The Wyverns' Treasure Read online

  Nate shook Greasle gently.

  "I's awake," she murmured with a sigh. "And hungry. Is there anything to eat on this caboose?"

  At the reminder of food, Nate's stomach growled, and he looked at Aunt Phil hopefully.

  "We'll eat as soon as we get to Dewey's."

  Nate held his pack open, and Greasle climbed in. "I's could starve by then," she grumbled before he managed to fasten down the lid.

  As they got off the train, Dewey's face brightened at the sight of them. He glanced curiously at Nate, then bobbed his head at Aunt Phil. "Good to see ye, Dr. Fludd, and your young assistant." He winked at Nate, and Nate smiled back.

  "Me car's this way, and I'll tell you of the problem while we drive, if'n you don't mind."

  He herded them to the car, which turned out to be an ancient truck that coughed and spit when he started it. At the sound of the engine turning over, Greasle stuck her head out of the pack, startling Dewey. "Eh, what new beastie is this, then?" he asked.

  "Since you've not been around planes much, you probably haven't met a gremlin before," Aunt Phil said. "Meet Greasle, Nate's temporary pet."

  Dewey doffed his cap to the gremlin, which made her chortle with glee. She laughed so hard she tumbled off Nate's lap and he had to retrieve her from the floor.

  "And this is my nephew, Nate, the next beastologist after me."

  This time, not only did Dewey doff his cap, but he bowed his head slightly, which embarrassed Nate greatly. "Pleased to meet ye."

  "So what's the situation?" Aunt Phil asked crisply.

  "Well, the wyverns have been in a mighty uproar since just after feeding time yesterday morning. I thought it would die down, but it didn't, so I contacted you. They've been fetching and screaming, roaring and blowing plumes of smoke. Can't rightly figure out what's got them so riled up."

  "That's not good."

  "Aye. I managed to calm them down a bit with the news that you were on your way. They're waiting to parley with you right now. We'll head directly there, if'n you don't mind. Angry wyverns don't have much in the way of patience."

  "Very well," Aunt Phil said, her words echoing in Nate's empty stomach. Almost as if reading his mind, Dewey looked down at him and winked. "And my Winifred sent a basket, as she knows the good doctor never takes the time to eat properly."

  "And it is very much appreciated," Aunt Phil said. She fetched the basket from the floor of the truck and lifted the brightly checked cloth on top. Delicious smells floated upward and Nate's stomach growled again. She handed him a small meat pie shaped like a turnover. Nate was so hungry he didn't even ask what was in it. For once, he didn't care. He broke it in two and gave one half to Greasle.

  Aunt Phil raised an eyebrow but didn't scold him. Instead, she silently handed him a second meat pie.

  As they ate their lunch, the old truck rumbled and coughed its way through green hills scattered with harsh

  gray rock. The farther away from the station they got, the rougher the terrain became. Soon the green slopes turned to jagged cliffs and crags. Overhead, clouds clustered around the tops of the mountains, darkening the sky until it was nearly purple. Nate thought he saw dark shapes darting behind the clouds, but he couldn't be sure. There was a brief flash of light that could have been a lightning bolt or a billow of fire.

  The truck stopped and Dewey shut off the engine. "We've got to go on foot from here on up."

  "That's me signal," Greasle said, and scrambled back into Nate's rucksack.

  "Did you bring the necessities?" Aunt Phil asked Dewey as she got out of the truck.

  "Yep, all right here." He patted the truck bed, where Nate saw an old leather satchel, a large barrel, and a wheelbarrow. As Aunt Phil reached for the satchel, Dewey set himself to removing the wheelbarrow and the barrel.

  Aunt Phil set the satchel on the ground and opened it. "So Nate, your first lesson on wyverns. They can speak, but because of their immense size, the sound waves they produce are deeper and lower than humans can hear. They just sound like grumbles and mumbles to our naked ear. Therefore, we use these." From the pack, she produced a pair of crooked brass horns. She lifted one to her ear. "These special ear trumpets force the sound waves of the wyverns' voices to contract and shrink, making the words recognizable. Here. Hang it from your belt for easy access."

  Nate took the horn from her and snapped the clip to his belt. He wrinkled his nose, then sniffed. "I smell smoke," he said.

