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As for Firedrake, he followed the lama into the great prayer hall, coiled up among the columns, and slept a deep, sound sleep while the monks sat around him quietly murmuring prayers, wishing all the good fortune of earth and sky to descend upon the dragon’s scales.
39. The Rat’s Report
Sorrel enjoyed Guinevere’s breakfast so much that she ate almost half of it all by herself. Ben didn’t mind. He wasn’t very hungry, anyway. All the excitement of the last few days and the thought of what still lay ahead had taken away his appetite. He never felt hungry when he was excited.
When Sorrel, having eaten to her heart’s content, curled up in a ball on Guinevere’s bed and started snoring loudly, Ben and Guinevere tiptoed out of the room, perched on one of the low monastery walls, and looked down at the river. Morning mist still clung to the mountainside, but as the sun rose over the snowy peaks the cold air slowly warmed.
“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” said Guinevere.
Ben nodded. Twigleg was sitting on his knee, dozing off. People were working in the green fields down in the valley. They looked no bigger than beetles from up here.
“Where’s your mother?” asked Ben.
“In the Temple of the Angry Gods,” Guinevere told him. She pointed to a red-painted building to the left of the Dhu-Khang. “Every monastery in this country has one. The building next to it is the Temple of the Kindly Gods, but the angry gods are considered particularly useful because they look so terrifying that they keep evil spirits away. The mountains around here are said to be full of evil spirits.”
“Goodness!” Ben looked admiringly at the girl. “You know a lot.”
“Oh, well,” said Guinevere dismissively, “that’s hardly surprising with parents like mine, is it? My mother’s copying the pictures on the temple walls at the moment. When we’re back home, she shows them to rich people and gets them to give money to have the pictures restored. The monks can’t afford that kind of thing, and the pictures are already very old, you see.”
“Goodness!” said Ben again, covering the sleeping Twigleg with his jacket. “You’re lucky to have parents like that.”
Guinevere cast him a questioning glance. “Dad says you don’t have any parents yourself.”
Ben picked a little stone off the wall and fiddled with it. “That’s right. I never did.”
Guinevere looked at him thoughtfully. “But you have Firedrake now,” she said. “Firedrake and Sorrel,” she added, smiling and pointing to the little homunculus, “and you have Twigleg.”
“So I do,” agreed Ben. “But that’s different.” Suddenly he narrowed his eyes and looked westward to where the river disappeared into the mountains. “Hey, I think Lola’s coming back! There, see?” He threw the stone over the wall and leaned forward.
“Lola?” asked Guinevere. “Is that the rat you were talking about?”
Ben nodded. A faint humming could be heard. It grew louder and louder until the little plane landed in expert style on the wall beside them. Lola Graytail opened the cockpit and got out.
“Nothing!” she announced, clambering up on one of the wings and making her way down to the top of the wall. “Nothing, absolutely no sign of anything. All clear, I’d say.”
Twigleg woke up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the rat, confused. “Oh, it’s you, Lola,” he muttered drowsily.
“That’s right, humblecuss,” replied the rat and turned to Guinevere. “And who, may I ask, is this?”
“This is Guinevere,” said Ben, introducing her. “She’s the daughter of the professor who almost stepped on your plane, and she thinks she saw Nettlebrand.”
“I know I saw him,” said Guinevere. “I’m a squillion percent certain I did.”
“Could be.” Lola Graytail opened a flap under the wing of her plane and took out a miniature lunch box. “But the creature’s disappeared now, anyway. I flew upstream and downstream, keeping so low over the river the fish thought I was a midge and water kept splashing into the cockpit. But I didn’t see any sign of a golden dragon with a dwarf. Not a thing. Not a single golden dragon scale.”
“Well, that’s good!” said Ben, sighing with relief. “I really thought we had him after us again. Thanks, Lola!”
“You’re welcome,” replied the rat. “Glad to be of service.”
She crammed a few bread crumbs into her mouth and stretched out on the wall. “Oh, I do like lazing about!” she sighed, raising her pointed nose to the sun. “Good thing Uncle Gilbert can’t see me. He’d really get his tail in a twist.”
Guinevere was still silent. Frowning, she looked down at the river. “All the same, I bet that monster’s down there somewhere, lying in wait for us,” she said.
“Oh, come off it, he’s buried in the sand,” said Ben. “We know he is. You should have heard that dwarf — I’m sure he wasn’t lying. Come on!” He nudged her with his elbow. “Tell me more about the temple.”
“What temple?” muttered Guinevere, without looking at him.
“The one your mother’s looking at,” replied Ben. “The Temple of the Angry Gods.”
