Dragon Rider Page 3

  “A brownie!” repeated Sorrel impatiently. “Typical. You humans may be able to tell a cat from a dog, but that’s about all.”

  “You look like a giant squirrel,” said the boy, grinning.

  “Very funny!” spat Sorrel. “What are you doing here, anyway? A little titch like you isn’t usually out and about on his own.”

  The grin vanished from the boy’s face as if Sorrel had wiped it away. “A thingummy-whatsit like you isn’t usually out and about here, either,” he pointed out. “If you must know, I live here.”

  “Here?” Sorrel looked around, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes, here.” The boy glared at her. “For now, anyway. But if you like,” he added, looking at the dragon, “if you like you can stay here for the time being.”

  “Thank you,” said Firedrake. “That’s extremely kind of you. What’s your name?”

  The boy awkwardly pushed his hair back from his forehead. “My name’s Ben. What about you?”

  “This,” said the dragon, nuzzling Sorrel gently in the stomach, “is Sorrel. And I am Firedrake.”

  “Firedrake. That’s a good name.” Ben put out his hand tentatively to stroke the dragon’s neck, as if he feared Firedrake would disappear the moment he was touched.

  Casting the boy a suspicious glance, Sorrel went over to the hatch and looked out. “Time to go and look for that rat,” she said. “You — human — can you tell me where the dockland warehouses are?”

  Ben nodded. “Less than ten minutes’ walk from here. But how are you going to get there without being captured or stuffed and put on display in a museum?”

  “You can leave that to me,” growled Sorrel.

  Firedrake put his head between the two of them, looking anxious. “You mean it’s dangerous for her?” he asked the boy.

  Ben nodded. “Of course. Well, looking the way she does I bet she won’t get ten meters from here. The first little old lady to spot her will call the police.”

  “Police?” asked Firedrake, baffled. “What kind of thing is police?”

  “I know what the police are,” muttered Sorrel. “But I have to reach those warehouses, so it’s just too bad.” She sat down and was about to let herself drop into the dirty canal water when Ben grasped her by the arm.

  “I’ll take you there,” he said. “I’ll give you some of my clothes to wear, and then I can smuggle you past somehow. I’ve been living here a long time. I know all the back alleys.”

  “Would you really guide her?” asked Firedrake. “How can we ever thank you?”

  Ben turned red. “Oh, it’s nothing. Really,” he muttered.

  Sorrel was not looking so enthusiastic. “Human clothes,” she growled. “Yuck. Dismal death caps, I shall stink of human beings for weeks.”

  But she put the clothes on all the same.

  5. Gilbert the Ship’s Rat

  “Which warehouse is it?” asked Ben. “If you don’t know the number, we could have a long search ahead of us.”

  They were standing on a narrow bridge. Warehouses lined both sides of the canal: strange, narrow buildings of red stone, with tall windows and pointed gables. The harbor of the big city wasn’t far away, and a cold wind was blowing from that direction, almost tearing the hood away from Sorrel’s pointy ears. A great many humans were pushing past them, but no one stopped and stared at the small figure with Ben, clutching the railing of the bridge. The sleeves of Ben’s sweatshirt, which were much too long for her, hid Sorrel’s paws. His jeans, turned up twice at the bottom, hid her legs, and her catlike face was hidden in the shadow of the hood.

  “Rat said it’s the last warehouse before the river,” she whispered. “And her cousin lives in the cellar.”

  “Rat? You don’t mean a real rat, do you?” Ben looked at Sorrel doubtfully.

  “Of course she’s real. What do you think? Don’t just stand there looking stupid, not that you don’t do it well, but we’ve got more important things to do.” She impatiently pulled Ben along after her. The bridge led to a narrow road running beside the bank. As they hurried along the pavement, Sorrel kept looking anxiously around. The sound of traffic hurt her ears. She had been in small towns before, stealing fruit from gardens, exploring cellars, teasing dogs. But there were no gardens here, no bushes where you could crouch down and hide in a hurry. Everything in this city was made of stone.

  Sorrel was greatly relieved when Ben guided her into a narrow alleyway that led back to the canal between the last two warehouses. There were several doors in the red walls. Two were closed, but when Ben pushed the third, it opened with a slight creak.