  "Nah, that's just the wyverns." Dewey hoisted the barrel from the truck bed and put it into the wheelbarrow. "I warned you they were impatient. The longer they wait, the madder they get."

  "And the madder they are, the more smoke you'll smell," Aunt Phil explained. "That's the second lesson. In fact, if the smell of smoke and ash grows too strong, hit the ground, because they're about to blow."

  Nate swallowed, trying to reassure himself that if Dewey and Aunt Phil weren't afraid to meet with angry wyverns, he shouldn't be either.

  Dewey gripped the wheelbarrow handles and began steering the lumbering contraption toward the path.

  "What's that for?" Nate skipped to catch up.

  "It's the traditional peace offering for wyverns. A token to show them we mean no harm," Aunt Phil explained.

  "Mead," Dewey added. "They're right fond of it. Have been ever since ol' Lludd gave 'em their first taste."

  The smell of smoke and ash grew stronger the closer they got to the top of the hill. Nate also heard a rumbling sound, as if there were a thunderstorm lurking up above.

  As they drew close to the ridge, Aunt Phil gave him a few last-minute instructions. "Don't look them in the eye until you've been introduced. They'll take that as a grave insult. Keep any shiny things in your pockets and don't take them out, or they'll think you've brought them a gift. Then you'll be stuck having to give it to them. Got it?"

  Repeating the instructions to himself, Nate nodded. Before he had time to do more than that, they cleared the last switchback. He found himself atop a large hill encircled by stones. In the middle were three dragons—wyverns, he corrected. Remembering Aunt Phil's words, he jerked his gaze down before he could give offense. Even so, his quick glimpse had shown beasts so vast and terrible looking that he wanted to turn and run all the way back down the hill. Except his legs were shaking so badly, he didn't think he'd make it.

  Chapter Seven

  OUT OF THE CORNER OF HIS EYE, Nate saw Aunt Phil bow. "Greetings, Urien," she said, then put the trumpet to her ear. Remembering, Nate scrambled to get his in place, too.

  The wyvern spread his leathery wings wide—they were huge!—and roared. The great bellow of sound hurt Nate's ears. Safe in the rucksack, he felt Greasle tremble.

  "Now, now, it's not as bad as all that," Aunt Phil said soothingly.

  "The Covenant isss broken." The sound of the dragon's voice was terrible, like the crackling of flames and the rumble of thunder, all at the same time.

  "I got here as soon as I could."

  The wyvern growled in response. The earth shook as he took a step closer, then another. Every bone in Nate's body shook in fear. He kept his eyes glued to the ground and prayed Aunt Phil knew what she was doing.

  Something long and thin flickered in his direction, gracefully fluttering around his head. Nate peered up through his eyelashes to see what it was. The dragon's tongue.

  "We sssmell a stranger. Did you bring a tasty morsel to appease usss?"

  "Of course not," Aunt Phil snapped at the wyvern.

  Beside him, Dewey made a strange choking sound. It took a moment before Nate recognized it was laughter.

  "Don't worry. Just a little dragon humor," Aunt Phil explained. She turned back to the wyvern. "He's my nephew. He'll be the next beastologist after I'm gone, so you better treat him well." Out of the side of her mouth, she whispered to Nate, "Bow."

  He bowed so low, his forehead practically touched the scorched ground beneath his feet.

  "Greetingsss, youngling," the wyvern—Urien—said.<
br />
  "You can stand up now and look at him," Aunt Phil instructed.

  Slowly, Nate raised his eyes.

  The wyvern was covered in gray and green scales that had a pearly sheen to them. Sharp teeth poked out from between his lips, and another row of toothy-looking spikes encircled his head. Two larger horns sat just over surprisingly delicate-looking ears. But what startled Nate the most were the eyes. Even though they were a roiling, boiling orange and red, they were filled with intelligence. There was also a glimmer of amusement, which made Nate relax, just the littlest bit. "Pleased to meet you," Nate said.

  "He's sssmall," the wyvern said.

  "Yes, but he'll grow soon enough. And we did bring you a gift," Aunt Phil said. "Here."

  With a grunt, Dewey rolled the barrel of mead forward. "Here you go. A nice drop o' mead for you."

  And a drop was all it would be for the dragon, Nate realized.

