Dragons of Drupes - 5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Terry swung the door open and a blast of air greeted us, howling and whipping at our hair. Outside I could only see a swirl of colors.

The wind grew stronger, and we bent into it, fighting to keep from toppling over. Faye gripped onto the staircase banister. Jack was thrown back a step, almost bowling me over. I clasped a hand on his arm, making sure neither of us got knocked down.

The vigor of the wind died slowly, until I could faintly make out the other side of the street. A row of houses stood over an alley, the upper floors slanted, casting thick shadows on the ground. The word that first came to mind? Gloomy.

“You can let me go now,” Jack said, twisting to look at me. “Not going to bang into you anymore.” He reddened as he spoke, and quickly jerked his head back toward the street.

I released him, stepping back, dwelling over it only a second before stepping closer to the door; Drupes: Oxion level three. We were here. A Coca-Cola fizzing thrill rushed through my veins.

I breathed in the Drupes air. If it was cleaner than London, I couldn’t really tell.

“Who’s the first on our list?” Faye asked.

“Avice Ballard-Cardon,” I said, crossing the threshold behind Jack and Terry.

“You all remember your names?” Faye asked. “And our story?”

“Michael Rhoton,” Terry grinned. “And we’ve arrived early. Avice is at the supermarket.”

“Harry Thins,” Jack said.

Faye caught my eye. “I’m not sure I remember, Mary Wallace,” I said, now walking down the narrow street, Jack to my left and dragging behind. “Did it start with Jerry Rost by chance?”

The first ten minutes, we walked Drupe’s grotty streets, passing near-starved beggars, hollow-eyed drug addicts, and prostitutes. None of us liked that our home tucked itself away in the dodgy-unnoticed edges of town, but at least we kept a good grip on reality. Nothing was perfect. Magic didn’t mean fairytales; it meant cleverer trickery, cunning, and craftiness.

“Eerie.” Eerie. Eerie. The dark houses spat Faye’s quiet word back at us. She huddled closer to Terry.

“I hate to admit this, but I’m so glad I’m with you boys,” Faye said, and Jack tucked an arm around hers. I watched them. Huh, maybe I’d been wrong and they really were friends. My gaze slipped from Faye to Jack’s arm. Not so long ago, I’d been holding Jack’s arm, like that. Tighter maybe?

Why did it matter?

Why was I still thinking about it?

Weird.

We curved around a corner. Unconsciously, I’d moved next to Jack. Close enough, apparently, to notice him shudder. I bumped a friendly elbow lightly into his side. “They won’t be able to hurt us,” I said as I followed his gaze to the dragons atop the houses. “They’re chained to the roofs.”

“It’s not that,” he whispered. “It’s so . . . sad.”

I studied the rows of dragons strapped in chains, smoke curling from their skyward tilted jaws. Their grey bodies ranged from serpentine to oval shaped, from beanstalk to weensy, but they all shared the same sad black eyes.

“How long have they been there?” Jack asked.

“From what I read, their whole lives. Once they die, they’re replaced.” I felt sick too. Reading about and seeing this was another thing completely.

Terry’s normally rambunctious voice was a whisper. “Let’s hurry.”

Jack lowered his gaze to look directly ahead. The rest of us did the same.

But doing that made me feel cold. Hundreds of years those dragons had sat there. Maybe would another hundred more. How many people had simply bowed their heads and waltzed on by? Ignored them without a thought?

I could curse the Drupian people.

But then, hadn’t I done that too? How many beggars had I passed waiting for the tube or outside malls only to ignore them? Maybe if I’d looked, really looked, I’d have seen the same sad, dark eyes. . .

I shuddered.

“What are you thinking?” Jack asked, trying to decipher my expression.

“Next time we pass a beggar back home,” I whispered back, “make sure I give them something.”

Jack surprised me by nodding, glancing at the roof tops, and hastily looking away again. I wondered if, in that moment, his mind worked the same way mine did.

We hiked the next half hour in silence. Other than the occasional person half-running past us, their heads bowed refusing all eye contact to avoid trouble, it felt empty. And although the sun shone down on us, it felt depressing. Even with the ripening apple trees lining the sides of the street, the city was dark.

At the city centre, a spectrum of crayoned dragon-chimneys, colors shining brilliantly, looked like festive adornments framing a large square park. We stood in the middle of the square staring at them; their eyes the only giveaway to their distress. Opposite me, a plump red and green spotted dragon caught my eye. Quickly, I averted my gaze. Gawking was rude; lemon on a stinging wound.

Faye broke the silence. “It’s so empty. Where is everyone?”

“It is Sunday,” Terry said, shrugging his shoulders, like that explained everything. “Where to now, Drake?”

