The children shifted on the cave floor. The dragon had fallen silent.

“Did they really take your name?” Sarah Emily asked. “Goldenwings? That must have sounded a little strange.”

The dragon bent down toward her with an incredulous look on its face. “Strange?” it repeated, in an offended tone. “Strange? You find my name strange?”

Sarah Emily hastily backtracked. “Not at all,” she said. “It’s a beautiful name. I didn’t mean anything bad. It’s just a little unusual, that’s all.”

The dragon regarded her suspiciously for a moment. It gave a small snort.

“Go on,” Sarah Emily said. “What happened to Sallie? Did they get across the river? Were they all right?”

“They crossed the river,” the dragon said. “They settled down in Ohio, in free country. Sallie’s father opened a little blacksmith shop. They were safe, but Sallie worried about all the people they had left behind. When she grew up, she decided to do something about it. She went back down south, following secret paths through the woods, and helped many runaways find their way north, out of slavery, into freedom. Then the Civil War came and Abraham Lincoln took care of all the rest. And Sallie learned to read. After the war, she became a schoolteacher.”

“She flew,” Hannah said softly.

“What happened to Jamie?” Zachary asked.

The dragon’s face grew sad. “He joined the Union army during the war,” it said. “He was killed at Gettys-burg. Fighting for freedom.”

Zachary, still sitting cross-legged at the dragon’s feet, said quietly, “What’s worth fighting for . . .”

“I know why you told us Sallie’s story just now,” Hannah said. “And those other stories too. This is all about freedom, isn’t it? We’ve been so confused, Fafnyr. Mr. King was almost making sense, but now that I think about it, I see that he was all wrong.”

“I don’t think Mr. King really wants to protect Fafnyr,” Zachary said. “I think he just wants another valuable possession.”

“Fafnyr isn’t property,” Sarah Emily chimed in. “It isn’t up to us to share him. He doesn’t belong to us. He doesn’t belong to anybody except to himself.”

“Herself,” Hannah whispered quickly.

The golden dragon nodded.

“I thought you’d work it out,” it said, sounding pleased.

Then it gave an indignant snort.

“As if any dragon would fall for that,” it said scornfully. “Nature preserve, indeed.”

“We don’t want to accept Mr. King’s proposal,” Zachary said, “but we’re just kids — and he’s rich and powerful and grown up. What if he won’t take no for an answer? What can we do?”

The dragon waved a golden claw. “In life,” it said impressively, “one often reaches decision points.”

“I don’t understand,” Hannah said.

The dragon gave a tiny snort. “Take, for example,” it said, “the moment before breakfast.”

“Before breakfast?” Zachary repeated blankly.

“Precisely,” the dragon said. “A prototypic decision point. You could choose to have oatmeal, you see, or mutton chops, bran flakes or jellybeans, toast or tacos. It’s quite simple. You survey the alternatives and pick the best one. Even the youngest dragon can do it.”

“But . . .” Sarah Emily began.

“Jellybeans would be a poor choice,” the dragon said severely. “They are nutritionally limited. And, of course, so small.”

“But I don’t see . . .” Sarah Emily began again.

“Of course you don’t,” the dragon said. “You’re not using your head.”

It gave an enormous yawn.

“When confronted with a problem, one studies the alternatives, selects the best solution, and proceeds with it. It’s very simple.” It looked at the children down the length of its golden nose. “You must learn, my dears, to reason like a dragon.”

Supper was over. Hannah, Zachary, and Sarah Emily were in Aunt Mehitabel’s front parlor, where Hannah was teaching Sarah Emily to play chess. Zachary, who had eaten three bowls of chocolate pudding and was feeling lazy, lay on his stomach in front of the glass-fronted bookcase, idly reading the titles of books.

“The ones with the little pointy hats are bishops,” Hannah said. “They move diagonally, like this. Come on, S.E., pay attention.”

“I can’t help it,” Sarah Emily said. “All the pieces are so pretty. Look at the castles with their little turrets. And my queen has a crown with teeny silver beads.”

“She’s lined up with my bishop,” Hannah said patiently. “The bishops move diagonally.”

“Oh!” Sarah Emily said. She hastily swooped her queen out of the way. “I see.”

“Nobody could read these books,” said Zachary from his place on the floor. “They’re awful. Listen: The Collected Spiritual Ramblings of Dr. Theophilus Bumbrage. A Botanical Description of the Duckweeds of Delaware. A Discourse on the Jungle Fowl of India and Ceylon.”

“Where’s Ceylon?” Sarah Emily asked. “What are jungle fowl?”

“Ceylon is called Sri Lanka now,” Hannah said, moving a carved green pawn. “It’s an island in the Indian Ocean. And jungle fowl are sort of like chickens. Wild chickens. You can’t move that castle there, S.E. They only go in straight lines.”

“And then there are all these weird dictionaries,” Zachary said, wiggling forward on his elbows. “There’s one in Sanskrit and one in Cherokee.”

He opened a glass panel and pulled out a book.

“This one is German. But the letters are all funny, like those big old-fashioned Bibles.”

“Check,” Hannah said.

“Donnerschlag,” Zachary read in a threatening voice. “That means thunderclap. Lebkuchen. That’s gingerbread. Schweigepflicht. That’s what we have. It’s a pledge of secrecy.”

“Schweigepflicht,” Sarah Emily said, and giggled.

“Check,” Hannah said again.

Sarah Emily stared dismally at the board. “I don’t think I’m any good at chess,” she said.

“Sure you are,” Hannah said. “It’s a hard game, that’s all. You have to keep thinking ahead all the time. Consider the alternatives like Faf . . . F says. You have to move your king, see?”

“King,” Zachary said, busily flipping dictionary pages.

Then suddenly he made a startled exclamation and sat straight up. He looked shocked. His face had gone so pale that the freckles stood out.

Hannah leaped up from the chessboard.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “Zachary, are you sick?”

“It’s König,” Zachary said in a shaken voice, pointing to the dictionary page.

“König?” Sarah Emily looked confused.

“König,” Zachary repeated. “It means king in German.” Now he was talking so fast that his words tumbled over each other. “Don’t you remember Aunt Mehitabel’s letter? The boy was named Johann Pieter König. But he would be all grown up now. Getting old, even.”

He looked from Hannah to Sarah Emily and back again.

“King. König. Don’t you see? I think Johann Pieter has come back. I think he’s J.P. King.”