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“Flee, feeble fairy flutterers!” shouted Ben — just in time, for two elves had seized Twigleg by the arms and were trying to drag him away. Cursing, they let him go, and he fell headfirst into Ben’s lap.
“Go!” cried the manikin, shaking his little fists in fury. “Go, ghastly greedy …”
“Girolles!” cried Sorrel, flicking the sleepy-dust out of her fur. “Go, ghastly, greedy girolles! Horrible, hated, heinous horns of plenty!”
Once more the elves fluttered in frantic confusion. Then, buzzing angrily, they rose above the signpost again and flew away toward the dark mountains. Their glittering light glowed in the dark for a little while, until it, too, vanished. No more giggling, no more whirring wings, no more twittering little voices. The only sounds to break the silence of the night were the roaring of the sea, the chirping of cicadas — and the distant rumble of a truck engine on the coastal road.
“A truck! There’s a truck coming!” cried Sorrel, thumping Ben on the back. “Quick. What does the sign say?”
Ben compared the characters. “Yes!” he cried. “Shibam! This is the right way!”
“Careful. Hold on tight!” called Firedrake, beating his wings and rising into the air. The vehicle came closer, but by the time its headlights lit up the signpost the dragon and his passengers had already disappeared over the mountains.
“Are you all right?” Sorrel asked Firedrake anxiously. “How much dust did you breathe in?”
“I think I’ve sneezed it all out,” he called back. “I don’t feel at all tired. How about you back there?”
By way of answer, Sorrel yawned. “Hey, Twigleg!” Peering over Ben’s shoulder, she looked down at the homunculus, who was rubbing his eyes wearily. “How did you know that trick with the elves?”
“I’ve had plenty of trouble with elves before,” said Twigleg drowsily. “But I didn’t know if alphabetical order would work with that sort.”
“Well, luckily it did,” muttered Sorrel. “Or that wretched dust of theirs would have sent us to sleep in the middle of the road.” She had to yawn again.
Below them, the road that Firedrake was following wound its way farther and farther into the mountains. The dragon had to fly very carefully to avoid brushing his wings against the rocky slopes on both sides.
“Sometimes I’ve had to go right through the alphabet,” remembered Twigleg sleepily, “but the stupid little things never notice if you leave out X.”
Ben rubbed his itching nose. “All the same, I wish I could have watched them a bit longer,” he murmured. “They were so funny. And their wings — they shone like soap bubbles.”
“I tell you what.” Sorrel leaned back on one of Firedrake’s spines and closed her eyes. “If you’re so mad about those fluttery little things, you’d better catch one.”
“Catch one?” Ben looked at her, astounded. “How?”
“Easy,” murmured Sorrel. “You mix a little milk, two spoonfuls of honey, and some rose petals in a bowl, and then you leave it outside on a warm night when the moon’s full.”
Ben glanced back at her, still rather doubtful. “Then what?” he asked, yawning.
Firedrake’s wings rushed on through the dark.
“Then,” said Sorrel softly, “you can bet your life one of those stupid creatures will come flying along to lap up your honey-sweet, rose-perfumed milk. Simply drop a cobweb over the bowl and there you are — hey, presto!”
“A cobweb?” Ben shook his head, baffled. “Where would I get a cobweb?”
“That’s your problem,” murmured Sorrel. “I’ve told you how to catch an elf. You’ll have to do the rest yourself.”
Ben leaned back. “I don’t want to catch an elf, anyway,” he said. “I don’t think much of catching things. Do you?”
But Sorrel was already asleep. And on Ben’s lap Twigleg was snoring softly, elf-dust still sparkling on his nose.
“Firedrake!” called Ben quietly. “Are you sure you’re not tired?”
“Not a bit,” the dragon called back. “Who knows, perhaps elf-dust keeps dragons awake.”
“Not humans, though,” murmured Ben as he, too, fell asleep.
Firedrake flew steadily on through the night, following the road that would lead him to the blue djinn.
20. The Djinn’s Ravine
