The Wyverns' Treasure Read online

  Nathaniel Fludd Beastologist: The Wyverns' Treasure

  Book Three

  R. L. Lafevers

  * * *

  * * *

  ILLUSTRATED BY KELLY MURPHY

  * * *

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN BOOKS FOR CHILDREN

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT

  BOSTON NEW YORK 2010

  * * *

  Text copyright © 2010 by R. L. LaFevers

  Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Kelly Murphy

  All rights reserved. For information about permission

  to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Houghton Mifflin Books for Children is an imprint of

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  The text of this book is set in ITC Giovanni.

  The illustrations are pen and ink.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  La Fevers, R. L. (Robin L.)

  The wyverns' treasure / by R.L. LaFevers ; illustrated by Kelly Murphy.

  p. cm.—(Nathaniel Fludd, beastologist ; bk. 3)

  Summary: When Nathaniel and Aunt Phil are summoned to the Welsh countryside

  to calm the giant dragons known as wyverns, they suspect the problem was

  caused by the same sinister man who has been trying to steal The Book of Beasts.

  ISBN 978-0-547-31618-5

  [1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Aunts—Fiction. 3. Dragons—Fiction.

  4. Animals, Mythical—Fiction. 5. Orphans—Fiction. 6. Wales—Fiction.]

  I. Murphy, Kelly, 1977–ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.L1414Wyv 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2010006786

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  4500251923

  * * *

  FOR CALEB ARCE,

  OUR FAMILY'S NEWEST TREASURE

  —R.L.L.

  FOR FRED,

  A FRIEND AND MENTOR

  —K.M.

  Chapter One

  Late September, 1928

  THERE WERE TIMES when Nathaniel Fludd wasn't sure he'd survive living with Aunt Phil.

  "Hold on!" she called over her shoulder. "The field's a bit bumpy."

  Today was one of those times. With his feet resting on the weasels' crate, Nate gripped the sides of the cockpit. He had no idea if all pilots were this bad at landings or if it was just Aunt Phil.

  The nose of the plane dipped down. They were coming in a little fast, it seemed to Nate. And low, he thought, as they clipped a tree, shaving a good three feet off the top. Unable to stand it, he closed his eyes.

  They landed with a jolt that sent his knees clacking into his chin. As they bounced and rolled to a stop, he tasted blood from where he'd bit his tongue. Once Aunt Phil cut the engine, Nate's pet gremlin, Greasle, popped her head out of his rucksack. "Is she done with all her hopping and bopping?"

  "If you're wondering if we've landed, yes," Nate said.

  Aunt Phil jumped out and came around to the side. "Can you hand me that crate?" she asked.

  "Sure." Nate grasped the crate by the sides and hoisted it over the edge of the cockpit. Aunt Phil took it with a grunt. Then Nate grabbed his rucksack—Greasle and all—and climbed out of the plane. He felt like laughing for joy at the feel of solid ground under his feet.

  Aunt Phil set the crate down on the grass and opened it. Roland and Sallie raced out, eager for their freedom after such a long journey. Nate watched as the weasels made a mad dash toward the nearby trees. "Will they come back, do you think?" he asked.

  "Of course they will, in a day or two. This is their home, after all. And speaking of home," Aunt Phil said, "now that we're here, I'll have to do something about that gremlin of yours."

  Hearing Aunt Phil's words, Greasle dived down into the depths of Nate's pack.

  Aunt Phil did not like gremlins. She thought they were pests, and she hadn't been happy when Nate had rescued Greasle. But Greasle had become his best friend, and he couldn't imagine life without her. Even so, he kept his mouth closed. For now. Later, after Aunt Phil had had a decent meal and a hot bath, he'd try to talk her into letting him keep the gremlin.

  Completely unaware of his scheming, Aunt Phil put her hands on her hips and looked toward the house. "I wonder where Cornelius is? He's usually here to welcome me home."

  "Maybe he's sulking because we actually made it home. He was pretty certain I'd mess things up."

