“Your Goldness!” he called softly. “Your Goldness, I’m back.”

Snorting, Nettlebrand rose from the river.

“Well, what did you find out?” he growled, shaking the mud off his scales.

“Everything!” replied Gravelbeard proudly. “The dragons have been hiding, Your Goldness! That’s why you couldn’t find them all these years! They hid away in a cave inside a mountain. You ought to have taken a mountain dwarf along when you went looking for them before. We can find any cave anywhere!”

“So where is this cave, then?” Nettlebrand asked impatiently.

“You have to cross that mountain,” replied Gravelbeard portentously. “The one with the monastery built on its side. Then you turn east, and then,” he said, grinning triumphantly, “then you come to the mountain range they call the Rim of Heaven. The entrance to the cave is in the valley beyond it.”

Nettlebrand reared up, hardly able to believe it, and water dripped from his huge body. “In that valley, you say?” he roared. “But I know the place. I’ve searched and searched there until my claws were worn right down. Huh!” He licked his lips and chortled. “The fools — they couldn’t have chosen a better place!”

“What do you mean, Your Goldness?” asked Gravelbeard curiously.

“You’ll soon see!” Nettlebrand snorted happily. “Has the silver dragon set off yet?”

Gravelbeard shrugged his shoulders and looked at Nettlebrand’s muddy scales, frowning. “Probably. He was planning to take off as soon as darkness fell. But you’ll soon find him. Just let me clean your scales first, Your Goldness. I can hardly see their beautiful golden glow.”

“Forget the golden glow!” Nettlebrand snapped. “Come here and get into my mouth.” He laid his terrible muzzle on the bank and opened his jaws wide.

“Oh, no!” Gravelbeard retreated defiantly. “You want to swallow me again.”

“Of course I do!” growled Nettlebrand. “I have to dive deep, a long, long way down, so get a move on, will you?”

“But I don’t like it in there!” whimpered Gravelbeard as he approached Nettlebrand’s mighty teeth, his knees shaking.

“Why not? I thought you mountain dwarves liked caves, and what’s my stomach but a large cave?” replied Nettlebrand nastily. “Come on, jump!”

“Don’t want to!” repeated Gravelbeard.

But then he held tight to his hat and jumped in, between those terrible teeth and onto that gigantic tongue. And Nettlebrand swallowed him.

44. The Rim of Heaven

Firedrake flew on. The nine white peaks forming the Rim of Heaven shimmered in the distance as if starlight clung to them. The rat flew her plane on the leeward side of the dragon, where she was out of the wind.

Firedrake felt strong, as if moonlight were flowing through his veins. And he felt light, as if he were made of the same elements as the night itself. At last he was approaching his journey’s end. His heart was beating fast in anticipation, driving him across the sky faster than he had ever flown before, so fast that soon the rat couldn’t keep up and landed her plane on his tail.

“Whee!” cried Burr-Burr-Chan. “Whoo! I’d forgotten how great it feels to ride a dragon!”

He clung to the straps with two of his paws and used the other two to rummage in his sack and bring out a mushroom. It was so wonderfully fragrant that Sorrel forgot all her anxiety about what lay ahead of them and leaned over Burr-Burr-Chan’s shoulder, sniffing. “By chanterelles and truffles!” she said, licking her lips. “What kind of a mushroom is that? It smells of leeks and —”

“It’s a shiitake,” replied Burr-Burr-Chan, smacking his own lips. “A genuine Japanese shiitake. Want to try one?” Putting a paw into his sack, he brought out another and dropped it over his shoulder into Sorrel’s lap.

“Quite useful, those four arms of yours,” she murmured, sniffing the strange mushroom before taking a cautious bite.

“Very useful,” agreed Burr-Burr-Chan. He looked ahead to where the Rim of Heaven was rising higher and higher into the night sky. “Well done, we’re almost there. My word, your dragon is a strong flyer.”

“He’s had plenty of practice these last few weeks,” said Sorrel, chewing noisily. She rolled her eyes appreciatively. “Do mushrooms like these really grow on rocks?”

“Good heavens, no!” Burr-Burr-Chan laughed so heartily that Firedrake turned in surprise to look at him.

“Your brownie girl here is a real comic,” gasped Burr-Burr-Chan. “Very amusing indeed!”

“So amusing she’s liable to bite off a couple of your twenty fingers!” snapped Sorrel.

Burr-Burr-Chan turned to look at her, grinning broadly. “No mushroom can grow on stone,” he said. “This species grows on wood. We cultivate it in our caves. Don’t you cultivate mushrooms yourself?”

“No,” growled Sorrel. “So what if I don’t?” she added crossly, thumping the other brownie’s back.

“Stop squabbling, Sorrel!” Firedrake called back to her. “I have to think.”

Looking offended, Sorrel bent her head and went on nibbling her mushroom. “Has to think, does he?” she muttered. “Too right. Like what’s he going to do if that monster comes after us? There won’t be much time to think then. Is he planning to fight him or what?” Uneasily she spat into the depths below.

“What do you mean fight?” Ben put his head over her shoulder.

“Oh, forget it,” growled Sorrel. “Only thinking out loud.” She stared gloomily at the mountains as they came closer and closer.

Ben pulled Twigleg’s little cap made from the glove thumb-piece down over the manikin’s ears and wrapped him a little more snugly in his lambskin. It was getting colder and colder the higher Firedrake climbed, and Ben was very grateful for the warm clothing the monks had given them. He wished he could feel glad they were so close to their journey’s end, but he kept thinking of Nettlebrand.

Suddenly Ben felt something touch his shoulder. Whipping around in alarm, he was just in time to catch Lola Graytail by her long tail. “Hey, what are you doing here, Lola?” he asked.

“Thinking of throwing me overboard, were you?” replied the rat, her teeth chattering. “It’s too cold in my plane. The heating only works when I’m flying. Any space for me in your backpack, by any chance?”

“Of course.” Ben tucked the shivering rat in among his things. “What about the plane, though?”

“It’s tied well into place on Firedrake’s tail,” replied Lola. With a sigh of relief, she snuggled down inside the backpack until only her ears and pointed nose were sticking out.

“Must I fly higher, Burr-Burr-Chan?” called Firedrake as the wind blew more strongly than ever around their heads.

“Yes,” Burr-Burr-Chan called back. “The pass we have to cross is a little farther up, and there’s no other way into the valley.”

Ben felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears as Firedrake rose yet higher. Night pressed its dark fists against his temples. Breathing was difficult, and Sorrel was curled up like a little cat. Only Burr-Burr-Chan sat upright and at ease. He was used to these high altitudes, for he had been born in the mountains known to humans as the Roof of the World.