Free The Return of the Dragon by Rebecca Rupp Page A

time, I hope so,” said Hannah.
    “I don’t know,” said Zachary worriedly. “Mr. King never gives up on anything. At least, that’s what the newspapers say. That’s why he’s so successful.”
    The dragon yawned again and the blue eyes began to droop. “I will, of course, consider this problem,” the dragon murmured. “A bit later. After my nap.” Its eyes closed farther.
    “Do come again soon,” it said. “My sister is anxious to see you.”
    “Good night, Fafnyr,” Sarah Emily said. The only answer was a snore. The cave had gone dark.
    Zachary switched on the flashlight, and the children picked their way carefully back to the cave entrance. As they emerged, blinking, from the cave into the spring sunlight, they looked down into the blue ocean, where, far below them, the white yacht still floated, rocking gently up and down on the waves.
    “He seemed like such a nice man,” Hannah said regretfully.
    “He’s a technological genius,” Zachary said. “Everybody says so.”
    “Genius shmenius,” said Hannah.
    “I knew there was something funny about those puffins,” Zachary said.
    Sarah Emily said, “I wish we’d hear from Aunt Mehitabel.”

A letter in burnt-orange ink, filled with exclamation points and underlinings, arrived from Aunt Mehitabel:
    Dear Children,
    I have received a letter from Mr. J.P. King, announcing that he has been lurkin g off the north shore of the island in his yacht and would now like permission to land and ex p lore Drake’s Hill ! I have written back, explaining that under no circumstances do I ever allow uninvited visitors on the island! I trust he will not risk trespassing again! He sounds a most determined person, much too accustomed to getting his own way.
    The Anna of the photograph that you found in the Tower Room — I had thought it was lo n g g one — is Anna König, a woman who g ross l y deceived me and who, due to my foolishness, could have been a terrible threat to F! I met Anna long ago on a tour of archaeological sites in China. We both had a deep interest in dragon artifacts — mine, of course, because of you-know-who — and we soon became bosom friends. I even invited her to join me on Lonely Island, along with her son, Johann Pieter, a bright young boy of ten. The photograph that you describe is of the three of us, taken at the beginning of that f atal visit.
    In my excitement at meeting a kindred spirit, I fear I dropped some unfortunate hints about the special denizen of the island that led Anna to become curious. Soon I discovered that she was prowling about the house late at night, searching for clues! (It was then, most providentially, that I first locked the door to the Tower Room.) Then she and her son took to exploring the island! I tried to protest but did not want to call too much attention to my distress — I felt that would only confirm her growing suspicions.
    She spoke of capturing you-know-who and of immense riches and fame. I argued that magical creatures were only found in fairy tales and implied that I myself, though desperately wanting to believe, had been proven wrong time and time again and had become convinced that F and his kind are simply imaginary. Gradually, I believe, she came to agree with me. Her visit was at last drawing to a close, and I allowed myself a sigh of relief.
    Then one morning Johann Pieter, who had risen at sunrise for a final walk along the beach, came racin g into the house incoherent with excitement. He had discovered tracks on the beach, he said, immense clawed f oot p rints that could only belong to a y ou-know-what — one who perhaps lived in a cave beneath the sea. His mother and I went with him to examine the miraculous tracks, but when we arrived, the water had washed them away. If, indeed, they were ever there — Johann Pieter was a most imaginative little boy and very eager to please his mother.
    Anna, by then, however, had come to see her quest as a waste of time, but when she and Johann Pieter