  "Heard that, did you? I was afraid you had, but don't mind old Corny. He's gotten a bit protective from having lived through so many generations of Fludds." She grabbed the last pack. "Come on, let's get inside. I could do with a nice strong cup of tea."

  Nate followed Aunt Phil to the back door, then nearly bumped into her as she stopped unexpectedly. "That's odd," she said.

  "What's odd?"

  "The back door is off its hinges." Scowling, she put her finger to her lips, then cautiously pushed the door open.

  It took Nate a moment to realize what he was seeing. The house had never been tidy, but now it was in shambles. Tables were overturned and drawers were pulled out of bureaus. Some of the maps had been ripped from the wall and others were missing entirely. All the navigational instruments had been knocked from the shelves.

  "Corny," Aunt Phil whispered. Then louder. "Cornelius!" It was hard to miss the note of panic in her voice. She ran into the kitchen. Cooking pots littered the floor and broken crockery was scattered everywhere. "Cornelius!" Aunt Phil called out again. "Are you here?"

  They listened for a long moment, hearing nothing but echoing silence. Aunt Phil's shoulders drooped.

  There was a faint rustling behind them. "Philomena? Is that really you?"

  "Cornelius!" Aunt Phil whirled around. Her face lit up with relief as the dodo emerged from under the kitchen sink. "You're unharmed!"

  "Harrumph," the dodo squawked. "If you call being browbeaten and terrorized unharmed, I suppose you could say that."

  Indeed, the bird's feathers were all ruffled and askew.

  "Poor Corny!" Aunt Phil knelt down in front of him. "Here, let me have a look at you."

  It seemed to Nate that Cornelius was trying to look as pathetic as possible.

  "I see the boy made it back ( alive," the dodo sniffed.

  Nate wanted to shout, Yes, I made it back, you dumb dodo! Instead, he kicked at a tin can on the floor and said, "You've got a bit of rubbish stuck to your tail feathers."

  Cornelius gave a small squawk of dismay. "Where?" he asked, craning his neck, trying to see his own backside.

  Nate smiled in satisfaction, and Aunt Phil threw him a reproachful glance. "Nate did very well, Cornelius. I told you he would." Then she changed the subject. "Can you tell us what happened?" As she talked, her hands gently poked at Cornelius, looking for any serious damage.

  "Two days ago a plane landed in the backyard. At first I thought it was you—you were late coming back, you know," he said accusingly.

  "I know. We had a crisis in Africa. The basilisk escaped. Or was let loose. Your story first, then I will tell you ours."

  "Just as I reached the back door to greet you, it flew open, knocked off its hinges. It caught me full on. I was lucky I wasn't killed."

  "Indeed," Aunt Phil murmured comfortingly.

  "The blow knocked me to the ground and stunned me. That worked to my advantage, actually. The intruder didn't notice me until later, and then he thought I was stuffed. I'm quite sure that's what saved my life." The dodo paused, eliciting another dose of sympathy from Aunt Phil.

  "Then the blackgu
ard searched the house from top to bottom. Inside and out. He never gave a single thought as to what a mess he was making or what he was destroying, as you can see." Nate's rucksack rustled and he felt Greasle stick her head out so she could hear better.

  "Was he alone?" Aunt Phil asked.

  "Yes. After searching the entire house, he left. Empty-handed, I might add. Whatever he was searching for, he didn't find. I then dragged myself to the nearest hiding place and waited until it was safe to come out."

  "For two whole days?" Nate asked.

  The dodo fixed Nate with a baleful glare. "They say criminals always return to the scene of the crime. It seemed best to be on the safe—what," he asked, seeing Greasle for the first time, "is that?"

  Aunt Phil waved his question aside. "A gremlin. I'll explain later. Did you get a look at the intruder?" Aunt Phil asked.

  "I'll say. For three hours, as he ransacked the house, I had nothing to do but look at him. I hardly dared blink for fear he'd realize I wasn't stuffed." He sniffed again. "As if a beastologist would own a stuffed animal of any sort."

  "Well, what did he look like?" Aunt Phil asked, a trace of impatience creeping into her voice.

