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“It’s a good idea, Twigleg,” said Ben. “The two of you are so small, I’m sure he won’t notice you.”
Twigleg shivered. “And suppose we see him?” he asked in a trembling voice. “Suppose he really is down there? Who’s going to distract his attention?”
“Don’t you worry, hummlecuss!” said Lola. Her eyes were positively shining. “If we spot him, I’ll give the signal by looping the loop. Then we’ll divert the monster and Firedrake will fly to the cave as fast as he can and disappear into it.”
“Divert him!” said Twigleg faintly. “How?”
“Wait and see!” Lola clapped him so hard on the shoulder that he almost fell headfirst off Firedrake’s back. “All you have to do is keep your eyes open. I’ll do the flying.”
“That’s a great comfort, I’m sure!” murmured Twigleg. “Okay, only one more question: What’s ‘looping the loop’?”
“Turning the plane upside down in the air,” replied Lola. “Gives you a lovely tingly feeling in your tummy. Absolutely indescribable.”
“Oh, really?” Twigleg nervously rubbed his nose.
“Not a bad plan,” muttered Burr-Burr-Chan. “It could just work.”
“I don’t know,” growled Sorrel. “I don’t like leaving everything to these two little titches.”
hite summits were so close now that Ben felt as if he could put out his hand and touch the snow on their slopes. Firedrake was flying toward a narrow pass between the two most pointed mountain peaks. Dark rocks merged with the darkness of the night, and needles of stone rose menacingly in the air, barring the dragon’s way. When Firedrake was right between the two peaks, the wind fell on him like a hungry wolf. Howling, it roared beneath the dragon’s wings and sent him whirling like a leaf toward the rocks.
“Watch out!” shouted Burr-Burr-Chan, but Firedrake had already regained control. Bracing himself against the wind with all his might, he shook off its invisible clutches. Snow drove down on them, covering the dragon and the heads and shoulders of his riders. Ben’s teeth were chattering.
“We’re going to make it!” shouted Burr-Burr-Chan. “See that? There’s the highest ridge, ahead of us!”
Firedrake shot through the pass and over it, leaving the howling wind behind at last — and flew into the Valley of the Dragons.
A lake lay there amid the mountains, a lake as round as the moon.
Zubeida Ghalib’s blue flowers grew on its banks. They glowed in the darkness of the night, making the valley look as if the stars had fallen into it from the sky above.
“By St. George’s mushroom and Caesar’s cap, too!” breathed Sorrel.
“We call that lake the Eye of the Moon!” called Burr-Burr-Chan as Firedrake made for the shimmering water. “Fly over it! Fly to where —”
But Twigleg interrupted. “No! Don’t — don’t fly over the water!” he shouted shrilly.
He struggled out of the lambskin. “You great furry fool!” he shouted at Burr-Burr-Chan. “You didn’t say anything about a lake! You didn’t breathe a word!”
“Who are you calling a great furry fool?” Burr-Burr-Chan turned around crossly, but the homunculus ignored him.
“Fly higher, Firedrake!” he croaked, tugging at the straps. “This lake is a gateway — an open gateway!”
But Firedrake had realized what he meant. Beating his wings strongly, he rose and headed toward the opposite bank. He looked down anxiously, but nothing seemed to be moving. Only a few snowflakes melted into the black waters. With a sudden jolt, the dragon landed on a rocky ledge many hundreds of meters above the shimmering flowers. Trembling, he folded his silver wings.
“I don’t see anything, Firedrake,” said Sorrel, looking intently into the night. “I really don’t.”
Annoyed, she turned to Twigleg, who was huddled in Ben’s lap, shivering. “That manikin will drive us crazy! How could his old master possibly get here so fast, may I ask?”
“Leave him alone,” said Ben brusquely. “Can’t you see he’s frozen?”
With stiff fingers that even the monks’ gloves could not keep warm, Ben reached for the thermos flask of tea and carefully gave Twigleg a sip. Then he had a sip himself. The peculiar taste almost turned his stomach, but a comfortable warmth spread through him.
Firedrake stood there, never taking his eyes off the surface of the lake.
“At any rate we have a head start on the monster,” whispered Sorrel. “He can’t fly.”
“We’d only have a head start if there wasn’t any water here, you stupid pointy-eared nitwit!” snapped Twigleg. He was not trembling quite so badly now that he had drunk a little hot tea. “Are you telling me that lake down there isn’t water? I warn you, he’s probably here already, watching us.”
