CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

THE FIRE IN THEIR BELLIES

Clay loved the Occulta Draco and the whole idea of becoming a Dragon Tamer too much to think ill of that ancient memoir-slash-instruction manual, but I have no such scruples: It was, and is, a singularly unhelpful document.

Clay well remembered the page in Secrets of the Occulta Draco where allying was discussed. According to the author, most Dragon Tamers formed an alliance by bestowing a gift, performing a favor, or singing a song. Well, he had no gift to give and no idea what favor to bestow; and as for a song, he could hardly carry a tune.

He would just have to improvise.

During the helicopter tour, he’d seen all three of the grown dragons hanging out at the big lake near the center of the crater. If he didn’t run into any of them sooner, he decided, he would make his way there. He only hoped he’d find a dragon before a dragon found him.

Taking a deep breath, he walked between two poles and crossed the border of the dome.

Clay might not have had a good singing voice, but unlike his older brother, he had a decent sense of direction (perhaps because he had been left to navigate for himself so often as a young kid). Watching for telltale footprints, listening for telltale footsteps, and even smelling for telltale, well, dragon patties, Clay pushed his way deeper and deeper into the jungle, terrified all the while that he would be caught unawares.

Soon enough, he could see cracks of light between the trees, and he could hear what sounded like a distant waterfall. A moment later the jungle suddenly ended, and Clay was squinting against the bright late-afternoon sun. He’d found the lake, but as far as he could see, he hadn’t yet found a dragon.

He started walking around the water’s edge, looking for any talon or tail that might happen to be peeking out from behind a boulder, listening for a roaring yawn or a stomach rumble that might be coming from a hidden cave. The lake was perfectly clear, and Clay could see the sandy bottom—probably the only part of the crater that looked the way it had before the Midnight Sun arrived.

Then Clay heard a loud metallic scratching that made the hair on his neck stand up. It was coming from a little ways down the lake, just inside the tree line.

Clay proceeded with caution, peering around the trunk of a giant banana tree. There was Snowflake standing up on two powerful hind legs. The smallest of the three grown dragons, Snowflake nonetheless looked huge in this posture. The dragon was backed up against a tall boulder, scraping its back and neck against the rock’s surface. From the expression on Snowflake’s face, the dragon was having a difficult time scratching whatever spot was itchy.

As Clay watched, unsure what to do, the frustrated dragon let out a roar of aggravation and slumped onto its big scaly rear end.

Was there a way Clay could help?

He stepped out from behind the tree and approached slowly.

“Hey there, buddy,” Clay said, putting on a big smile. “Whatcha doin’? Can’t get to that itch, huh?” He took one step forward, then two. “I hate that feeling.”

Snowflake turned toward Clay and gave him a sullen, withering look.

Silently, Clay cursed himself, remembering how Ariella had reacted every time Clay suggested there was any similarity between a human and a dragon. On the upside, at least Snowflake appeared to understand him.

“Oh, sorry!” Clay said. “You’re totally right. I have no idea what you feel. I’m just a lowly creature who can’t fly or do anything cool.”

He paused for a moment, then took another step. “I wouldn’t bring it up except—if you wanted—I could help you out and give you a scratch. I mean, if you had an itch. Sometimes you need a second pair of hands… or, er, claws or whatever.”

Snowflake continued to stare dubiously at him but seemed to be considering Clay’s offer. With a resigned snort, the dragon slumped down on its belly, wings folded at its sides and front legs folded underneath like a cat’s.

Clay glanced around quickly and spied a palm frond lying on the ground. The leaves had fallen off, leaving a long serrated edge.

“Hey, now, this looks like a good back scratcher, doesn’t it?”

Holding up the palm frond so Snowflake could see it, Clay approached slowly. The dragon followed his movements with a dark, unblinking eye. Cautiously, Clay leaned against the dragon’s side, feeling its great belly rise and fall as it breathed. He reached up as far as he could with the palm frond and started scratching the sharp ridges of Snowflake’s back.

“Here? No—a little farther up… Here? Okay, to the left…”

Clay scratched and scratched, following Snowflake’s directions, until he was scratching along the dragon’s neck. Clay was momentarily confused by a strange buzzing sound, then realized it was coming from the gleaming steel ring around Snowflake’s neck.

