The Last Dragon Chronicles: The Fire Ascending (49 page)

Which prompts Angel to lean forward and whisper to Zookie, “Behave, you’re scaring Nathan. That’s Mum’s job.”

The studio erupts in laughter.

“Okay, here we go!” James shouts. “This is from
 
Icefire
, out on general release next Thursday. Go and watch it. Trust me, it’s a terrific film.”

The screen flares into life. We see Bergstrom,   the   enigmatic   explorer, approaching a sitting polar bear who appears to be guarding a pocket watch. The watch is ticking louder than it should, as if it’s in harmony with the

universe. It’s Bergstrom’s timepiece. A precious heirloom. He stares at the bear and asks for it back. The bear speaks, telling Bergstrom he can have the watch back, but only if he picks it up and follows the bear north. When Bergstrom asks why, the bear reminds the explorer of what he discovered earlier that day: dragontongue, burned into the walls of a cave. A record of the meeting of the last twelve dragons. Bergstrom is the first human to encounter evidence of dragons on Earth. The mark of Oomara suddenly appears in the polar bear’s head. Bergstrom looks back at the life he once knew. He steps forward and picks up the watch. He flips it shut and puts it in his pocket. ‘Lead on…’ he says.

The clip ends. The audience applaudwith great enthusiasm.

“Great   scene,”   says   James.   Headdresses the crowd. “Be honest. How

many of you would pick up the watch and go with the bear, and how many would just get the heck out of there?”

Judging by the rumble, the audience is divided.

Before James can respond, Angel sitsupright and says, “Hey, you know Uncle Tam, don’t you?”

“The journalist who married your Aunt Lucy? I play squash with him. Bad loser. Owes me a fiver.”

“No, he doesn’t,” says Angel. “Uncle Tam’s lovely. Shall I tell you what he’d do in this situation? He says he wouldn’t

pick up the watch. He’d just offer the bear a couple of grand to publish his story.”

“Nice,” says James, laughing with the audience. “That’s very him. Listen, it’s been a pleasure talking to you. Good luck with the movie. Will there be another?”

“Two more, we hope. Dad’s roughing

out the next one now with Rod.”

“Fantastic. We’ll all look forward to

that.   Ladies   and   gentleman,   Angel

Merriman!”

They stand and air-kiss again. Angelpicks up Gadzooks and kisses his topknot,a scene that will later spark anotherincredible buzz around the Cloud. Just for

a moment, as Angel waves goodbye, the camera manages to blur Gadzooks. But what  was  written  on  the  dragon’s

notepad? It looks like the three-lined mark

of Oomara.

Though  it  could  have  just  been

Hrrrrrrrr…

Part Ten

Gadzooks

The studio lights come up and the floormanager announces a break in recording. “Do you want to go down and see him?” David asks.

Zanna, who has had her arm looped inhis   throughout,   says,   “She’ll   bedisappointed now if I don’t.”

“If it’s all right with you, I won’t. I’dlike to go and visit Mum.”

Zanna nods. “Of course.”

“Mr   Rain?   Sorry,   I   mean   Mr

Merriman?” An embarrassed fan has

shuffled along the row in front of them, holding a pad she hopes he’ll sign. “Would it be all right if I had your autograph?”

“Of course,” David says. He takes the

pad.

“I just love your books, and I
 
do
 
believe in dragons.”

“I should hope so,” he says, making Zanna smile.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why did you call yourself ‘Rain’ in

the stories?”

David hands the pad back with hissignature. “I always wanted to writepaperback books, and The Beatles had atune called ‘Paperback Writer’. On theopposite side of the record was a trackcalled ‘Rain’. That’s my favourite song oftheirs. That’s where it comes from.”

“Record?” says the fan.

Zanna laughs. “Now you’re showing

your age,” she says.

“Enjoy the movie,” David says to the

fan.

“Oh, I will.” She clamps the pad to her chest. “Thank you
 
so
 
much.”

She shuffles away.

“You’ve still got it,” Zanna says.

David smiles. He stands up and kisses her cheek. “Tell Lexie she was great. See you back at the house.”

And he disappears out of the theatre, noticed by many, questioned by none.

