“What do you mean?” murmured Twigleg.
“Well, so pessimistic.” Lola took a spoonful of soup from the pan and tasted it. “Oh, yuck!” she muttered. “I’ve put in too much salt again.”
Suddenly she raised her pointed nose and sniffed. Her ears twitched.
Twigleg looked at her in alarm.
“Would you like some soup?” Lola asked in a strangely loud voice. As she spoke, she discreetly pointed one paw to the place behind her where the plane was parked, wedged in place with a couple of large stones. Something was moving behind its wheels.
Twigleg held his breath. “Soup?” he faltered. “Er, yes, yes, I’d love some.” He took a quiet step toward the plane.
“Right, I’ll get the soup bowls,” announced the rat, standing up.
Then, with a sudden leap, she dived between the wheels and tugged at a stout leg. Twigleg came to her aid. Together, they dragged a struggling dwarf out from under the plane.
“Gravelbeard!” cried the startled Twigleg. “It’s that mountain dwarf again!”
Gravelbeard ignored him. He bit, kicked, and hit, almost pushing Lola down the mountainside. Dwarves are strong, much stronger than a rat or a pale little homunculus. But just as Gravelbeard broke free of Lola’s clutches, Twigleg knocked the hat off his head.
Immediately the dwarf stopped struggling. He narrowed his eyes, staggered back from the edge of the abyss, and sat down abruptly, groaning. Twigleg snatched the hat just before it started rolling downhill and put it on his own head. It slipped almost down to his nose, but he didn’t feel bad wearing it. Quite the contrary. He went to stand on the very edge of the precipice, the toes of his shoes projecting into empty space, and he didn’t feel the least bit dizzy.
“Astonishing,” he murmured, turning and lifting the hat far enough back for him to see out from under its brim. The mountains suddenly looked quite different, glittering and shimmering in a thousand hues. Amazed, Twigleg stared around him.
“Hey, hummelcuss, give me a hand, will you?” Lola took a length of string out of her flying suit. “We must tie up this dwarf, unless you want him running back to his master. Good thing you remembered that trick with the hat. I’d forgotten it completely.”
“Hello there, Gravelbeard,” said Twigleg, sitting on the dwarf’s stomach while Lola tied up her prisoner. “What a busy little spy you are. Much busier than I ever was in all the three hundred years I served Nettlebrand.”
“Traitor!” growled the dwarf, spitting at Twigleg. “Give me back my hat!”
Twigleg merely shrugged his shoulders. “No, why should I?” He bent over the dwarf. “I know exactly why you’re so keen to serve my old master. It’s because you’re blinded by greed for his golden scales. Only how are you going to get at them without being eaten? Thinking of pulling some off while he’s asleep, are you? I really wouldn’t advise it. You know how he treasures every single one of them. Have you forgotten he was going to eat the professor just for having a single one of his precious scales? What do you think?” He put his head a little closer to the dwarf’s. “Is he afraid someone will discover what his armor’s made of? Or is he even more afraid of anyone finding out what’s inside that casket he calls his heart?”
Gravelbeard bit his lips furiously and glared into the fire.
“What are we going to do with him?” asked Lola. “Any bright ideas, homompulos?”
“Take him with us, what else?” said a voice behind them.
Lola and Twigleg spun around in alarm, but it was only Sorrel. She had suddenly appeared in front of the rocks, and Burr-Burr-Chan was grinning at them over her shoulder.
“How did you get here?” asked Twigleg in surprise. “Did you find the dragons’ cave?”
“We did,” replied Sorrel. “And I see you’ve caught the little spy. Not bad. And guess what,” she added, biting the shriveled mushroom she had in her paw. “On the way back to you we found some old mushroom beds from when the Dubidai still lived here. The mountain’s full of the passages they made.” Licking her lips, she cocked an eyebrow at Twigleg. “Got a new hat, little titch?”
The homunculus felt its brim. “It’s a very special hat,” he said.
“The way you two fooled Nettlebrand was something special, too,” said Burr-Burr-Chan. “Shiitake and matsutake, not bad at all. And now you’ve caught his spy, too!”
Flattered, Lola smoothed her ears. “Oh, it was nothing,” she said.
“Nothing or not, I’ll carry him back. The rest of you can bring the other things,” said Burr-Burr-Chan, looking down into the valley. The mist was slowly lifting. Black birds were circling among the white wisps of vapor — countless black birds. Whole flocks of them emerged from the mist and then disappeared into it again. “That’s odd,” muttered Burr-Burr-Chan. “I never saw black birds like those before. Where did they spring from?”
Sorrel and Twigleg were beside him in a twinkling.
“The ravens!” growled Sorrel. “I knew they’d turn up again.”
“He’s summoned them all!” groaned Twigleg, taking shelter behind her. “Oh, no! Now we’re done for. They’ll see us! They’ll pick us off the rocks, one by one.”
“What are you carrying on about?” The rat joined him and suddenly gave such a shrill whistle that it made Twigleg jump. “Goodness, you’re right! Ravens, any number of them. My uncle told me about some rather nasty specimens of his acquaintance. Are those down there the same kind?”
Twigleg nodded. “Enchanted ravens. And this time there are too many for Sorrel to drive them off with a few well-aimed stones.”
“We’d better get out of here before they spot us,” said Sorrel, pulling Burr-Burr-Chan back from the edge of the abyss.
“Nettlebrand the Golden One will gobble up the whole blasted bunch of you!” croaked Gravelbeard, trying to bite Burr-Burr-Chan’s furry foot. But the Dubidai brownie only chuckled.
“He’ll have to drag his heavy armor all the way up here first,” he said, throwing the dwarf over his shoulder like a sack.
“And your clever master doesn’t know where the secret entrance is, either,” added Sorrel.
“He’ll find out!” bellowed the mountain dwarf, kicking and struggling. “He’ll squash you like cockroaches. He’ll —”
Burr-Burr-Chan gagged the dwarf by stuffing his beard into his mouth. Then, carrying their prisoner, he disappeared down the passage along which he had just come.
“Come on, titch!” said Sorrel, picking up Twigleg. “Or the ravens really will get you.”
Lola put out the fire, handed the tiny pan of soup to Sorrel, and packed the rest of her things into the plane. “You can fly with me, hommelcuss!” she said, climbing into the cockpit and starting the engine.
“No thanks,” said Twigleg, clutching Sorrel’s arm tightly. “One flight with you will do me for the rest of my life.”
“Just as you like!” The rat closed the cockpit and flew the whirring little aircraft over their heads and into the passage.
Sorrel cast a final anxious glance at the circling ravens. Then she, too, stepped into the passage, pushed the stone slab across the entrance, and now there was nothing of the Dubidai tunnel to be seen from the outside.
