“Sorrel has a special method,” said Ben, rising from his cushion. “They don’t come back after she’s dealt with them. Right, I’ll get the other two.”

“It’s a dangerous method,” muttered Twigleg.

The rest of them looked at him in surprise, and the homunculus hunched down his head between his shoulders, scared.

“My dear Twigleg,” said the professor, “do you have any inside knowledge of those ravens?”

“No, why would I?” Twigleg made himself as small as possible. “No, no! I just think it’s better not to provoke them. Ravens can be very nasty birds,” he added, clearing his throat. “Especially ravens with red eyes.”

“Yes,” the professor nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard that myself. As for your suspecting that they’re spies,” he said, leading Ben to the door with him. “Nettlebrand knew you had been to see the djinn. I had the clear impression that someone close to you has been telling him about everything you do. I was racking my brains to think who it might be, and then —”

“The ravens?” Ben interrupted, horrified. “You think the ravens told him what we were doing? But I didn’t see any ravens in the djinn’s ravine.”

Twigleg turned first red, and then white as a sheet. He began trembling all over.

“What’s the matter, Twigleg?” asked Ben, looking at him in concern.

“Um … er …” Twigleg steadied his shaking hands on his knees, not daring to meet Ben’s eyes. “I did see one,” he stammered. “A s-sp — a raven, yes. Yes, definitely. A raven roosting up in the palm trees when the rest of you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.” Thank goodness no one could hear his heart thumping.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” murmured Barnabas Greenbloom. “But if Sorrel knows a way of shooing them off, perhaps we needn’t worry too much, even if our friend the homunculus here doesn’t think much of brownie methods. Brownies and homunculi tend not to get along too well, isn’t that right, Twigleg?”

Twigleg managed a feeble smile. What could he say? That enchanted ravens are vengeful birds? That Sorrel might already have thrown one stone too many? That his master had an endless supply of ravens?

Ben shrugged his shoulders and pulled back the door curtain. “I’ll go fetch Firedrake,” he said. “If the ravens are here, they’re going to notice him sometime, anyway.”

Zubeida Ghalib rose from her cushions. “We’ll get the village cats to go up on the rooftops,” she said, “and under all the trees. Perhaps they’ll keep the ravens away so that they can’t hear what we’re discussing.”

“Good idea.” Ben made her a shy little bow, glanced again at Guinevere, and hurried off. The villagers, still waiting outside the hut, looked at him expectantly.

“Tell them we’ll be back soon,” Ben whispered to Twigleg. “And tell them we’ll be bringing a dragon with us.”

“If you say so,” said the manikin, who then translated it into Urdu.

A murmur of astonishment rose in the air, the villagers drew back, and Ben and Twigleg set off.

27. The Dragon

The sky was radiant in the mild morning light as Firedrake approached the village with Ben and Sorrel, and the sun was not yet too hot for comfort. Flocks of white seabirds circled above the dragon, announcing his arrival with excited cries.

The villagers were waiting for him, standing outside their huts with children in their arms. The beach had been sprinkled with flower petals. Paper kites flew above the roofs of the huts, and even the smallest children were wearing their best clothes. Ben felt like a king sitting high above them on the dragon’s back. He looked for the ravens, but there wasn’t a bird in sight. However, the village cats — white, ginger, tabby, black-and-white, and tortoiseshell — were all over the place: on rooftops, outside huts, in the branches of trees. Firedrake walked over the flower petals and past the cats and the people until he saw Barnabas Greenbloom. When he stopped in front of the professor, the onlookers respectfully retreated a few steps. Only Zubeida and Guinevere stayed put.

“My dear Firedrake,” said Barnabas, bowing low. “The sight of you makes me almost as joyful today as it did when we first met. You will meet my wife later, but let me introduce my daughter, Guinevere. And this lady is Dr. Zubeida Ghalib, the most famous dracologist in the world, who will help you to fly at the dark time of the moon.”

Firedrake turned his head to her. “Can you really do that?” he asked.

“I think so, Asdaha.” Zubeida bowed, smiling. “Asdaha would be the word for you in our language. Khuea hasiz — God be with you. Do you know, I imagined your eyes exactly as they are?” Tentatively she raised her hand to touch Firedrake’s scales.

At that the children lost the last of their fear. They clambered down from their parents’ arms, surrounded the dragon, and patted him. Firedrake patiently put up with it and nuzzled them gently one by one. The giggling children hid between his legs, and the bravest made their way up the spines of his tail to sit on his back. Unsettled by all this, Sorrel had been watching the crowd of humans uneasily. Her ears were twitching, and even nibbling a mushroom couldn’t calm her down. She was used to avoiding human beings and hiding whenever she smelled or heard them. Ben had changed that, but so many humans all at once made her brownie heart beat alarmingly fast.

When the first small boy appeared behind her, she was so startled that she dropped her mushroom.

“Hey, you, small human!” she snapped at the boy. “Get down!”

Frightened, the boy ducked into shelter behind Firedrake’s spines.

“Leave him alone, Sorrel,” said Ben soothingly. “You can see Firedrake doesn’t mind, can’t you?”

Sorrel just growled, clutching her backpack tight.

But the boy wasn’t interested in the backpack. He was staring at the furry brownie girl, asking a question in a soft voice. Two more children appeared behind him.

“What’s he after?” growled Sorrel. “I don’t understand much of this human language of theirs.”

“He wants to know,” interpreted Twigleg, who was sitting between Ben’s legs, “if you’re a small demon.”

“A what?”

Ben grinned. “A kind of evil spirit.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.” Sorrel made a ferocious face at the children. “No, I’m not! I’m a brownie. A forest brownie.”

“Dubidai?” asked a girl, pointing at Sorrel’s furry coat.

“Now what are they talking about?” asked the brownie girl, wrinkling her nose.

“It seems to be the word for brownie or woodland spirit in these parts,” said Twigleg. “But they wonder why you’ve only got two arms.”

“Only two?” Sorrel shook her head. “So people around here have more than two, do they?”

One brave little boy reached out his hand, hesitated for a moment, and then patted Sorrel’s paw. She flinched at first but decided to put up with it. The boy said something quietly.

“Hmm,” said Sorrel. “I understood that bit! The little human with skin like a bay boletus mushroom says I look like a cat goddess. How about that, then?” Feeling flattered, she preened and stroked her spotted coat.