Read Online The Fire Within (The Last Dragon Chro) by Chris D'Lacey - Free Book Online
Authors: Chris D'Lacey
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anyway.”
David let his shoulders sag. “I think I’d be better off chatting with Bonnington.”
“Oh, no,” said Liz with a serious frown. “He’s as dumb as a halibut is wide. Gadzooks can reach you on … a deeper level.”
David threw her a quizzical look.
“You said yourself, he suggested Snigger’s name. You asked him a question and he spoke to you, didn’t he?”
“That was different,” David muttered, looking away. Even so, he thought about the flash of Gadzooks in Henry’s garden. Had the dragon been trying to speak to him then? No, it was ridiculous. How could a pottery dragon have any idea where Conker might be hiding? “Anyway,” he said, “while we’re on the subject of peculiar things: I keep hearing a noise, in bed, at night.”
“Noise?” said Liz, tending the leaves of a spider plant.
David pointed upward. “From the Dragons’ Den. It sounds like a purr, but it’s not — it’s a
hurr.
”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Liz, touching the snout of the dragon by the yucca plant, “that’s just … the central heating. Feet off the sofa, please.” She whacked his ankles and swept out of the room.
David swung his feet to the floor. For a moment ortwo he sat in silence, twiddling his thumbs, staring into space. Then a strange thought crept into his mind. He glanced at the dragon by the yucca plant, then at all the walls of the living room in turn. “Liz,” he called out, “there aren’t any radiators!”
You don’t
have
any central heating, he thought.
S IGHTING
H e decided it was one of Liz’s jokes. There was a gas fire on the chimney wall. As yet, he had never seen it working. What he was expected to believe, no doubt, was that fire-breathing dragons kept the house nice and toasty and were a cheaper alternative to electricity or gas.
Yes, Liz. Very funny. Ha, ha.
Dragons. The spiky little whatsits were popping up everywhere. David often saw Lucy carrying them around. She would leave one on the mantelpiece, or take one off the mantelpiece, or move them bafflingly around the living room. In the last few days, when the weather forecasts had hinted at frost, a couple had even appeared in the picture window near the top ofthe stairs. To anyone outside the Pennykettle household it would have seemed … eccentric, to put it mildly. David had simply learned to live with it.
Still, whichever way the house was heated, the tenant was glad for the warmth the next day. It was Sunday and the heavens had opened. It rained so heavily that even Lucy was forced to admit that sensible squirrels would not venture out in such a downpour, much less investigate traps. She spent most of that day in the company of her mom, working on a drawing project for school. David, glad for the isolation, typed away at an essay for college. It was the quietest day he’d known since his arrival.
On Monday, however, everything changed. David woke to a blaze of sunlight streaming in through a chink in his curtains. He squinted at the clock. Quarter to eight. Pushing Bonnington onto the floor, he wandered, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen. Right away he caught sight of Lucy clambering into the back of the rock garden. He put an ear out for Liz but couldn’t hear her anywhere. He knocked quietlybut urgently on the kitchen window. Lucy turned so fast she lost her footing, causing a mini-avalanche of stones. She scowled at the tenant and formed the word, “What?” David beckoned her in.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking the trap.”
“I know
that.
Don’t you think your mom’ll be a tad suspicious if she sees you playing Queen of the Castle?”
“She’s in the shower,” said Lucy, looking David up and down. “Is that what you wear to bed?”
The tenant was dressed in fluffy blue socks, brown pajama bottoms, and a T-shirt with a picture of a large yellow duck. “What’s wrong with it?” he said.
The doorbell rang before Lucy could tell him. “I’ll go,” she said,
David let his shoulders sag. “I think I’d be better off chatting with Bonnington.”
“Oh, no,” said Liz with a serious frown. “He’s as dumb as a halibut is wide. Gadzooks can reach you on … a deeper level.”
David threw her a quizzical look.
“You said yourself, he suggested Snigger’s name. You asked him a question and he spoke to you, didn’t he?”
“That was different,” David muttered, looking away. Even so, he thought about the flash of Gadzooks in Henry’s garden. Had the dragon been trying to speak to him then? No, it was ridiculous. How could a pottery dragon have any idea where Conker might be hiding? “Anyway,” he said, “while we’re on the subject of peculiar things: I keep hearing a noise, in bed, at night.”
“Noise?” said Liz, tending the leaves of a spider plant.
David pointed upward. “From the Dragons’ Den. It sounds like a purr, but it’s not — it’s a
hurr.
”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Liz, touching the snout of the dragon by the yucca plant, “that’s just … the central heating. Feet off the sofa, please.” She whacked his ankles and swept out of the room.
David swung his feet to the floor. For a moment ortwo he sat in silence, twiddling his thumbs, staring into space. Then a strange thought crept into his mind. He glanced at the dragon by the yucca plant, then at all the walls of the living room in turn. “Liz,” he called out, “there aren’t any radiators!”
You don’t
have
any central heating, he thought.
S IGHTING
H e decided it was one of Liz’s jokes. There was a gas fire on the chimney wall. As yet, he had never seen it working. What he was expected to believe, no doubt, was that fire-breathing dragons kept the house nice and toasty and were a cheaper alternative to electricity or gas.
Yes, Liz. Very funny. Ha, ha.
Dragons. The spiky little whatsits were popping up everywhere. David often saw Lucy carrying them around. She would leave one on the mantelpiece, or take one off the mantelpiece, or move them bafflingly around the living room. In the last few days, when the weather forecasts had hinted at frost, a couple had even appeared in the picture window near the top ofthe stairs. To anyone outside the Pennykettle household it would have seemed … eccentric, to put it mildly. David had simply learned to live with it.
Still, whichever way the house was heated, the tenant was glad for the warmth the next day. It was Sunday and the heavens had opened. It rained so heavily that even Lucy was forced to admit that sensible squirrels would not venture out in such a downpour, much less investigate traps. She spent most of that day in the company of her mom, working on a drawing project for school. David, glad for the isolation, typed away at an essay for college. It was the quietest day he’d known since his arrival.
On Monday, however, everything changed. David woke to a blaze of sunlight streaming in through a chink in his curtains. He squinted at the clock. Quarter to eight. Pushing Bonnington onto the floor, he wandered, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen. Right away he caught sight of Lucy clambering into the back of the rock garden. He put an ear out for Liz but couldn’t hear her anywhere. He knocked quietlybut urgently on the kitchen window. Lucy turned so fast she lost her footing, causing a mini-avalanche of stones. She scowled at the tenant and formed the word, “What?” David beckoned her in.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking the trap.”
“I know
that.
Don’t you think your mom’ll be a tad suspicious if she sees you playing Queen of the Castle?”
“She’s in the shower,” said Lucy, looking David up and down. “Is that what you wear to bed?”
The tenant was dressed in fluffy blue socks, brown pajama bottoms, and a T-shirt with a picture of a large yellow duck. “What’s wrong with it?” he said.
The doorbell rang before Lucy could tell him. “I’ll go,” she said,
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