Dragon Rider

“You — you — do you know the answer?” Ben’s tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth.



“Do I know the answer?” The djinn laughed again. He kneeled down and held his blue thumb in front of Ben’s face. “Look at that!” he breathed. “Look into my two hundred and twenty-third eye. What do you see?”



Ben bent over Asif’s thumb.



“I see a river!” he whispered, so quietly that Firedrake had to prick up his ears to hear him. “It’s flowing through green mountains. On and on. Now the mountains are higher. Everything’s bare and empty. There are mountains very oddly shaped, like, like …” But the picture was changing.



“The river’s flowing past a building,” murmured Ben. “Not an ordinary building. A palace or something like that.”



The djinn nodded. “Look at it—look at it hard,” he breathed. “Look at it closely.”



Ben looked until the picture blurred again. Then Asif held out his forefinger. “And here is my two hundred and fifty-fifth eye,” he said. “What do you see there?”



“I see a valley,” said Ben. “A valley surrounded by nine high mountains with snowcapped peaks. They’re almost all the same height. The valley is full of mist.”



“Good!” Asif blinked. The picture blurred again, like the images in all his other nine hundred and ninety-nine eyes, and a new one appeared.



Ben’s eyes opened wide. “There, oh, look!” He bent excitedly over Asif’s gigantic finger. “Firedrake, there’s a dragon there. A dragon like you! In a cave. A gigantic cave!”



Firedrake took a deep breath and stepped forward uneasily. But Asif blinked again, and the picture in his two hundred and fifty-fifth eye blurred, along with all the rest. Disappointed, Ben straightened up. The djinn withdrew his hand, placed it on his mighty knee, and stroked his long mustache with his other hand.



“Did you notice what you saw?” he asked the boy. “Did you memorize it carefully?”



Ben nodded. “Yes,” he stammered. “Yes, but —”



“Beware!” Asif crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the boy sternly. “You have asked your question. But now watch your tongue, or you may yet be my servant.”



Confused, Ben bowed his head. The djinn rose and floated a little way up in the air, as light as a balloon.



“Follow the river Indus and seek the images you saw in my eyes!” boomed Asif. “Seek the images. Enter the palace on the mountainside and break the moonlight on the stone dragon’s head. When that day comes, twenty fingers will point the way to the Rim of Heaven, and silver will be worth more than gold.”



Speechless, Ben looked up at the vast djinn. Asif smiled.



“You, you were the first!” he called again.



Then he inflated like a sail in the wind, and his arms and legs turned to blue smoke again. Asif whirled around and around until leaves and flowers were dancing in his wake and he was nothing but a pillar of blue smoke. It dissolved in a gust of wind and disappeared.



“‘Seek the images,’” murmured Ben and closed his eyes.



21. Twigleg’s Decision



Firedrake wanted to fly on at once, but the sun was still high in the sky. Although it had soon grown dark in the djinn’s ravine, there were still many hours to go before night would fall outside. So they found a place far from the djinn’s lair, down by the river among the leaves that tasted so good to Sorrel, and waited there for the moon to rise. However, the dragon could not sleep. He paced restlessly up and down the riverbank.



“Firedrake, you really ought to get some sleep,” said Ben, spreading out the map on a sea of white flowers. “There’s still a long way to go before we reach the coast.”



Firedrake craned his neck over Ben’s shoulder, his eyes following the boy’s finger as it traced their way over mountains, gorges, and deserts.



“This is where we ought to reach the sea,” Ben told him. “See the mark the rat made? I don’t think that part of the route looks difficult. But this,” and he indicated the vast expanse of sea between the Arabian peninsula and the delta of the Indus, “this bothers me. I’ve no idea where you’ll be able to land. Not an island in sight. And it will take us at least two nights to get across.” He shook his head. “I can’t see how we’re going to do it without coming down on the water.”



Thoughtfully Firedrake looked first at the map and then at the boy. “Where’s the village where the woman who knows about dragons lives?”



Ben tapped the map. “Here. Right at the mouth of the river Indus. So it wouldn’t take us far out of our way to visit her. And do you know where the Indus rises?”



The dragon shook his head.



“In the Himalayas!” cried Ben. “That fits, doesn’t it? We only have to find the palace I saw in Asif’s eye and then —”



“Then what?” Sorrel sat down beside them in the fragrant flowers. “Then you break moonlight on the stone dragon’s head. Can you tell me what that’s supposed to mean?”



“Not yet,” said Ben. “But I’ll know when it happens.”



“And how about the twenty fingers?” The brownie lowered her voice. “Always supposing that blue person wasn’t just putting us on.”



“Oh, no.” Twigleg climbed onto Ben’s lap. “That’s only the way a djinn talks. The young master’s right. The words will explain themselves, you wait and see.”



“I hope you’re right,” muttered Sorrel, rolling up in a ball underneath a huge fern frond.



Firedrake lay down beside her and lowered his head to his paws. “Break the moonlight,” he murmured. “Sounds like a riddle to me.” He yawned and closed his eyes.



It was dark and cold under the palms now. Ben and Sorrel pressed close to Firedrake’s warm scales, and soon all three of them were asleep.



Only Twigleg remained awake, sitting beside them among the white blossoms. The scent of the flowers made him feel dizzy. He listened to Ben’s peaceful breathing, looked at Firedrake’s silver scales and his friendly face, so different from the face of Nettlebrand, and sighed. A single question was buzzing around in his head like a captive bumblebee.



Should he tell his master what the djinn had said and, by doing so, betray the silver dragon?



Twigleg’s little head was aching so hard as he pondered this question that he pressed his hands to his throbbing temples. He hadn’t stolen Nettlebrand’s scale back from the boy yet, either. He leaned against Ben’s back and closed his eyes. Perhaps his brain would calm down in his sleep. But just as he thought the peaceful breathing of the other three was making him drowsy, something plucked at his sleeve. The homunculus started and sat up. Was one of those nasty giant lizards that lurked among the creepers trying to take a bite out of him?



But it was the raven sitting in the tangled leaves in front of Twigleg, plucking at his sleeve with his beak.



“Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” whispered the homunculus, annoyed.



He rose quietly and beckoned the raven to follow him away from his sleeping companions. The big bird stalked after him.



“You’ve forgotten your report,” he croaked. “How much longer are you going to leave it?”