“Ask Jack, he has the map.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed at me and I stepped back from him. What was that on about? I thought we’d come to some unspoken apology about the whole soap bubble incident. “I asked you whether you had the map.”

Man, his tone was blunt. “No,” I said, “you said, and I quote, ‘Got the map! And the notepad, let’s go!”’

Jack shook his head. “I said, ‘Got the map? And the notepad? Let’s go.’ Didn’t you hear my voice rise at the end? They were questions.”

How was I supposed to tell the difference? “Stupid Kiwi accent,” I muttered, wishing there was a stone or something to kick, not just grass.

“Why didn’t we find this out sooner?” Terry asked. “We were following you.”

“I was following Jack.”

“And I was following Drake.” We exchanged a look that hovered between annoyance and amusement. It was the flip of a coin which way things would go. To buzzkill or not to buzzkill, that was the question.

Jack looked at me. “One simple task. . . .” There might have been a trace of a grin, but I suspect it was a trick of the light. I was about to shrug it off with a chuckle, when he added, “Knew I should’ve packed it myself.”

To buzzkill it was then.

“Think I wrote the address on a scrap piece of paper,” Faye said, fishing in her bag. “Yep, here it is: 37 Jujube Alley.”

We’d looked it up briefly last night before crashing. I closed my eyes and pictured the map. Avice Ballard-Cardon didn’t live too far from the square. I was pretty sure I could remember enough to get us there. I checked each of the four corners, until one of the street signs looked familiar. Well, familiar enough. I beckoned the others to follow me. “This way.”

Jack looked as if he were about to say something, but then changed his mind, and Terry and Faye just sort of shrugged and went with it.

Yeah, I thought, making one left and a right, I was pretty sure of where I was going.

As if Faye could read my thoughts, she looked sideways at me. That had a domino affect. Terry grinned as he glanced at me, and Jack yanked his gaze away when I tried to return his gaze.

So okay, maybe I was only kind of sure where we were heading. When I rounded a corner leading to a dead end, Mr. Buzz kill spoke up.

“Let’s ask for directions.”

I hated that it was him to suggest it. If it’d been Faye or Terry, I might have agreed, but damn Jack and his always being right.

“It’s just a little further,” I said, turning down a long, narrow street.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve seen this street before.”

Shut up, Jack!

“You’re just too stubborn to admit we’re lost. “

“No, I’m not lost.” I was lost.

“I’m going on my own.’ I watched him huff and puff away.

“We should stick together,” Terry said.

“I’m not going after him, he can sulk on his own.” I mean, come on, I wasn’t asking for much. Just a bit of patience.

“You go with Faye,” Terry said, resting his eyes on Faye’s. “I’ll catch up to Jack, try talk to him.”

“C’mon.” I beckoned her to follow me, feeling stubborn and stupid, but still unable to stop and admit it.

“He’ll get over it,” Faye said, picking at a leaf off a nearby bush and flicking it between her fingers. “You’ll be back to being friends in no time.”

Friends? Is that what we were? I thought I just tolerated him because I had to. If we didn’t live together, I wouldn’t hang around such an annoying, negative, know-it-all.

“Don’t look so disgusted, Drake. That’s what you are.”

I raised my brow at her as if to say, really? “Jack and I . . . ” There was a ring to the words that made me shiver. “ . . . we co-exist.” Yeah, that was about right. We existed together while remaining different. Individual. Separate. “I get on well with you and Terry. I don’t need more than that.”

“We’ll see.”

I let that go.

For the next fifteen minutes we walked in silence. We passed a small park, where all the people that failed to be on the streets sat enjoying their picnics and watching their children play. Nearly every lamppost had a neatly hung sign, parties campaigning for the next election. Bernlak Fitzroy: I’ve Done It Once, I’ll Do It Again. Or the cornier version: Don’t Eject, Re-Elect! In smaller letters their promises for the next term were outlined. The man looked barely thirty, too young to be Mayor. He was attractive though, so maybe that made up for his age: like with books, who knew how many judged him by his cover?

We turned a corner and I smiled. “See, Jujube Alley. I told him I’d find it.” Complete coincidence. “Number 37, right?” I was smug, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t wait for Jack to hear about this. To rub it in.

My smile dropped once we arrived at house 37. Sitting on the veranda, with a hot cup of tea, were Jack and Terry. Jack’s lips were upturned in a smirk. He was enjoying this.

Probably as much as I would have been had the tables been turned.

Point Jack.

I scowled.

Seated next to Terry was an elegant fifty-or-so year-old woman in a green apron dress; Avice’s mother most likely.

“We were beginning to worry,” Jack said, a noticeably fake and mocking concern lacing his words. What he really meant was “I’m so happy I got here first.”