  Urien bowed his head, rather regally, Nate thought, then motioned for one of the other wyverns to take it. The other dragon swooped forward and plucked it elegantly from the ground using the wicked-looking claw along the tip of his wing.

  "Now," Aunt Phil said. "About this Covenant. How has it been broken? Did we not give you enough sheep? Do you need more oxen?"

  "Intruder. Nasssty intruder sneaking around."

  Aunt Phil glanced quickly at Nate, whose heart began to beat very, very fast. Could that mean...?

  "Have you seen any signs of a trespasser?" she asked Dewey.

  He shrugged. "Not hide nor hair of anyone."

  "Where?" Aunt Phil turned back to Urien. "Where did you see him?"

  "Sssmelled him."

  "Can you tell where the intruder is now?"

  "Caves. Sssneaking around in our caves. You broke the agreement," the wyvern said. "We will punish."

  "Now, now. The Covenant also clearly states that we have three days to make things right before you go on a rampage."

  "Ssstranger arrived the night before last."

  "Then that gives us a little over twenty-four hours to take care of the matter ourselves. By nightfall tomorrow. Do you agree?"

  Urien sighed and Nate thought he sounded regretful, as if he were very much looking forward to a rampage. For the first time, Nate realized how hard it must be not to be able to do dragonish things when one was a dragon.

  "As you wish."

  "Excellent. We'll report back here then."

  "Until then." The wyvern spread his giant wings, nearly blocking out the sun, then launched into the air. Nate gasped as the powerful surge lifted the creature off his feet and set a small tornado of leaves and dust swirling in its wake. The other two followed, one grasping the tiny barrel in his claws. They were unexpectedly graceful in the air, he thought.

  "Come along now," Aunt Phil said. "We haven't got much time to get to the bottom of this."

  Chapter Eight

  DEWEY LIVED IN THE STRANGEST HOUSE Nate had ever seen. It was built into the ground—a barrow, Aunt Phil called it. "All the caretakers have lived here since the very beginning. It took a while for the Covenant to stick, you see. There were lots of... incidents, until the wyverns managed to bring all their members into line. A house like this, with sod for a roof, was relatively flameproof."

  Nate also met Dewey's wife, Winifred, who reminded him of a hen as she clucked around, making sure they had enough to eat and were comfortable.

  She was quite taken with the gremlin. "What a charming wee doll you have there," she told Nate.

  Embarrassed, he started to explain but was interrupted by Greasle herself. "I ain't no doll," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "I's a gremlin."

  "Ah, and so I see," Winifred said. "And what exactly is a gremlin, then?"

  Greasle opened her mouth, then closed it and looked at Nate. Nate shrugged. Was Greasle a person? An animal? He had no idea what a gremlin was. Except a pest occasionally, according to Aunt Phil. He was guessing that wasn't the answer Greasle was looking for.

  "A gremlin's me," Greasle finally said.

  "Ah," Winifred said, as if that made perfect sense. "Good to know, then."

  When she left the room, Greasle turned to Nate. "What's a doll?"

  "A toy. Shaped like a tiny person."

  "Maybe I is a doll, then."

  "Nope. For one, you're alive. And two, you're not very humanlike."

  After much argument, it was finally decided that Nate and Aunt Phil would spend the night, then set out first thing in the morning. Aunt Phil wanted to get moving immediately, but Dewey and Winifred convinced her a night's rest was in order.

  When Dewey went to fetch their equipment, Nate and Aunt Phil were finally alone for a moment. The question that had been trying to burst out of Nate for the past hour wiggled free. "Do you think the intruder is Obediah Fludd?" he asked. Even though Obediah sounded like a despicable person, Nate thought he might be able to give them a clue about Nate's parents.

  Aunt Phil paused in sorting through her gear. "I have to think so, Nate. It's too much of a coincidence that an entirely separate intruder has shown up here."

  "Why is he visiting all the beasts? Do you think he wants to be a beastologist?"

  "I don't think so. But that's one of my concerns. I can't imagine what he might be up to, which makes me very nervous."

  "In stories, dragons have treasure, and you mentioned the wyverns' treasure. Maybe he's after that?"

  "That would have been my first guess, except it doesn't explain what he wanted with the phoenix and the basilisk. No, I'm afraid he has something more sinister in mind."

