“No, he won't. Listen, what's that?”
The rumble deep inside Spit Fyre was getting louder. Jenna jumped back, for she knew what was coming, missed her footing and fell off the edge of the quay into the water. Still intrigued by the dragon, the crowd paid no attention whatsoever to the splash as their Princess vanished below the flotsam. As if drawn by a magnet, people drew closer and closer to Spit Fyre, watching the dragon as he threw back his head and flared his nostrils, listening to the volcanic rumblings inside him. Unnoticed, Jenna surfaced, spat out a small, but disgustingly dead fish and swam toward the steps at the end of the quay.
Suddenly, with a jet-engine of a roar, a great plume of hot gas streamed from Spit Fyre's nostrils and Ignited. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds of fire shot into the air and across the water, where it torched the sails of two herring boats that formed part of the blockade across the river. At the end of the thirty seconds the crowd had gone.
Many had taken refuge in Sally Mullin's cafe only to find themselves handed one of the large collection of fire buckets kept at the ready and told to “go and put that dragon out before we all go up in flames.” The rest could be seen running up the hill toward the South Gate with a great story to tell in the taverns at lunchtime.
By nightfall, most people in the Castle had heard a version of how “the Princess was snatched by the Wizards' dragon, yes, she was, I'm telling you, she was. Great beast of a thing. Then it dropped her like a stone, it did. Yes, it did. No, she's all right. No, she didn't bounce. She fell in the river. She's a good swimmer, that girl. But then the dragon, see, he turned. They all do. Great fire spurting out of his nose right at me—singed my hair too, see? No, look, this bit here, no, here. Well, you need to get yourself a decent pair of glasses, that's all I can say.”
Most people had also heard the other version too—how the Princess was to blame for bringing the Sickenesse in her pestilential boat, how she had tried to trap the RatStranglers in the Castle wall by means of some Darke trickery and—“Well, if you want proof, I'll give you proof. She rescued a couple of vermin. Not ermine, vermin. Are you deaf? Rats, you fool, rats. Took them away on her dragon. Now what do you have to say to that?” And the speaker would sit back, arms folded with a smug smile.
It was, people discovered, quite possible to believe both, depending on who you were talking to at the time. But everyone agreed on one thing: There was more to this young Princess than met the eye. Much more.
Stanley and Dawnie had watched the crowd run away with a great feeling of relief.
In the middle of all the excitement no one had paid them much attention as they cowered among Spit Fyre's thick spines. They sat up straight again, and Dawnie settled herself with the air of a rat much used to dragon flight. “I hope we get going soon,” she said. “I'm feeling quite famished. I rather fancy some lunch in the Port.”
Stanley sighed, but he said nothing. He watched Jenna, dripping wet, clamber back onto Spit Fyre. “All right, Your Majesty?” he asked.
Jenna did not mind Stanley calling her Your Majesty. In fact, she rather liked it, for she knew Stanley meant it affectionately. “Yes, thank you, Stanley,” she replied.
“And are you all right?”
“Never been better,” said Stanley brightly. “Lovely crisp morning, clouds clearing and off for a flight. What more could a rat want?”
“Lunch,” said Dawnie under her breath.
22
The Alfrun
Spit Fyre had a confident and purposeful air about him. He was flying at a leisurely pace, following the river south, toward the Port.
“I hope he's not going out to sea,” said Jenna.
“Yeah,” agreed Wolf Boy, who was feeling quite dragon-sick and could think of nothing worse right then. To take his mind off things, Wolf Boy gazed down at the silver thread of the river that wound beneath them and tried to spot Sam's Beach, where he and 412 had set off from the Forest a few months ago. Wolf Boy smiled, remembering how thrilled he had been to find his best friend again, even though 412 was nothing like his Young Army self. It wasn't just that 412's hair had grown, that he had acquired a family and a weird name to go with them, or that he was wearing a fancy Apprentice tunic and belt; it was more than that. 412 had become confident, funny and even more like ... well, even more like the best parts of 412. And now ... and now 412 was gone—maybe forever.
“Did you see that Quarantine notice on the quay?” Jenna's voice suddenly intruded on Wolf Boy's thoughts. He was glad it had.
“What notice?” he shouted above the noise of Spit Fyre's wings. Wolf Boy thought he wouldn't know one notice from another. And anyway, what was a Quarantine?
Wolf Boy imagined a horrible monster, the kind of thing that was maybe, just at that moment, chasing 412 through the Forest, or wherever he was. Wolf Boy, even with all his tracker skills, was stumped. How can you track someone who is pulled through a looking glass?
“The one about the Sickenesse!” yelled Jenna across the two rats, who were following the conversation as if watching a tennis match. “And the barricade. That means no Northern Traders this year. It's going to be a miserable MidWinter Feast without the Traders' Market!”
“Oh,” said Wolf Boy. And then yelled, “What's a Northern Trader?”
“They've got very nice boats,” ventured Stanley. "Go anywhere, those boats do.
Mind you, when I was a Message Rat you had to be careful. The Traders ran a tight rat-free policy. Had to, you see, to comply with the Market Regulations. Some of the nastiest cats I've ever encountered have been on a Trader's barge. Had a terrible run-in with an ex-Trader cat on my last Message Rat mission.“ Stanley shook his head ruefully. ”Should have realized then how things were going to turn out. Worst mission ever, that was—never met another rat who encountered anything like it. Did I tell you about Mad Jack..." And so Stanley rattled on, blissfully unaware that no one could hear him above the noise of Spit Fyre's wings, except for Dawnie, who always made a point of not listening to more than the first sentence of anything Stanley said.
“There's one down there!” Jenna shouted in reply to Wolf Boy's question. “Look!”
Wolf Boy peered at the river. Far below, he saw a long, narrow barge with a large white sail going downstream—and so did Spit Fyre. Wolf Boy felt the rhythm of the dragon's flight change and began to feel slightly less sick.