  They hurried in. An unlit stairway lay before them. Daylight filtered in through a narrow, dusty window and revealed one flight of steps leading up and another down.

  Ben looked suspiciously down the dark steps. “There’ll be rats there, that’s for sure,” he whispered. “The question is, can we find the right one? How will we recognize it? Does it wear a collar and tie or something?”

  Sorrel did not answer. She pushed back her hood and scurried down the steps. Ben followed her. It was so dark at the foot of the steps that he took the flashlight out of his jacket pocket. A cellar with a high vaulted ceiling lay before them, and once again he saw any number of doors.

  “Huh!” Sorrel inspected the light and shook her head scornfully. “You humans need your little machines for everything, don’t you? Even to look at things.”

  “It’s not a machine.” Ben swept the beam of the flashlight over the doors. “What are we actually looking for? A mouse-hole?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Sorrel pricked up her ears and twitched her nose. Still snuffling, she moved slowly from door to door. “Ah, here we are.” She stopped in front of a brown door that was slightly ajar. Sorrel pushed it open just far enough for her to slip through the crack. Ben followed.

  “My goodness!” he murmured.

  The tall windowless room they entered was stuffed with junk up to the ceiling. Among shelves full of dusty folders stood stacks of old chairs, tables piled on top of one another, cupboards without doors, mountains of index-card files, and empty drawers.

  Sorrel raised her nose, sniffing, then shot purposefully away. Ben banged his shin following her. He had already lost track of the door they had come through. The farther they went the more chaotic the clutter became. Suddenly some shelving units barred their way.

  “That’s it, then, I suppose,” said Ben, letting the beam of his flashlight wander around the place. But Sorrel ducked, crawled through a gap between two shelves — and disappeared.

  “Hey, wait for me!” Ben cried and pushed his head through the gap.

  He was peering at a small study — a study just the right size for a rat, barely a meter away from him and underneath a chair. The desk was a book propped on two sardine cans. A coffee mug turned upside down did duty as a chair. There were index-card files full of tiny slips of paper, empty matchboxes stood everywhere, and the whole place was lit by an ordinary desk lamp standing on the floor beside the chair. But whomever it was who used this study was nowhere to be seen.

  “You stay here,” Sorrel whispered to Ben. “I don’t think Rat’s cousin will be particularly pleased to see a human being.”

  “Oh, come off it!” Ben crawled through the gap and straightened up. “If it doesn’t get a fright at the sight of you it won’t mind me, either. Anyway, it’s living in a human building. I don’t suppose I’ll be the first human it ever saw.”

  “He!” hissed Sorrel. “It’s a he, and don’t you forget it.”

  She looked around curiously. In addition to the little study area under the chair there was also a human-sized desk, a huge chest of drawers, and a large old globe of the world hanging at an angle on its stand.

  “Hello?” called Sorrel. “Anyone at home? Oh, drat it, what was his name again? Giselbert — no, Godfrey — no, Gilbert Graytail or some such.”

  Something rustled above the desk. Ben and Sorrel looked up and saw a fat white rat lookin
g down at them from his perch on top of a dusty lamp shade.

  “What do you want?” asked the rat in shrill tones.

  “Your cousin sent me, Gilbert,” said Sorrel.

  “Which one?” asked the white rat warily. “I’ve got hundreds of cousins.”

  “Which one?” Sorrel scratched her head. “Well, we always just call her Rat. Wait a moment … I remember! Her name’s Rosa. That’s it!”

  “You’ve come from Rosa?” Gilbert Graytail let down a tiny rope ladder from the lamp shade and quickly clambered down it. He landed on the big desk with a thump. “Oh, well, that’s different.” He stroked his whiskers, which were white as snow, like his coat. “What can I do for you?”

  “There’s this place I’m looking for,” Sorrel told him. “Well, it’s a mountain range really.”

  “Ah!” The white rat nodded, looking pleased with himself. “You’ve come to exactly the right person. I know all the mountain ranges on this planet, large, small, and medium. I know everything about them. After all, my informants come from all over the world.”

  “Your informants?” asked Ben.

