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Professor Greenbloom looked straight up into the monster’s open jaws. “Oh, yes, and what might that be?” he inquired, addressing the sharp teeth inside those jaws. As he spoke, he was very slowly putting his left hand inside his back pocket to find a small box that was in there with the mirror.
“My scale, fool!” Nettlebrand snarled. His icy breath made Barnabas Greenbloom shiver. “Give me back my scale or I’ll crush you like a louse.”
“Ah, the scale!” cried the professor, clapping a hand to his brow. “Of course — the golden scale. So it’s yours. How interesting. How very interesting. But how did you know I had it?”
“Stop stalling!” roared Nettlebrand, coming so close that one of his black claws touched Barnabas Greenbloom’s knee. “I can tell that you have it. Hand it over to the dwarf. Come on, do it now!”
The professor’s mind was racing. How had this monster found him? Did he know who had the other scale, too? Was Ben in danger? How could he warn the boy?
The mountain dwarf began scrambling down from Nettlebrand’s head.
At that moment Barnabas Greenbloom dived forward and ducked beneath the gigantic dragon’s body. He made for the creature’s hind legs, jumped up on one of the mighty feet, and clung to the monster’s scaly armor.
“Come on out!” bellowed Nettlebrand, spinning around furiously. “Where are you?”
The dwarf dropped to the sand like a ripe plum and quickly took shelter between some rocks to avoid being trampled to death as his master stamped around furiously. Barnabas Greenbloom just held on to Nettlebrand’s leg, laughing.
“Where am I?” he called to the monster. “Where you can’t get me, of course.”
Nettlebrand stood still, breathing hard, and tried to reach his muzzle around to his hind leg, but his body wasn’t flexible enough. All he could do was put his head down between his front legs and stare furiously at the little human being clinging like a tick to his golden body.
“Give me the scale!” bellowed Nettlebrand again. “Give me my scale and I won’t eat you. My word of honor!”
“Your word of honor? Oh, my word!” Barnabas tapped the giant leg to which he was clinging. The sound was like hitting an iron saucepan. “You know something? I believe I know who you are. You’re the one they call Nettlebrand in the old tales, aren’t you?”
Nettlebrand did not reply. He stamped as hard as he could to shake off the man. But his claws only sank into the desert sand, and Barnabas was still clinging firmly to his leg.
“Yes, you’re Nettlebrand!” he cried. “Nettlebrand, the Golden One! How could I ever forget the stories about you? I ought to have remembered them as soon as I saw that golden scale. You’re said to be a bloodthirsty, cunning liar, murderous and vain. They even say you ate your maker, but let’s face it, he deserved it for creating a monster like you.”
Nettlebrand listened to the professor, his head lowered. His horns bored into the sand.
“Oh, yes?” he snarled. “Talk away! I’ll eat you any moment now. You can’t hang on down there forever. Armor-cleaner!” He raised his ugly muzzle and looked around. “Where are you, Gravelbeard?”
Reluctantly Gravelbeard stuck his head out of his hiding place. “Yes, Your Goldness?”
“Go and tickle that human with your feather duster!” growled Nettlebrand. “Perhaps that’ll make him fall off.”
The professor gulped. He was still holding on, but his fingers were beginning to hurt and unfortunately he was very ticklish. And there was no hope that any help would come. If the vast dragon’s roaring hadn’t already brought someone out of a tent to investigate, then it obviously wasn’t going to do so in the immediate future. No, he’d have to save himself. But how? Hard as he racked his brains, he just couldn’t think of a single good idea.
The mountain dwarf appeared between Nettlebrand’s forelegs wearing a sullen expression and a sandy hat and carrying a peacock-feather duster. He walked unsteadily over the sand toward Barnabas Greenbloom.
Get on with it, think of something, old chap, thought the professor, or your dear wife won’t be seeing you again.
And then he did get an idea.
“Here, dwarf!” he whispered to Gravelbeard, who was standing beside his master’s paw in his oversized hat, already reaching the peacock feathers toward the ticklish professor.
Using his teeth, Barnabas Greenbloom took his gold wedding ring off his finger and spat it out at the dwarf’s feet. Gravelbeard instantly dropped the duster, picked up the ring, and felt the shining metal with an expert touch.
“Nice piece!” he muttered. “Solid gold.”
At that moment the professor dropped to the ground, landing in the sand beside the startled dwarf.
“What’s going on, Gravelbeard?” boomed Nettlebrand’s voice in the darkness. “Has he let go yet?”
The dwarf was about to reply, but the professor quickly put a hand over its mouth.
“Listen, Gravelbeard,” he whispered into the little creature’s ear. “You can keep this ring if you tell your master I’ve disappeared, all right?”