“Er—uh—” Clay stalled, nervous about getting too close to the mysterious piece of technology. But the dragon twisted its neck, urging Clay forward, until Clay got the message and slid the end of the palm frond under the collar and started scratching as best he could.

The dragon shut its eyes and made a rumbling sound almost like a purr. “Aha, found it, huh?” Clay said, scratching harder. He wasn’t sure how vigorously dragons liked to be scratched, but there wasn’t much chance of damaging the steel-hard scales.

Could he really be making an alliance this easily? Clay wondered. What would happen if he were to try to climb onto the dragon’s back right now?

He was on the verge of asking for a ride when the dragon abruptly shook itself and knocked Clay onto his butt.

“Hey!” Clay said, getting up. “What did I do?”

With a casual swing of a wing, the dragon swiped at Clay, brushing him away. Clearly, petting time was over.

Blinking lazily, Snowflake stretched, then readjusted, seemingly ready for a nap. Seeing that Clay was still standing there, the dragon swiped once more. Clay leaped backward, barely avoiding the knife-sharp talon at the end of Snowflake’s wing.

“Jeez!” Just when he thought he was making progress…

The dragon twisted its neck around and roared into the air. Clay scrambled back to the edge of the lake, unsure whether Snowflake would pursue him.

When Clay looked back, there was no sign of the dragon. Snowflake didn’t want to play cat and mouse after all.

He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. Should he go back and continue trying to ally with Snowflake? He didn’t relish the idea, especially if the dragon was taking a nap. But he had so little time; he couldn’t afford to wait a few hours before trying again.

Before he could decide on his next move, a wild rustling in the trees caught his attention. Something very big was tromping through the jungle, and it was causing quite a ruckus.

Could Snowflake have gotten over there so fast?

Clay didn’t exactly like the idea of walking toward whatever monster was tromping through the jungle, but there was no time for hesitation. He stood up straight, set his jaw, and marched in the direction of the rustling trees.

It wasn’t Snowflake; it was Rover. The gigantic gray dragon was hopping and skipping around, thrashing its head and whimpering. The sight of the great beast in such distress was a little bit comical, but a lot scary. Clay was almost clawed, walloped, and trod upon—all before the dragon had even glimpsed him.

Rover hopped around a few more times before Clay could see what was upsetting the dragon so much: a honey-dripping beehive nestled in the crook of a tree—a crook too narrow for the dragon’s massive claws to squeeze into. Clay watched as the dragon tried once, twice, and a third time to stick its long twisty tongue inside to get to the honey.

The bees were onto Rover, though, and they flew into the dragon’s mouth and buzzed around the dragon’s eyes, sending Rover into fits of fury. There was probably no way the bees could sting through the dragon’s armor of scales, but by all appearances they were driving the dragon crazy nonetheless.

Clay stepped closer, smiling wide to show he was friendly (though come to think of it, baring his teeth at a dragon wasn’t necessarily the greatest idea). “Hey—hey there, Rover,” said Clay, his hands sweating. “Are you trying to get some honey?”

The dragon spotted him—and let out a roar that shook the trees.

Clay swallowed but didn’t move. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “Why don’t you give me a shot?

The dragon roared again, a little more angrily this time.

“Sorry!” Clay said quickly. “I didn’t mean so I could have it. I meant, why don’t you let me get the honey for you?”

Rover’s eyes looked confused and suspicious. Generosity seemed to be a new concept for the dragon.

“Really, I just want to help.”

Rover seemed to get the gist and reluctantly backed away from the beehive, but only a few feet. The dragon wasn’t about to leave this strange human alone with such a treasure.

Last summer at Earth Ranch, Buzz had taught Clay the most common beekeeper trick for extracting honeycomb from a beehive: smoke.* Alas, Clay had no matches or lighter, and he couldn’t just snap his fingers to create a flame, like Flint could. But Buzz, quite unintentionally, had also taught Clay a little about talking to the bees.

Clay approached the beehive slowly, with steady footsteps. He carefully stuck an arm out, not flinching when first one and then a dozen angrily buzzing bees landed on his hands and arms. They tickled a bit as they walked on his skin, and Clay was certain he would be stung at any second, but he reminded himself that getting killed by a dragon, or by the Midnight Sun, would be much worse.