  “Yes, ship rats, seagulls, the sort of folk who get around a lot. And I have a large extended family.” Graytail went over to a big black box standing on the desk, raised the lid, and pushed a knob on its side.

  “That’s a real computer!” said Ben, surprised.

  “Of course it is.” Graytail hit a couple of keys and looked at the screen, frowning. “A laptop, all the bells and whistles. I sent off for it to help me get my files into some kind of order. But the fact is” — he sighed, and tried some more keys — “the fact is it’s always giving me grief. Right, what mountain range was it you wanted?”

  “Er, well,” said Sorrel, scratching her stomach. She was itching horribly under the human’s clothes. “It’s supposed to be the highest one there is. The highest mountain range in the whole world. With a chain of mountains somewhere in the middle of it called the Rim of Heaven. Ever heard of it?”

  “Oh, that one, is it? The Rim of Heaven. Well, well.” Graytail looked curiously at the brownie. “The valley above the clouds, home of the dragons. Not so easy.” He turned around and hammered away busily at the keyboard. “The place isn’t really thought to exist at all, you know,” he said. “But one hears odd things now and then. What’s your interest in it? A brownie girl and a human boy! They say even the dragons have long since forgotten where the Rim of Heaven lies.”

  Ben opened his mouth, but Sorrel gave him no time to speak. “This human has nothing to do with it,” she said. “I’m on my way to find the Rim of Heaven with a dragon.”

  “A dragon?” Gilbert Graytail looked at Sorrel in surprise. “Where’ve you hidden this dragon, then?”

  “In an old factory,” Ben answered quickly before Sorrel could open her mouth. “Not far away. He’ll be safe there. No one’s been in it for years.”

  “Aha!” Gilbert nodded his white head sagely.

  “Well, what about it?” asked Sorrel impatiently. “Do you know where the Rim of Heaven is? Can you tell us how to get there in reasonable safety?”

  “One thing at a time,” replied the rat, twirling his whiskers. “Nobody knows where the Rim of Heaven lies. There are a few vague rumors about it, that’s all. But the highest mountain range in the world is the Himalayas, no doubt of that. All the same, it won’t be easy to find a safe route for a dragon to take. Dragons,” he pointed out, chuckling, “aren’t exactly inconspicuous, know what I mean? And their horns and claws are in great demand. Quite apart from the fact that anyone setting up as a dragon slayer could be a big star on TV for weeks. I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind taking a look at your friend myself, but,” he said, shaking his head as he turned back to the computer, “but I never go farther than down to the harbor. Far too risky for me with all those cats prowling about. And there are other dangers, too,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the half of it! Dogs, great big clumsy human feet, rat poison. No, thank you very much!”

  “But I thought you’d been all over the world,” said Sorrel in surprise. “Rosa said you were a ship’s rat.”

  Gilbert tugged at his whiskers, looking embarrassed. “Well, yes, so I am. Learned the trade from my granddad. But I get seasick as soon as a boat casts off, even a little rowing boat. On my first voyage I jumped overboard while we were still in harbor. Swam back to the bank and never set paw on one of those swaying sardine cans again. Ah.” He leaned so far forward that his sharp nose touched the screen. “Here we are. The Himalayas. Also known as the Land of the Eternal Snows, Roof of the World, and all that. You’ve a long journey ahead of you, friends. Follow me.” Paw over paw, Gilbert Graytail made his way along a cord stretched right across the room from the desk to the big globe. He sat on top of the heavy wooden stand and kicked the globe with his hind paws. Squealing, it moved slightly, and Gilbert brought it to rest with his paw again.

  “Well now,” he murmured. “What have we here, then?”

  Ben and Sorrel looked inquiringly at him.

  “See that little white flag?” asked the white rat. “It more or less marks the spot where we are now, but the Himalayas,” said Gilbert, swinging himself over the stand and tapping the other side of the globe, “the Himalayas are here. And the Rim of Heaven, so the old stories say, is somewhere in their western parts. Unfortunately, as I was telling you, no one knows any details, and the area we’re talking about is unimaginably large and extremely inaccessible. It gets bitterly cold by night, and by day,” he added, grinning at Sorrel, “by day you’d probably be perspiring heavily in that fur coat of yours.”