Terry sneezed twice. “My nose is itchy.” He sent Jack and me a warning glare to stop our impending bicker-fest. “Jerry, Mary, this is Avice’s mom, Josina.”

We exchanged hellos.

“Avice has talked so much about you all. You in particular, Jerry.” She winked. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me how you met? Avice is too shy to talk about it. Would you like a cup of tea?” Josina jumped up from her seat and bustled inside.

I opened the gate and followed. I could hear Jack chuckle as I came past. Faye was also giving me a look. “What?” I said quietly.

“It’s not obvious?” Jack said.

“You’re the . . . boyfriend,” Terry said.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

“My bet is you met her at a theatre show,” Faye said.

“Nah,” Terry said, “a club.”

“Bet you a week’s worth of dishes it involves animals of some kind,” Jack said. The challenge was meant for me.

“Two weeks’ of dishes,” I said and continued alone into the house.

Josina was already standing in the kitchen. In the palm of her hand was a round ball attached by a strap which looped around her middle finger. I immediately recognized it as the Soundimer.

“Can I help you with anything Mrs. Ballard-Cardon?” I said from the hall doorway.

“Please, call me Josina. Come in, come in,” She beckoned me into the spacious kitchen, a strong breeze washing though the opened back door. “Have you seen one of these at work yet? Has Avice shown you?”

I shook my head. “Avice doesn’t use magic in our world. She wants to fit in. Live as we do.” I smiled and leaned on the counter toward her. “I haven’t wanted to ask her much about it. I like her to feel just like one of us.” Then, making my voice as shy as possible, I added, “But I have to admit, I’m curious.”

“What would you like to know?”

Bingo.

“Maybe you could explain to me as you use it?” I suggested.

“Right, I was just going to make you a cup of tea. When we use a Soundimer we have to squeeze the ball together before and afterward, like this.” Josina cupped her fingers over the ball and opened them again.

“What happens if you don’t?”

“Oh, it’s not like you have to, it just gets very cold if you don’t.” Josina brought the Soundimer closer for me to see. “Our magic is based on sound. It can’t produce things, it can only rearrange. I can’t make tea with it unless I have everything here. Well, within a 10 meter radius anyway.”

I made a quick estimation in my head. The mineral cabinet at the Natural History museum was certainly under that. “Do you have to say a spell or something?”

“Goodness no. What a lot of faffing about that’d be. Imagine having to memorize a spell for everything!” She shook her head. “No, no spells. Guess you could say that’s the real magic of the Soundimer. It reads our thoughts, what we want.”

I frowned. “Sounds complicated.”

She hummed. “I’m probably just no good at explaining it.” Taking a breath, she tried again. “Think of your brain like an electrical current and your veins the cables that transmit the electrons, sending messages. This,” she lifted the Soundimer, “decodes the messages and emits sounds accordingly. Hundreds and thousands of tiny waves filter outward until it finds what we want.” Josina thrust her hand and within ten seconds a cup, a teabag, hot water and milk all appeared in front of her.

“Wow,” I murmured. “I guess I was expecting to see stuff flying from the cupboards.”

Josina chuckled. “The sound waves dissemble the particles of an object and put them back together again. I’ve always liked to think it’s because things are too heavy to carry otherwise. This way each wave can handle the load.”

“Does the reappearing have to be within the ten meter radius?” I wanted to make sure none of the rules slipped by me. I needed to know if, when the jewel disappeared, it had reappeared within the same room.

“Anywhere within a spherical radius.”

So, the jewel could have reappeared above or below the room as well as in it. “That’s pretty much everything, really. Well, the more complicated something is, the more energy is needed. Sometimes it’s better to do things the long way rather than use the Soundimer, otherwise it can kind of stall for a few days from overuse. That’s a pain. Not so cool anymore, huh?”

“No, that’s . . . fascinating. Nice to get why Avice hates cooking so much.” I grinned. “May I use the bathroom?”

“Up the stairs, first door on your right.”

Upstairs, I peeked through the doors until I came to Avice’s room. It looked like something from a catalogue. From how much it dominated her room, I guessed her favorite color was red.

Moving over to her desk, I looked through the trash bin and pulled out a week-and-a-half old newspaper, chucking it in my bag to check out later. I checked her calendar, but there was nothing circled; no appointments to be seen.

Her bookshelves were lined up with plays, with all the works of Shakespeare there, but also modern and post modern theatre pieces, and stuff from authors I’d never heard of—Dowrl classics, maybe. I paused at Top Girls, and nodded, approving her taste. Then I checked out her music collection. That made me want to barf. Her good taste did not extend as far as her ears. I mean, Classic Alpenhorn Symphonies?

Still shaking my head in disgust, I poked my hand between the mattress and bed base. A classic hiding place for things parents weren’t meant to see.

