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Sorrel instantly turned her eyes on him. “And where do you think you’re going now?” she growled.
“Just for a walk, fur-face,” replied Twigleg. “Any objections?”
“Going for a walk?” Ben looked at the homunculus in surprise. “Wouldn’t you like me to come, too?” he called after him. “I mean, we don’t know what kind of wild animals there may be around here.”
Twigleg’s heart sank at the note of concern in Ben’s voice.
“No, no, young master,” he called over his shoulder. “I may be small, but I’m not helpless. Anyway, I’m so skinny I don’t look very tasty.”
And so saying, he disappeared through a hole in the wall.
17. The Raven
The hot air felt as thick as cotton wool to Twigleg. He made his way through it, keeping his sharp nose raised to pick up the scent of water. Yes, the old cistern must be right there at the foot of the hill, under that tall incense tree. He could already smell the water distinctly. With difficulty, he made his way through boulders and coarse grass. His arms and legs ached horribly from his days of playing hide-and-seek, shut up inside Ben’s backpack.
He had Sorrel to thank for all that — the stuck-up, suspicious brownie! Laughing at him for eating flies, then stuffing her own face with those stinking mushrooms! He just hoped she’d soon pick a poisonous one, a mushroom that would make her stomach ache enough to shut her up for good.
Among a few scrubby bushes Twigleg came upon some tracks, probably made by rabbits going down to the water. He was following their narrow path when a black shadow suddenly loomed over him. The homunculus squealed in alarm and flung himself flat on the ground.
Black claws dug into the dust beside him, and a hooked beak pecked at his jacket.
“Hello, Twigleg,” croaked a familiar voice.
The homunculus cautiously raised his head. “Raven?”
“In the flesh!” squawked the bird.
Twigleg sat up, sighing, and brushed the untidy hair back from his forehead. Then he folded his arms over his chest and looked reproachfully at the raven.
“You’ve got nerve, I must say!” he said. “I’ve a good mind to pluck your feathers and stuff a cushion with them. Goodness knows it’s no thanks to you I’m still alive!”
“I know, I know,” the raven cawed apologetically. “You’re right. But what was I to do? They kept throwing stones at me, and you weren’t coming out, so I looked for a nice safe tree and kept an eye on you.”
“Oh, kept an eye on me, did you?” Twigleg stood up. “I didn’t get a sight of you for three whole nights going halfway around the world — and now, you show up! Come on, I have to find water.” And he set off again without another word.
The raven flapped after him, looking cross.
“All very well for you to talk,” he snapped. “You think it was easy for me, following that wretched dragon? He flies three times faster than the wind.”
“So what?” Twigleg spat contemptuously into the dust. “Why do you think our master has been feeding you magic grain ever since you could hop? Now shut up. I’ve got more important things to do than listen to your squawking.”
The old water cistern lay beyond a low hill, with a narrow flight of stone steps leading down to it. The stone was cracked, and wild flowers grew in the nooks and crannies. Twigleg scurried down the steps and saw that the water in the old reservoir was cloudy and covered with dust. Taking a deep breath, the homunculus went up to the edge.
“Tell him I couldn’t help it, will you?” cawed the raven, flying up into a leafless tree.
But Twigleg ignored him. He spat into the water, and the image of Nettlebrand’s head appeared in the cistern, emerging from the depths. Gravelbeard was standing between the dragon’s mighty horns, looking very miserable as he dusted them with a bunch of peacock feathers.
“Three — whole — days!” growled Nettlebrand in a menacingly low voice. “What did I tell you?”
“There was nothing to report, master,” replied Twigleg. “Sun and dust, that’s all we’ve seen these last few days, nothing but sun and dust. I was hiding in the boy’s backpack almost the whole time. I’m all crumpled up.”
“When do you reach the djinn?” Nettlebrand snapped.
“Tomorrow.” Twigleg gulped. “And master, the raven’s turned up again. I suppose I’d better continue the journey on his back now.”
“Nonsense!” Nettlebrand bared his teeth. “You stay in that boy’s backpack. The closer you stick to them the sooner you’ll hear the djinn’s reply. The raven will follow you, just in case.”
“But that brownie girl!” Twigleg objected. “She doesn’t trust me!”