“I need to take a little bit of your honeycomb,” he told them, in the peculiar humming voice Clay had heard Buzz speak in. “It is for your own good. It is the only way the dragon will leave you alone.”

It took a few tries and some more coaxing, but apparently he was doing a passable imitation of bee-speak, because eventually the bees allowed Clay to get a handle on the hive and to snap off a Frisbee-sized piece of honeycomb.

Clay backed up a few steps until only the very curious—or very lazy—bees were left on his hands.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, relief washing over him. “I will never get mad at Buzz’s bees for bugging me again.”

Then he tossed the honeycomb in a big arc toward Rover. The dragon lifted its head and snatched the honeycomb out of the air with about the closest thing a dragon can get to a grin.

The dragon dropped the honeycomb on the grass and, awkwardly holding the honeycomb with its talons, started licking pockets of honey with its tongue.

“How is it?” Clay asked.

Rover looked at Clay, tongue lolling like a big, dopey golden retriever’s.

Clay laughed. “Awesome.”

He was about to sit down and try to work his way into a conversation with Rover, when a telltale rumbling came from deep within the forest. The steady plodding of heavy footsteps grew closer and closer, until Clay was nearly bonked on the head by a coconut that had been knocked loose from a palm tree.

Clay backed up until he was half inside a shrub, trembling a bit as the other dragon drew nearer.

Bluebeard entered the clearing on slow and steady feet, the dragon’s long sharp claws digging into the ground, ripping the earth apart with every step. The blue markings on Bluebeard’s face made the dragon look especially fierce as it searched the clearing, sniffing around for the human intruder.

Then Bluebeard noticed the honeycomb dripping from Rover’s talons. With a contemptuous growl, Bluebeard looked from the hard-to-reach beehive to the big oaf of a dragon. It was pretty clear that Bluebeard didn’t think Rover capable of stealing that sweet golden treasure without assistance.

It was also pretty clear that Bluebeard didn’t like the idea of Rover’s cozying up to a human.

Clay considered his options: Give up on the dragons and run away—and most likely be found and eaten anyway. Or face Bluebeard and try to ally with the toughest, meanest dragon of the bunch.

Clay took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Bluebeard regarded the puny human through slit eyes; the ends of the dragon’s blue mustache-like lips curled upward as if to say, Aha! I knew it was you!

“Hey,” Clay said, trying to sound relaxed, though his heart was beating wildly. “Do you want some honeycomb, too?”

Bluebeard snorted, then turned to Rover and, with a lightning-fast swipe of a talon, knocked the honeycomb out of the clearing. Rover whimpered. The message: Bluebeard didn’t want any honeycomb that Clay had touched, and Rover wasn’t to have it, either.

“Right,” Clay said. “I know humans haven’t really been the coolest to you guys.”

Bluebeard stared at him. Rover lowered its eyes.

“Those collars—they really suck.”

At the mention of the collars, Rover sat up straight, and Bluebeard emitted a low rumbling growl.

“Oh, heh,” Clay said, raising his hands and backing up a little. “I’m just trying to say I’m not like those other humans.”

For some reason, this seemed to puzzle Bluebeard.

What is a human?

It took Clay a moment to realize that Bluebeard had asked him a question—telepathically—and that the dragon expected an answer.

“Me, I’m a human.”

Ah, a two-leg-no-wing. You put the collars on our necks.

“Yes. I mean, no, I’m not the one who—”

You try to control us, but soon we will kill you.

There was a chilling confidence to Bluebeard’s assertion.

“No, don’t kill me! I’m going to… turn off the collars and get you out of here. I’m not like the other… two-leg-no-wings. I’m friends with a dragon!”

Bluebeard looked at him contemptuously. What is a dragon?

“A dragon? You’re kidding.”

No, Clay thought, Bluebeard’s not kidding. How would these dragons know what a dragon was? They’re the only ones they’ve ever known.

“You. You are a dragon. You and Rover and…”

Bluebeard roared in fury. Liar!!! We are not dragons!

“Um, okay,” said Clay backing away farther. “But why do you say that?”