  Cornelius blinked his big yellow eyes at her. "Like you," he said.

  Chapter Two

  WHATEVER SHE'D BEEN EXPECTING, it wasn't this. Aunt Phil dropped back on her heels. "Are you sure?"

  "How tall was he?" Nate interrupted.

  "A bit shorter than Philomena," the dodo answered.

  "And was he thin? Round?" Nate asked.

  "Shaped a bit like a barrel," the dodo replied. "But why do you care? It's not as if you'd recognize another Fludd if you saw one."

  Nate's cheeks grew warm at the scorn in Cornelius's voice. "It just so happens I saw a man exactly like that in Arabia," Nate said hotly. "He was trying to steal The Book of Beasts. Greasle and I fought him off."

  Cornelius ignored Nate's outburst and answered Aunt Phil's initial question. "Yes, I'm sure. He had the same ginger hair as you and the boy. Not to mention, I've been around enough Fludds to recognize their features when I see them."

  Thoroughly confused, Nate turned to Aunt Phil. "But I thought you were my last remaining relative?"

  Cornelius cast an accusing look at Aunt Phil. "Do you mean to tell me you've said nothing of Octavius Fludd to him?"

  Aunt Phil waved his scolding aside. "We were rather busy, you know. And there were so many other important things to tell him. I didn't get around to mentioning it."

  "Who is Octavius Fludd?" Nate asked.

  "Do you remember me telling you that there was an eighth Fludd son? The family's black sheep?"

  Nate nodded.

  "Cornelius is suggesting that our mysterious intruder is one of his descendants. I believe his name is Obediah, but I'd have to consult our records to be sure. The information we have about that branch of the family is rather sketchy."

  "But if he's related to you, why would he do this?" Nate surveyed the damage done to Aunt Phil's house.

  "That would be where the black-sheep part comes in," Cornelius said dryly.

  "I'm afraid it's a rather long story." Aunt Phil fetched the rubbish bin from under the sink and carried it over to the stove. She began tossing pieces of broken crockery into the trash. "Octavius f was the son who got stuck with the northeastern exploration in Russia and Muscovy. It was a frozen, bitter wasteland, which turned him into a frozen, bitter man. Octavius soon stopped reporting his findings for the mapping project and withheld information on his explorations. Concerned, Sir Mungo sent one of his other sons, Henricus, to check on him. However, Octavius was convinced his own father and brothers were conspiring against him to banish him to that desolate place. He swore eternal vengeance, and Henricus barely made it back with his life."

  "But that was hundreds of years ago," Nate said, tossing a smashed cake plate into the rubbish bin.

  "Ah, but hatred feeds hatred. Octavius raised his sons to hate the rest of the Fludds, and his sons taught their own the same lesson. There was never any cooperation between the family branches. In fact, throughout the years they often worked against us, trying to beat us to new frontiers. Without intending to, we became caught up in a desperate competition. They would not share their information with us. They became wildly territorial and set upon any Fludd who ventured into their frozen wasteland—oh!"

  "What?" Cornelius and Nate said at the exact same time. The dodo tossed Nate a quelling look.

  "Well, as I told Nate, the man we ran into in Africa seemed to know with unerring accuracy the exact location of both the phoenix and the basilisk. This led me to think he had somehow acquired Sir Mungo Fludd's Geographica ..."

  "Which the boy's father had the only copy of," Cornelius added.

  "Precisely. But it just now occurred to me, Nate's parents were exploring the frozen north. Is it possible that Obediah saw them as trespassing in his territory?"

  "I'd think more than a possibility," Cornelius said. "It seems to me the bigger question is, did he arrange the deaths? Or merely claim The Geographica after they'd already been lost?"

  Nate's entire body went hot, and then cold. "Are you saying you think they might have been killed on purpose?"

  "That is what I intend to find out," Aunt Phil said. There was a moment of silence as they all considered what this might mean.

  Deciding it was safe, Greasle crawled all the way out of Nate's backpack and onto his shoulder. "Seems to me this family spends too much time thinking about them book things. Doncha got any food around here?"

