“Oh, you don’t? Fancy flying down there yourself, fur-face?” inquired Lola. “Come on, let’s go, humblecuss!” She took Twigleg’s hand. “We’re going to make ourselves useful,” she said and turned to Firedrake. “Comes in handy having a couple of really small people along, right?”
Firedrake nodded. “Very handy,” he replied. “I’ll tell you something, Lola. I believe the world will belong to small people one of these days.”
“That’s okay by me,” said Lola.
Then, with Twigleg in tow, she climbed over Ben’s knees, scuttled along Firedrake’s back, and guided the homunculus down to where her plane was still safely tied to the dragon’s tail. They undid the thin chains, Lola opened the cockpit, and the two of them climbed in.
With a faint smile, Twigleg cast a last glance at Ben, and the boy waved to him. Then Lola Graytail started the engine. Its hum filled the night air like the chirping of crickets as the little plane took off with the two scouts on board, swooping down toward the Eye of the Moon.
45. The Eye of the Moon
“Pretty big, this lake!” shouted Lola through the noise of the engine. “Yes,” whispered Twigleg. “As big as a sea.” Looking out of the window, he could hear his teeth chattering. The sound of the engine rang in his ears, and his knees were knocking. Flying in a tinny little plane! What a horrible thought. Nothing but a bit of metal and a whirring contraption between him and empty air. He wished he was still on Firedrake’s strong back, on Ben’s warm lap, in the backpack, anywhere but in this infernal machine.
“Come on, let’s have your report. See anything suspicious, homuncupus?” asked the rat.
Twigleg swallowed. But you can’t get rid of fear by swallowing. “No,” he said in a trembling voice. “Nothing. Only the stars.”
They were reflected in the water like tiny fireflies.
“Fly closer to the bank,” Twigleg told the rat. “That’s the kind of place where he likes to hide, lurking in the mud.”
Lola immediately turned and flew toward the bank. Twigleg’s stomach was doing somersaults.
The lake lay below them like a mirror of black glass. Humming, the plane flew over the water. All was dark. Only the flowers on the bank glowed a mysterious blue.
Twigleg looked over his shoulder to where Firedrake had landed, but there was no sign of the silver dragon. He had probably hidden and was watching for their signal from a cranny in the rock. Twigleg turned again and glanced down at the water. Suddenly, as if coming out of nowhere, a strange trembling shook his chest.
“He’s here!” he cried in terror.
“Where?” Lola clutched her joystick and peered into the dark, but she could see nothing suspicious.
“I don’t know where,” cried Twigleg, “but I can feel it. Quite clearly.”
“Could be something in what you say.” Lola pressed her sharp nose to the cockpit window. “There’s kind of a suspicious ripple on the water there ahead. As if a large stone had just dropped into it.” She throttled back the engine. “I’ll turn off the lights,” she whispered. “We want to get a closer view of this.”
Twigleg’s knees were knocking again. The mere idea of seeing his old master once more froze his blood. Lola flew in an arc toward the suspect spot. She didn’t need lights; like Twigleg, she had the eyes of a nocturnal creature, and starlight was enough for her.
Where the ripples were curling and little waves lapped the shore, the stems of the flowers were bent as if someone had been making his way through them. It must have been some small creature, no bigger than a dwarf.
“There!” Twigleg jumped up from his seat and hit his head on the roof of the aircraft. “It’s Gravelbeard — running along ahead of us!”
Lola steered her plane toward the bank. The startled dwarf stuck his head out of the glowing flowers and saw the buzzing aircraft heading straight for him. Gravelbeard didn’t stop to think twice. He ran back to the water like lightning.
Lola Graytail wrenched the plane around.
She caught up with the dwarf on the shoreline, where Gravelbeard was still running as fast as his short legs would carry him.
“Grab hold of him, humpusklumpus!” shouted Lola.
Opening the cockpit, she flew so low that the undercarriage of the plane brushed the flowers. Twigleg summoned up all his courage, leaned right out of the plane, and tried to seize Gravelbeard by the collar. But the waters of the lake suddenly erupted, foaming. A mighty muzzle emerged from the waves — and snapped at the fleeing dwarf.
One gulp and he was gone.
Lola turned the plane with a sudden jolt, and Twigleg dropped back into his seat.
“He ate him!” cried the rat incredulously. “He just ate him!”
“Get out of here!” moaned Twigleg. “Get out of here, quick!”
“Easier said than done,” cried Lola, struggling desperately to control the little aircraft with her joystick as it staggered and spun in the air. Surely it couldn’t escape Nettlebrand’s gnashing teeth as he snapped and snapped again. He was crawling farther and farther out of the water, driven by his fury at the whirring little nuisance.
With a hunted expression on his face, Twigleg looked out of the back window. What had happened to Firedrake? Was he flying away?
“You didn’t loop the loop!” he wailed. “That was the signal.”
“They could hardly miss seeing the monster down here,” Lola shouted back. “They’ll have noticed him without our signal!”
The plane shuddered as the engine coughed and spluttered.
Twigleg was shaking all over. Once again he glanced through the back window and saw a gleam of silver on the black mountainside.
“Fly away!” cried Twigleg as if the dragon could hear him. “Fly away before he sees you!”
And Firedrake flew, spreading his wings wide — but instead of escaping he came diving down toward the lake.
“No!” shrieked the terrified Twigleg. “Lola, Lola — Firedrake is flying this way!”
“Oh, bother it all!” said the rat crossly as she narrowly avoided another swipe of Nettlebrand’s claw. “He thinks he has to help us! Hold on tight, Twigleg!”
Wrenching the nose of the plane upward, Lola looped the loop right above Nettlebrand’s open jaws. Then she rose higher and looped the loop again and yet again, until Twigleg felt his stomach was in his throat. The homunculus stared down at his old master flailing around in the water. Then he looked the other way — and saw Firedrake hovering motionless in the air.
“Fly, oh, please, please fly to the cave!” whispered Twigleg, although his heart was racing with his fear of Nettlebrand, and his eardrums ached with the monster’s roaring.
“What’s going on? Has he seen our signal? Is he turning away?” shouted Lola, flying in a spiral around Nettlebrand’s neck with death-defying daring.
Now Firedrake did turn in the air.
He shot off like an arrow, while the golden dragon had eyes for nothing but the little aircraft, the silly little thing that had the impertinence to pester him.
“Yes, he’s flying away,” cried Twigleg, his voice almost breaking with delight. “He’s flying back toward the mountains.”