Drat. Nothing.

I studied her room again, not wanting to miss anything. That’s when I noticed the picture hanging over her bed. Nothing unusual about the picture, but the frame was dusty. Dusty everywhere except the bottom left corner.

Checking it out, I moved the frame slightly from the wall. “Hot cakes!” I whispered, smiling as I withdrew a small hard book from the back of the picture. Her diary.

No lock, good. It never made sense to me why some diaries were locked. They only ever caused inconvenience to the owner—I mean, who ever remembers where they put that damn key?—anyone really wanting to read it would just break the lock.

It was a fat book, red, of course. I randomly opened at the middle.

Man I just love food! To remember: Salad Andrews for the best salads (but that was probably obvious wasn’t it?), Tiny Totters for the most awesome sweet potato croquettes, Eight, Nine, Ten for the finest spider patty burger, Alco Ococ for the best fizzed jam, Cindy Cunday for a pretty damn good ice cream...

I flicked to the last entry dated two days before the jewel’s disappearance.

All this travelling to and from Dowrl is making me mad. I wish I could walk through my door and bam, I’m in New York.

Travel inconvenience. But was that enough to steal a jewel that can cut through dimensions?

Flipping through the pages, block letters captured my attention.

I have to meet up with granddad. Get him to tell mum.

Tell mum what? Was this possibly what they were fighting about in the museum?

A couple of pages previous to that I found the entry I was looking for.

Met Jerry today. And I think he’ll be the one. Went to buy some food for Mr. Miffy and there he was, buying mice.

Mice? She met Jerry over mice? Darn. Jack was right—their meeting involved an animal. How did he know? I squeezed the diary tighter and continued to read.

I said, ‘the black mouse is kind of cute.’ He said, ‘it didn’t matter really what it looked like.’ I said, ‘if only that were the case for every guy.’ He laughed and picked up the black mouse; ‘Slippy’s in for a treat tonight.’ ‘Slippy?’ I asked. ‘My python,’ he said. ‘What are you buying?’ ‘Food for my mouse.’ I smiled faintly at him and left the store. Outside, he followed me all the way home. At the front door, I whipped around to ask what the hell he was thinking, but he produced a key from his pocket. ‘Looks like we live in the same apartment building’, he said.’

Slamming the diary shut, I thought about what I’d say to Jack. I didn’t want to see him all smug-faced again today, that would just make me flat out hate him.

And I really didn’t want to do dishes.

Two weeks’ dishes!

I slipped the potential evidence into my bag and made my way downstairs, where Josina had a warm cup of tea waiting for me. They were all inside now, sitting in the lounge. I didn’t want to sit on the sofa, because I would crinkle the cushion. Looking at the neat, dust-free arrangement of figurines on the table made me think that Josina may have been related to Terry.

“I’m just going to get some biscuits and muffins,” Josina said, leaving the room her voice trailing as she moved down the hall. “I always make both, because Avice loves biscuits and loathes muffins. But for me it’s the other way round.”

“She’s so nice,” Faye said. “Makes me feel extremely guilty.”

Terry shrugged and I knew what he was thinking. He felt a little bad at what we were doing, but more important was that we did anything to save our home.

Two minutes later, Josina came back in, carrying a plate of muffins. “Here we are.”

Faye smiled, grabbing one. “Thanks.”

“All of you. Take one,” Josina urged. Still, we all reached to grab one. “Eat up, I’m just going to . . . check on my washing. I’ll be back soon.”

My gaze moved from a retreating Josina to the muffin; it looked like there were almonds on top. I brought it to my lips and stopped, almost dropping the muffin. On the far wall, under a mantlepiece, also decorated with an overabundance of ornaments, was the fireplace. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Jack sensed my sudden stiffness. “What?” he asked.

“Have you seen it?” I whispered, pointing.

All our eyes shifted from our muffins toward the plain stone fireplace. Blue fire plumed out from the back of the grate, coming from a tortoise-like shell cone. The dragon’s tail!

We stared at the steady flame. I didn’t know what the others were thinking, but all I could think was how strange, fascinating, and cruel this was.

I stepped to the left to see more. The shell-tail curved up the side of the stone wall and disappeared up the chimney shoot.

“Is that how—”

“Yes,” I said. “This is where the dragons get plugged.” I shivered, imagining the tail, pulled taut down the two storey house.

“It looks painful,” Jack said, lifting his muffin to his mouth.

“Yeah,” I said.

Just as Jack took a bite, the doorbell rang—D-d-d-diiiing. Josina’s heavy footsteps moved toward the door.

“This tastes funky,” Jack said, eyes widening. He clutched his stomach and doubled over. He gasped, “Don’t eat! She’s spiked—”

He collapsed.