hills.
Nettlebrand’s scales flashed in the moonlight so brightly that Ben narrowed his eyes. Next moment the glint of gold was gone. A large rain cloud had drifted in front of the moon, casting a dark shadow over the hilltops. Puzzled, the boy stared into the night.
Nettlebrand laughed hoarsely. “You see, dwarf?” he growled. “Even the clouds are on our side.”
The silver dragon beat his wings and rose into the night sky, light as a bird. He circled a couple of times over the huts, while the people down on the beach waved to him, and then flew off into the night.
Nettlebrand watched him for a moment. Then, grunting, he slid back down the hill and into the river. He swam soundlessly through the dark water, startling pelicans and flamingos out of their sleep and snapping at everything that flew past his muzzle.
“Your Goldness!” whispered Gravelbeard. “I can’t swim.”
“You won’t have to.” Sniffing loudly, Nettlebrand raised his nose from the water. “Ah, he’s above us,” he growled. “He’s going quite slowly. The wind’s against him, blowing from the mountains. Good.”
eg nodded. Deep in thought, he stared into the water.
“What about you?” asked the dwarf. “Where are you now?”
