“Come on, Sorrel,” said Ben. “Let’s give them a bit more space up here. We can sit on Firedrake’s back anytime, but it’s a new experience for these children.”

Sorrel shook her head vigorously.

“What, get down there? No way!” She clung tightly to Firedrake’s spines. “No, I’m staying up here. You get down and let your own kind trample you underfoot.”

“Oh, very well, stay put then, you furry grumbleguts.” Ben put Twigleg in his backpack and clambered past the children to climb down from Firedrake’s back.

A little girl had hung a garland of flowers over the dragon’s horns, and he was licking the tip of her nose. More and more children climbed up on Firedrake’s back, clutched his spines, tugged at the dragon riders’ leather straps, and stroked the dragon’s warm silver scales. Sorrel sat in the middle of this throng with her arms folded, keeping a tight grip on her backpack.

“Sorrel’s in a mood,” Ben whispered in the dragon’s ear.

Firedrake glanced over his shoulder and nodded in amusement.

The grown-ups were crowding around the dragon, too, touching him and trying to catch his eye. Firedrake turned to Zubeida, who was watching the children on his back and smiling.

“Tell me,” he said, “how can I fly at the dark time of the moon?”

“We need a quieter place to discuss that,” replied the dracologist. “Let me show you where I found the answer to the secret.”

She raised her hands, bangles jingling, the rings on her fingers flashing in the sunlight. Immediately all was still. The excited voices died away. The children slid off Firedrake’s back, and there was no sound to be heard but the roaring of the sea. Zubeida addressed the villagers.

“I am taking the dragon to the tomb of the dragon rider now,” Twigleg translated. “I have important matters to discuss with him, matters that must not come to the wrong ears.”

The people of the village looked up at the sky. Zubeida had told them about the ravens, but apart from a flock of white seabirds making for the river the sky was empty. An old man stepped forward and said something.

“They’re going to prepare the feast now,” Twigleg translated. “A feast to celebrate the return of the dragons and the dragon rider.”

“A feast?” asked Ben. “For us?”

Zubeida turned to him, smiling. “Of course. They won’t want you to leave before they give a party for you. These people believe that a dragon brings a year of good luck — good luck and rain, which is the best luck of all in these parts.”

Ben looked up at the blue sky. “It doesn’t look much like rain,” he said.

“Who knows? Dragon’s luck can come as suddenly as the wind,” replied Zubeida. “But follow me.” She turned, beckoning Firedrake with her ringed fingers.

The dragon was about to set off after her when Guinevere shyly tapped his foreleg. “Please,” she said, “do you think I’d be too heavy for you? I mean, I was just wondering, could you possibly …?”

Firedrake bent his neck. “Climb on,” he said. “I could carry ten people your size and hardly notice!”

“What about people my size?” inquired Zubeida, putting her hands on her hips. “Too much even for a dragon, I fear?”

Smiling, Firedrake lowered his neck once more. Zubeida gathered in the full skirt of her sari and nimbly scrambled up on the dragon’s back, holding on to his spines.

Sorrel gave the girl and the woman a dark look. But when Guinevere held out her hand, saying, “Hi! I can’t say how pleased I am to meet you!” even the brownie’s furry face softened in a smile.

And while Firedrake carried the three of them to the hill beyond the huts where the tomb of the dragon rider stood, Ben followed on foot with Barnabas Greenbloom and Twigleg.

“As you see,” said the professor as Firedrake’s tail dragged through the sand in front of them, “Guinevere loves riding anything — elephants and camels, too. Personally I’m happy if I can stay on a donkey’s back for five minutes. Oh, by the way,” he added, putting his arm around Ben’s shoulders, “my wife is waiting for us at the tomb, where I hope you’ll tell us what’s happened to you all since we last met. Vita is particularly looking forward to meeting you and Sorrel, and she will be delighted to see Twigleg, too. She knows some other brownies, but she’s been wanting to meet a homunculus for ages.”

“Hear that, Twigleg?” Ben asked, turning his head to the manikin on his shoulder.

But the homunculus was lost in thought. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the happy faces of the villagers as Firedrake approached their huts. Twice in the past he and his master had entered a village of humans, but Nettlebrand certainly hadn’t made any of them feel happy. Fear was all his master ever brought, and he relished doing it.

“Is something wrong, Twigleg?” asked Ben.

“No, no, nothing, young master,” replied the homunculus, mopping his forehead.

The professor put his arm around Ben’s shoulders again. “I’m so eager to hear your news I can hardly wait! But tell me one thing first.” He glanced up at the sky; there was still no sign of any ravens. Even so, he lowered his voice. “Did the djinn know the answer? Did you manage to ask the right question?”

Ben grinned. “Yes, but his answer was rather mysterious, like a riddle.”

“Like a riddle, eh? Typical of a djinn, but —”The professor shook his head. “No, no, tell me what he said later, when Vita’s with us. She ought to hear it, too. If it weren’t for her I’d never have ventured to board the wretched plane that brought us here. And besides, ever since this business about a spy came up I’ve been feeling very cautious.”

Twigleg couldn’t help flinching when he heard the word spy.

“My dear Twigleg,” said the professor, “you really don’t look at all well. Perhaps flying doesn’t agree with you, either?”

“I don’t think he looks too good,” agreed Ben, examining Twigleg with concern.

“N-no, really,” stammered the manikin. “Honestly I’m fine. I just don’t like this heat. I’m not used to it.” He mopped the sweat from his brow. “I was meant to live in the cold. In the cold and the dark.”

Ben looked at him in surprise. “Why, I thought you came from Egypt! At least, that’s where we first met you.”

Twigleg glanced at him, alarmed. “Egypt? I … er … yes, right, but …”

Barnabas Greenbloom spared the homunculus the problem of finding a plausible answer. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, pointing ahead, “but we’ve nearly reached the tomb. It’s up there. And there’s Vita!” He waved — and then suddenly let his hand drop, horrified. “Oh, good heavens! Do you see that, my boy?”

“Yes,” replied Ben, frowning. “Two fat ravens waiting for us.”

28. The Tomb of the Dragon Rider

The tomb of the dragon rider stood on the top of a low hill. It had gray columns and looked like a small temple. A flight of steps led up to it from each of the four points of the compass. Firedrake’s three riders got down at the foot of the northern flight, and Zubeida led the dragon up the steps, which were worn smooth. As Guinevere helped Sorrel up the steep stairs she waved to her mother, who was standing at the top between the columns, waiting for them expectantly. Three cats were rubbing themselves around her legs, but they ran away when they saw the dragon.