  “It’s a terribly long way off,” murmured Ben.

  “Indeed it is!” Gilbert Graytail leaned forward and traced an invisible line on the globe. “By my reckoning your journey ought to go something like this: a fair stretch south first, then turn east.” He scratched his ear. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. I think the southern route is best. The humans are at war with one another again in the north. And I’ve heard some very nasty stories about a giant.” Gilbert leaned so close to the globe that his nose was pressed against it. “See that place? The giant is said to be at large there, in the Tien Shan mountains. No, no, take my word for it,” continued Gilbert Graytail, shaking his head, “you’d better take the southern route. You may get your fur baked in the sun now and then, but look on the bright side: There probably won’t be much rain at this time of year. And rain,” he said, chuckling, “I’ve heard that rain makes dragons melancholy. Is that right?”

  “Usually,” replied Sorrel. “But where we come from they’ve had to get used to it.”

  “Correct, I’d forgotten. You’re from the wettest part of Europe, aren’t you? But let’s get on with it.” Gilbert gave the globe another little push. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Up to here” — he tapped the map with his paw — “I can offer you first-class information. By the time you reach this spot you ought to have most of the journey behind you. But the region beyond—” Gilbert sighed and shook his head. “Zilch, zero, nix, nought, nothing, total radio silence. Even a tourist party of Buddhist temple mice I met down by the harbor last year couldn’t tell me anything useful about it. And I’m afraid that’s exactly where the place you’re looking for lies — if it really exists. I’m planning to ask a relation of mine to survey the area some time soon, but until then,” he said, shrugging his shoulders regretfully, “until then you’ll just have to ask your way — if you get that far. I’ve no idea who or what lives around there, but I’ll bet,” he said, stroking his white whiskers, “I’ll bet there are rats. We rats go everywhere.”

  “That’s a great comfort, I’m sure,” muttered Sorrel, looking gloomily at the globe. “Looks like there’s a long-haul flight ahead of us.”

  “Oh, it’s even farther to New Zealand,” said Gilbert, swinging paw over paw back along the cord to the desk. “But I’ll admit it is a long way, even for a dragon. Long and dangerous. May I ask what put the idea of such
a journey into your minds? I know from Rosa that the dragons have quite a comfortable life up there in the north.”

  Sorrel looked at Ben and cast the rat a warning glance.

  “Oh, I see.” Gilbert Graytail raised his paws. “You’d rather not say in front of this human. Of course. We rats have had some bad experiences with humans, too.” Gilbert winked at Ben, who was standing there feeling embarrassed and not sure where to look. “Nothing against you personally, understand?” Graytail went back to his computer and began typing again. “Right, here goes. Destination: Himalayas. Travel party: one dragon, one brownie. Travel options: calculate safest route, danger spots, places to avoid at all costs, best traveling time. Enter.”

  The rat stepped back, looking pleased with himself. The computer hummed like a captive bumblebee, the screen flickered — and went black.

  “Oh, no!” Gilbert Graytail jumped on the keyboard, hammering at it frantically, but the screen did not respond.

  Ben and Sorrel exchanged anxious glances. Gilbert leaped up, swearing, and slammed the lid of the laptop down over the keyboard.

  “Like I told you,” he said crossly. “Nothing but trouble. Just because a little salt water got into it. I mean, do you stop working if you happen to drink a sip of salt water?” Furiously he jumped off the desk and onto the chair that sheltered his little study, slid down one of the chair legs, and began rummaging around in the matchbox index-card files.

  Ben and Sorrel lay down on the floor and watched. “You mean you can’t help us after all?” asked Sorrel.

  “Yes, yes, I can.” Graytail was fishing tiny fingernail-sized cards out of the files and flinging them down on the desk. “If that stupid thing won’t work I’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way. Can one of you great big giants open the third drawer down in the chest of drawers there?”

  Ben nodded. When he opened the drawer a large quantity of maps fell out: maps large and small, maps old and new. It took Gilbert Graytail some time to find the one he was after. It looked odd, quite different from the maps Ben knew, more like a small book folded up over and over again, with narrow white ribbons dangling from the pages.