You said you were friends with a dragon. One of our kind would never be friends with a two-leg-no-wing monster.

Well, if anything proves you’re a dragon, it’s your attitude, thought Clay.

Aloud, he said, “Well, you don’t have to call yourself a dragon if you don’t want to, but I would be stoked to be one if I were you.”

Bluebeard nudged Rover, and they both roared at Clay.

We. Are. Not. Dragons.

The two dragons were standing on all fours now and looked like they were waiting for one more reason, any reason, to toss Clay in the air like a human volleyball. Panic like he’d never known engulfed Clay.

At least they couldn’t breathe fire. That was something.

Sing. He should sing. Like the Occulta Draco suggested. It was the only thing left. But he couldn’t think of a single song that seemed remotely applicable to the circumstances.

So just make one up, he told himself.

“Dragons are awesome. They’re old and wise,” he sang-shouted, aware that he sounded terrible, but pushing ahead as if his life depended on it (which it did). “They’re pretty much the all-around coolest guys.…” Bluebeard looked at him with a fury like Clay had never seen; it was as if he had just insulted Bluebeard, the dragon’s family, and everything the dragon held dear.

We. Are. Not. Dragons.

Singing wasn’t the answer.

The incensed dragon rose up on hind legs and opened its mouth, taking a big, deep breath.…

Clay inched backward, feeling the blood drain from his head.

Bluebeard let out a deafening and then suddenly, as if it had been waiting there all along, fire blasted out of the dragon’s mouth like out of the back of a rocket ship.

ROARRRRR!!!

A few stray hairs sticking out of Clay’s ski hat were singed; he’d narrowly avoided being burned alive.

So they could breathe fire after all. He had never been less happy to have been proven right.

Bluebeard looked briefly stunned. Then, with the thrill of a toddler taking her first steps—or, more to the point, the thrill of a caveman who has just discovered fire—the dragon reared back and released another fiery plume, even bigger and more powerful than the first.

Their conversation was over. Summoning his nerve, Clay forced himself to move.

With the sulfurous odor of dragonfire in his nose, he ran blindly into the jungle. Heedless of the branches scratching his arms and legs, he scrambled over rocks and tripped on tree roots. Anything to get away from Bluebeard.

Around him, one tree after another burst into flame. The dragon was in pursuit.

As he ran, panicked, panting, Clay gradually realized he wasn’t heading to the dome’s perimeter, as he’d intended; he was circling back in the direction he’d come from. When he broke through the tree line, he found himself once again facing the lake, but now he was at the upper end, which was bordered by a sheer rock cliff. A natural wall that Clay would have had trouble climbing even if he’d had all the right equipment and all the time in the world. He had reached a dead end.

Behind him, still partly hidden among the trees, but getting closer with every earthshaking step, was Bluebeard. And not far behind Bluebeard followed Rover, and now Snowflake as well, galloping after their leader.

One after another, the dragons spit triumphant fireballs into the air, leaving tree after tree in flames.

A trio of dragons that had just learned they could breathe fire.

In seconds, Clay would be at their mercy.

But out of the corner of his eye, Clay detected something: a dark sliver in the cliff, almost like an opening.…

The entrance to a cave?

Yes.

Clay sprinted toward it, relieved to see that the opening was big enough for him to get through comfortably, but much too small for a dragon. Consciously deciding not to consider what creatures besides dragons he might encounter inside, Clay slid into the cave just as Bluebeard burst from the trees.

The dragon roared upon seeing his human quarry disappear, then repeatedly rammed the side of the cliff in frustration. Clay backed up against the inside wall of the cave as pebbles and loose dirt showered down on him.

Bluebeard, agitated, backed away from the cliff, huffing and puffing angrily. Then the dragon let out a roar and charged at the cliff again, sending a wall of fire inside the cave. Holding his breath, Clay jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being engulfed in flames. He could smell his arm hairs as they curled in the heat. If Bluebeard kept this up, he would be no better off than a chicken in an oven. Perhaps sitting in a cave and waiting to be roasted alive wasn’t exactly the best plan.

“Hey, Bluebeard,” Clay called out. “I just thought of something.”

Bluebeard huffed angrily, a puff of smoke rising out of the dragon’s mouth. Clay winced, worried that anything he might say could push the dragon over the edge.