  "Like what?"

  "Exploitation," she said, a look of disgust on her face.

  Nate looked at her blankly.

  "One of the reasons we beastologists take our job so seriously is for the beasts' protection. Ever since man learned of them, they have been hunted, trapped, snared, and captured. Often for a bit of claw or a tooth, a scale or two, a feather. That is why there are so very few left. It's hard to believe, but some of these beasts used to be so plentiful that they were considered pests. But now you and I must do everything in our power to help them survive."

  "So what did he want with the basilisk?" Nate asked.

  Aunt Phil shook her head. "Again, I haven't a clue."

  "Do you think he meant to capture it?"

  Aunt Phil pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That had occurred to me, but to what end?"

  Nate shrugged. "It seems to me, if you had something like a basilisk, you could pretty much get anyone to do what you wanted because everyone would be so scared of it."

  Aunt Phil looked at Nate as if he'd sprouted horns. "But of course! How clever of you, Nate! He could use it as a weapon or as a means of forcing all sorts of things."

  Nate stood a little taller and tried to look clever rather than simply nervous. Heartened by Aunt Phil's praise, he asked the question that had haunted him since Urien had first spoken of the intruder. "Do you think Obediah will know where my parents are?"

  Aunt Phil's face softened. "Oh, Nate, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you false hope. Just because I suspect Obediah may have obtained The Geographica doesn't mean I think your parents are still alive. It only means I think Obediah might have taken advantage of their death."

  Nate's heart plummeted all the way to his toes. "But I thought you said..."

  "I said I thought their disappearance was related to this stranger's sudden knowledge of where to find the beasts. Not the same thing at all, Nate. I'm sorry."

  Nate reviewed their past conversations in his head. Aunt Phil was right. She'd never said they might still be alive. "Oh." He felt foolish and silly and, most of all, as if he was going to cry. He turned away before she could see. "Did you get everything you need out of your pack?" he asked.

  "Yes, thank you. I've put everything I need in Dewey's flameproof one." Her voice was gentle, which made it even worse. Nate picked up her pack and lugged it to a corner of the room to give himself a moment of privacy.
/>   Just then, Dewey returned carrying an enormous wad of gear in his arms. With a thunk, he set it down onto the table, then stood up and rubbed his back. "There you go, ma'am. I think that's everything."

  "Excellent, Dewey!" Aunt Phil stood beside the table and began dividing it up. She handed Nate two coils of rope, some metal spikes that looked like giant nails, and a small pick. Last she gave him an enormous helmet. "What's that on top?" he asked, taking it from her.

  "Ah, that was Dewey's brilliant idea."

  The old man beamed.

  "He figured out a way to bolt an electric lantern to the top. That way we can keep our hands free but still see where we're going in the caves."

  Caves. Nate swallowed. Why did there always have to be caves?

  Aunt Phil showed him how to fasten all his gear to his pack. When she was done, she placed The Book of Beasts on the table. "Come look at this so you can get an idea of the caverns' layout," she said.

  Nate came over as she opened the book to the page on wyverns. The page after it was blank. Or so Nate thought. As he watched, Aunt Phil unfolded what turned out to be a map. "These are the caverns of Dinas Emrys, mapped by Llewellyn Fludd nearly four centuries ago."

  Nate peered down at the page. The paper was old and thick, the writing very fancy and hard to read. The map itself looked like a maze, with paths that twisted and turned and ran into dead ends. It didn't look to Nate as though any of the tunnels led anywhere.

  After studying the map for a few moments, Aunt Phil gave a brisk nod. "Exactly as I remember. Excellent." She folded it back up, shut the book, then stored it in her pack. "Oh, and one more thing. You'll need these." She dug into her pocket and put a handful of pennies into Nate's hand.

  "What are these for?" he asked, staring at the shiny new coins in his palm.

  "Some of these wyverns are young, Nate. They don't understand yet about covenants or parleys or any of that sort of thing. They are ruled by their base instincts: food, physical prowess, and treasure. They will see us and think Food! If that happens, the most effective way to get free will be to distract them with another of their base instincts—the desire for treasure. To wyverns, treasure simply means anything shiny. A new copper penny will be as exciting to them as gold sovereigns."