Free The Fire Within (The Last Dragon Chro) by Chris D'Lacey Page A
Authors: Chris D'Lacey
“Think I’ll go and lie low — I mean down — for a while. See you both later. Bye, Bonners.”
With a hesitant wave, he retreated to his room and sank back against the door, sighing with relief. Aw, that had been close. Too close, really. If cats could talk instead of hiss …
Best not to think about it. Work. That was the thing to do now. Forget about rat traps. Catch up on the “canceled” lecture he’d missed. Grabbing a college book from his bag, he flopped onto the bed and got back to his studies.
A Hole at the Pole: The
Disappearing Ozone Layer.
For fifteen minutes his eyes scanned glorious, glacial pictures and skimmed over paragraphs of icy text. Distantly, he heard the thump of a hammer and the splintering sound of breaking wood. In the midst of this, the telephone rang. Shortly afterward, he heard muttered voices in the hall. The front door opened and closed. Seconds later, the
back
door opened and closed. David tossed the book aside. It was hopeless; he couldn’t face college work now. The words were just merging into a meaningless mush. He put his head back and let his mind wander.
It settled on Lucy’s birthday.
During the Sunday of heavy rain, he had secretly asked Liz what he might buy Lucy.
Don’t be silly,
she’d laughed.
You don’t have to bother.
“No, I want to,” he’d replied, knowing he’d feel awful if he didn’t do something.
The trouble was, what?
He took his wallet from his jeans and opened itwide. A cavernous gap yawned back. His mind leapt forward in time.
Happy Birthday, Lucy. Here’s a postage stamp. It’s all I could afford. Send someone a letter!
He snapped the wallet shut and lobbed it at his desk. It hit the mouse, making the computer screen clear. A few paragraphs of double-spaced text appeared: the beginning of an essay he’d been typing earlier.
Might as well continue with that, he thought — when suddenly an idea popped into his head. An idea that would really make Lucy’s day.
What if he
did
try writing her a story?
It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? A little tale about squirrels? A short animal adventure? He already had the characters and setting: Conker, Cherrylea, and the bullying Birchwood chasing around the library gardens? He could type it, print it, bind it at college — make it look like a real book. A special present from David and Gadzooks. It was worth a try.
It was also cheap.
“What do you think?” he said, swinging up into a sitting position and taking Gadzooks off the windowsill. He ran a finger over the dragon’s snout. “We need an angle. A plot, I s’pose.”
He closed his eyes briefly to think.
And, in that blink, it happened again. David saw Gadzooks take his pencil from his mouth and scribble down another word on his pad:
Nutbeast
“Nutbeast?” David muttered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
There was a gentle
hrring
noise from above.
Suddenly, David’s door burst open and Lucy skidded in, panting for breath. Her face was as white as a piece of fish.
“What’s the matter?” David asked, putting Gadzooks down gently on his desk.
“You’ve got to come,” Lucy gulped. “He’s here. We’ve got him.”
It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. “The trap? You mean it worked?”
Lucy danced on her toes. “He’s in the box and he’s eating the nuts.”
David jumped up and peered through the window. “You looked? It’s definitely Conker?”
Lucy bit her lip. “Not exactly.”
David threw her a critical stare.
“It’s got two eyes and a great big smile.”
“What?”
said the tenant, color draining from his face.
“It’s Snigger,” said Lucy. “We caught Snigger in the box.”
T HE W RONG S QUIRREL
D on’t be ridiculous,” David said, poking his head around the door of his room and glancing furtively into the kitchen.
“It’s true,” said Lucy. “Can we tell Mom?”
“Absolutely not. Where is she, anyway?”
“Went to see a man about a
With a hesitant wave, he retreated to his room and sank back against the door, sighing with relief. Aw, that had been close. Too close, really. If cats could talk instead of hiss …
Best not to think about it. Work. That was the thing to do now. Forget about rat traps. Catch up on the “canceled” lecture he’d missed. Grabbing a college book from his bag, he flopped onto the bed and got back to his studies.
A Hole at the Pole: The
Disappearing Ozone Layer.
For fifteen minutes his eyes scanned glorious, glacial pictures and skimmed over paragraphs of icy text. Distantly, he heard the thump of a hammer and the splintering sound of breaking wood. In the midst of this, the telephone rang. Shortly afterward, he heard muttered voices in the hall. The front door opened and closed. Seconds later, the
back
door opened and closed. David tossed the book aside. It was hopeless; he couldn’t face college work now. The words were just merging into a meaningless mush. He put his head back and let his mind wander.
It settled on Lucy’s birthday.
During the Sunday of heavy rain, he had secretly asked Liz what he might buy Lucy.
Don’t be silly,
she’d laughed.
You don’t have to bother.
“No, I want to,” he’d replied, knowing he’d feel awful if he didn’t do something.
The trouble was, what?
He took his wallet from his jeans and opened itwide. A cavernous gap yawned back. His mind leapt forward in time.
Happy Birthday, Lucy. Here’s a postage stamp. It’s all I could afford. Send someone a letter!
He snapped the wallet shut and lobbed it at his desk. It hit the mouse, making the computer screen clear. A few paragraphs of double-spaced text appeared: the beginning of an essay he’d been typing earlier.
Might as well continue with that, he thought — when suddenly an idea popped into his head. An idea that would really make Lucy’s day.
What if he
did
try writing her a story?
It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? A little tale about squirrels? A short animal adventure? He already had the characters and setting: Conker, Cherrylea, and the bullying Birchwood chasing around the library gardens? He could type it, print it, bind it at college — make it look like a real book. A special present from David and Gadzooks. It was worth a try.
It was also cheap.
“What do you think?” he said, swinging up into a sitting position and taking Gadzooks off the windowsill. He ran a finger over the dragon’s snout. “We need an angle. A plot, I s’pose.”
He closed his eyes briefly to think.
And, in that blink, it happened again. David saw Gadzooks take his pencil from his mouth and scribble down another word on his pad:
Nutbeast
“Nutbeast?” David muttered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
There was a gentle
hrring
noise from above.
Suddenly, David’s door burst open and Lucy skidded in, panting for breath. Her face was as white as a piece of fish.
“What’s the matter?” David asked, putting Gadzooks down gently on his desk.
“You’ve got to come,” Lucy gulped. “He’s here. We’ve got him.”
It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. “The trap? You mean it worked?”
Lucy danced on her toes. “He’s in the box and he’s eating the nuts.”
David jumped up and peered through the window. “You looked? It’s definitely Conker?”
Lucy bit her lip. “Not exactly.”
David threw her a critical stare.
“It’s got two eyes and a great big smile.”
“What?”
said the tenant, color draining from his face.
“It’s Snigger,” said Lucy. “We caught Snigger in the box.”
T HE W RONG S QUIRREL
D on’t be ridiculous,” David said, poking his head around the door of his room and glancing furtively into the kitchen.
“It’s true,” said Lucy. “Can we tell Mom?”
“Absolutely not. Where is she, anyway?”
“Went to see a man about a