“I know you’re all into your new firepower, but think about it: If you keep breathing fire into this cave, I’ll die in here, and you’ll never be able to get me out and eat me.”

Bluebeard made an incredulous sound.

What makes you think I want to eat you? Maybe I just want to kill you.

“Oh, well, then…” Clay stumbled, trying desperately to think of another argument. “Then maybe you should go find something else to eat now? I mean, you must be hungry. And you need energy to kill me, right?”

The cave shook again, but when Clay peered out the entrance, he saw that it was because Bluebeard had taken an emphatic seat right in front of it. Clay was now stuck inside a dark cave, smelling the lasting effects of dragon breath and staring out at a dragon’s immense butt.

No longer much concerned with their human prisoner, the other dragons lounged by the lake’s shore, intermittently practicing their fire-breathing technique. Rover took to this new talent with fervor, blasting a spray of white-hot flame through the air along the brush at the edge of the lake. Snowflake, meanwhile, breathed fire as lazily as if blowing smoke rings.

Clay watched them disconsolately. To think that only moments earlier he’d been trying to befriend the dragons—he’d even imagined that he would fly away on a dragon’s back! Now he couldn’t imagine any scenario in which they would let him out of the cave alive. Soon the world would have no more to remember him by than a pile of scorched bones.

All this time, the sun continued creeping westward across the sky. The dragons’ shadows grew long and thin, and Clay’s worries multiplied. He thought guiltily of Cass and Satya. Where was Cass now? Was she waiting for him by the clearing? What would Satya do when she turned off the dome and didn’t detect any of the dragons leaving?

He tried creating a distraction by tossing out a large stick he found inside the cave. But Bluebeard torched the stick before it hit the ground—target practice.

Clay felt around in his pocket for the exploding gum Pablo had given him, but decided that an explosion would only serve to further infuriate the dragons.

As for trying to reason with the beasts, so far he’d gotten exactly nowhere, and every wasted second brought him closer to the meeting time.

When the sun dipped below the edge of the crater’s rim, Clay was in a full-blown panic. He stared at the hands on his watch as they got closer and closer to 8:25. Tick tick tick. Soon his flight window would be closed. The best thing he could hope for at this point was to be caught by the Midnight Sun. At least they might save him from the dragons.

Eight twenty-five. He peered out into the night as if he might see Satya or Cass coming to save him, but how would they even know where he was?

And then something happened—a strange reaction from the dragons outside the cave entrance. Snowflake’s head was shaking back and forth. The dragon was fussing with its collar again, but tentatively, as if confused. Carefully, the dragon contorted its body enough to touch the collar with a talon.

Rover’s head was shaking as well. The big dopey dragon looked questioningly at Bluebeard, but Bluebeard was scratching, too, and looked lost in thought.

Finally, Bluebeard eyed Snowflake and barked at the smaller dragon, unmistakably giving an order.

Snowflake remained sitting. No way, Snowflake seemed to say. Not doing that again.

Bluebeard nodded insistently, looking upward. It was clear to Clay that Bluebeard was telling Snowflake to fly.

They must realize the dome was shut off, he thought excitedly. Would they leave?

Snowflake didn’t make a move.

Bluebeard grew impatient and let out a fiery roar. FLY! Snowflake growled a bit but finally stood up and, with a single flap of wings, launched into the air.

Snowflake flew up, and up, and up—to a point about as high as the helicopter had been on Clay’s tour of the crater—and then tentatively poked at the sky with the tip of a wing. Apparently hitting no barrier, the dragon joyfully spread its wings, dove briefly, then rose again in triumph.

Watching in disbelief, Rover jumped clumsily into the air and, flapping wildly, started flying loops around Snowflake.

Snowflake swooped down over Bluebeard’s head, seemingly expecting Bluebeard to join them. We can fly anywhere we want! This is our chance! Clay could feel Snowflake saying. The dragon waited, but Bluebeard didn’t make a move. Come on, Snowflake seemed to urge. Let’s move!

We will, Bluebeard said ominously. But first we eat.

The dragon spread its enormous wings and took off, rising up into the dark sky and turning to head toward the castle. Snowflake and Rover followed, thinking hungry thoughts.