The children hurriedly retraced their steps, putting as much space as possible between themselves and the white tents on the beach.

“So who lives in those tents?” Zachary fretted. “And where are they? They could be anywhere. Spying.”

“Oh, do be quiet, Zachary,” Hannah said. “Let’s climb.”

They scrambled up the steep slope of Drake’s Hill until they reached the enormous pile of rock, layered like gigantic steps, that crowned the hilltop. Carefully they began to climb, feeling for remembered hand- and foot-holds. At last they edged around a final rocky ledge to stand on a wide platform overlooking the ocean. At the back of the platform gaped a dark opening that led, the children knew, to a hidden cave. The very sight of it made their hearts beat faster. Before them was an endless stretch of deep blue water, lashed by the wind into white-capped waves.

And just off the shore of the island —

“Look at that!” gasped Zachary, pointing downward.

Below them, a great white boat lay at anchor.

“A yacht,” said Hannah in an awed voice.

“I’ll bet that’s who’s camping on the beach,” Zachary said.

He fumbled in his backpack and pulled out his own small pair of binoculars. He put them to his eyes, focused, and slowly swept the length of the boat, from bow to stern.

“Funny,” he said. “It doesn’t have a name. Most boats have names. Even Mr. Jones’s little boat has a name painted on it. But this one doesn’t say anything. It’s just plain white.”

“Let me see,” said Hannah, reaching for the binoculars.

She put them to her eyes and studied the silent floating yacht.

Then, as the children watched, a doorway opened and a man appeared on the yacht’s polished deck. He was broad-shouldered and deeply tanned, with closely clipped iron-gray hair. He wore dark trousers and a heavy white sweater. He stood for a moment gazing out to sea, then slowly turned toward the island. A seagull glided past, sun glinting off its white wings. The man lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. Hastily the children dropped down behind a pile of concealing boulders.

“He’s watching F’s cave,” Zachary said. “He suspects something.”

“How could he?” Hannah said in disgusted tones. “You’re nuts, Zachary. He was watching that gull.”

“It gives me the creeps,” said Zachary. “That boat. Those tents. People snooping around.”

Cautiously he poked his head above the rocks and peered toward the white yacht. The gray-haired man had lowered his binoculars and was scribbling something in a small notebook.

“You see?” Hannah said. “He’s a bird watcher. They take notes all the time. About the kinds of birds they’ve sighted.”

“I think he’s going below,” Zachary said. “There — he’s walking across the deck — he’s gone.”

“Let’s go see Fafnyr,” Hannah said. And then, as Zachary frowned and opened his mouth: “I know, Zachary, but all this F stuff is getting silly. We’ll ask him if he knows anything about the boat. And the camp.”

Zachary dropped the binoculars back in his pack and pulled out his flashlight.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll lead the way.”

One by one, the three children ducked into the cave. As they entered, they smelled the special scent remembered from last summer — a spicy mix of wood smoke, incense, and cinnamon. The cave was much larger than it looked from the outside. Zachary’s flashlight threw eerie shadows on the stone walls. As they edged farther into the cave, the sounds of the outside world were suddenly silenced. The whistle of the wind and the rhythmic crash of the waves ceased abruptly. All was utterly quiet. The cave led farther and farther downward, deep into the center of the hill.

“The cave seems bigger than it used to,” Sarah Emily said. Her voice quavered a little. Sarah Emily was afraid of the dark.

“It’s all right,” Zachary said reassuringly in front of her. “We’re almost there.”

Just as he finished speaking, there was a brilliant glitter in the darkness as the flashlight beam reflected off a broad expanse of shining golden scales.

Sarah Emily caught her breath.

It was a dragon.