  Cornelius turned a disbelieving gaze on Nate. "A gremlin? You actually picked a gremlin for a companion? No self-respecting beastologist would do that. They choose

  elegant or exotic animals, like a dodo, say. Or a satyr. Wolfgang Fludd had one of those. And Gordon Fludd had a manticore."

  "And I believe Leopold had a polar bear," Aunt Phil added thoughtfully.

  "Yes, but never a pest," the dodo harrumphed.

  "I'm no pest!" Stung to action, Greasle jumped off Nate's shoulder. Once on the floor, she hurried over to a teacup. "See? At least I gots fingers what can pick stuff up and be helpful-like." She wrinkled her nose at the dodo's wings, then reached out and grabbed the handle of the teacup. Next to her, it was nearly the size of a bathtub. She began dragging it to the rubbish bin, her face screwed up with the effort.

  Nate bent down and plucked the cup from the ground, setting it on the counter.

  "Ain't you going to put it in there, like she did?"

  "Not this one," Nate said. Then he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "It's not broken."

  "Oh." Greasle's ears drooped. She looked from the cup to the broken pieces in the trash, trying to figure out the difference. Nate supposed it didn't make any sense if you'd never actually seen a teacup before.

  "I have made up my mind," Aunt Phil announced.

  Nate and Greasle turned their attention back to Aunt Phil. Had she decided about Greasle, then? Nate squared his shoulders and tried to come up with an argument as to why he should be able to keep the gremlin.

  "Nate and I must go to London tomorrow and meet with his parents' lawyer," she continued. "Surely he'll have some more information he can share with us."

  The thought of answers ignited a spark of hope in Nate and chased all thoughts of arguing from his head.

  They had a quick dinner of tinned sardines on burned toast. After that, Aunt Phil called a neighbor and arranged for him to come over the next day and clean up the mess the intruder had left.

  Nate was so tired he was stumbling when he finally reached his bedroom on the second floor. Had he really once thought it rough and bare? After sleeping on the sand, in tents, and on the bumpy ground, this room was a luxury.

  Greasle, however, wrinkled her nose. "It's so big," she said, huddling nearer. "So much empty space. I don't likes it," she said with a tiny shudder.

  Nate figured if you were used to small, tight places, like engines, the room wou
ld seem very odd. "The bed is soft," he pointed out, trying to find something she might like.

  But Greasle was looking at the window, her face bright. "It has snacks!" She scampered over and plucked a large dead fly from the sill, and popped it into her mouth.

  Now it was Nate's turn to shudder. "Do you have to do that?"

  "I tolds you I was hungry."

  Nate sighed. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."

  He needed to take a bath first. Greasle wanted to watch, so Nate had to explain that for humans, bathing was private. But after he'd scrubbed himself clean and put on an old nightshirt, he let Greasle into the bathroom.

  As Nate brushed his teeth, Greasle studied the water curiously.

  "You should probably take a bath, too," Nate said. "To wash all that oil and dirt off you."

  "Nuh-unh," she said, recoiling. "Gremlins don't likes no nasty wet stuff."

  "How do you know if you've never tried it?"

  "How does you know you doesn't likes oil if you never eats it?" she asked.

  Nate opened his mouth, then closed it, then finally said, "Because."

  Greasle folded up her arms and looked smug. "Exactly."

  Even though Nate was back in a comfortable bed, it took a while for him to fall asleep. His head was too full of possibilities. Ideas and unspoken hopes flitted around like moths, bumping into the one hope he dared not voice: Could his parents possibly still be alive?

  Chapter Three

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Aunt Phil shouldered her pack and led Nate and Greasle out to the motorbike in her garage. While Greasle had not been crazy about the bath or bedroom, she was delighted with the motorbike. She petted it fondly and even licked the exhaust pipe when she thought no one was looking.

  Aunt Phil had Nate crawl into the funny little sidecar. Once he was settled, she started up the bike. As she drove them to the train station, Nate quickly realized that driving with her was almost as terrifying as flying.