He takes a cab out of town, to the small graveyard on the hill outside Scrubbley where his mother and Joseph Henry are buried, stopping on the way to buy a few lilies. They are Liz’s favourite flower. He pays the driver but asks him to wait,

saying he will only be ten minutes. He opens the swinging picket gate and walks along a winding path that will shortly bring him to his mother’s grave. It is autumn and the path is speckled with leaves. Appropriately, a squirrel bounds across the tarmac. It bounces onto a

wonky urn, then a tilted headstone and disappears into the shadows of an oak. David smiles and scents the flowers. They smell heady. He thinks that Gretel would

approve.

Liz’s headstone faces the afternoon sun.

A simple arc of granite. No real frills. There was talk at the time about fixing oneof her dragons to the plot, but the risk oftheft put an end to that.

David  crouches  and  removes  the

existing flowers. They are long dead, needing to return to Gaia. “Hello, Mum,” he says, laying the lilies down. “I’ve just come from a TV studio. Lexie was being interviewed about her role in the movie.

She did well. She’s a big star now. Youwould have been so proud of her.”

He brushes some moss off the epitaphwording, the part that says, ‘maker ofdragons’. He traces the last word with hisfingers, making sure the grooves in theletters are clear. He does the same with

the   small  bit  of  corbelling,  which decorates the top of the stone.

He speaks some more about Alexa, and is about to move on to Zanna and Arthur

and Lucy, when he hears footsteps further down the path. This is not unusual, even in

mid-afternoon, but the visitor’s identity does surprise him. He stands up as Anders Bergstrom joins him at the graveside.

“I thought I might find you here.” Despite his many years in England, there is still a strong hint of the Arctic in Bergstrom. “How is she?”

There is nothing strange about this. Both men hold the strong belief that the spirit survives the body after death. So David says, “Calm. She’s calm.”

Bergstrom nods. “I’m glad to hear it.” His hair, like David’s, is closer-cropped; his skin a little thinner on his cheekbones, perhaps. As always, despite the threat of winter, he does not appear to be feeling the cold. David is wearing an open overcoat; the Norwegian has his sleeves

rolled up to the elbow. A jacket, at least, is slung across one forearm.

“What are you doing here, Anders?”

Bergstrom stares at the grave. “I visit when I’m in the area. I liked your mother. She was a wonderful woman. How did the

interview go?”

“Good. Alexa handled herself well.”

“Did James speak of the experiment?”

“A little. Why?”

Bergstrom hunkers down and picks up a lily. “Why have you stopped using the implant?”

David instinctively feels in the region of his heart. He seems to come to a

decision and slips his hand inside his shirt. When he withdraws it, there is a small  spike   of  transmorphic   crystal

between his forefinger and thumb. It could almost be a piece of ice. At one time, the invisible neural fibres running through the implant would have been pulsing neon blue. Now, there is nothing. He shows the crystal to Bergstrom. “I haven’t. It stopped working two days ago.”

“Have you told Arthur?”

“He’s away, at the Oslo Conference – where I thought you would be. I was going to tell him when he gets back. Why aren’t you in Oslo?”

“Because I’m here.”

This is a fairly standard response. Bergstrom is a man of few words, andlikes to cultivate an air of detachment with

them.

David looks across the graveyard. In

the distance, a gardener is mowing the bumpy strips of grass between the graves. David thinks of Henry Bacon, his longdead neighbour, and how squirrels once wrecked the old man’s mower. The

memory is strong and almost overpowers him. He hears the gardener bellow something. But the man is too far away to make any sense. David shivers and looks at the sky. There are no clouds present, and no real warmth from the orange sun, either. He lets Dr Bergstrom come back into focus. There has always been an odd kind of tension between them, which David has never fully understood, though he’s written about it accurately in the books many times. He offers Bergstrom the crystal. “Take it. Maybe there’s a

fault.”

“Or maybe the experiment has run its

course?”

There is a sense of accusation here, asthough David is holding something back. But Bergstrom doesn’t pursue it. Herelaxes and pats David’s arm. “We’ll talkabout this when Arthur returns. Now I’ll

leave you in peace, with Elizabeth.” He takes the crystal and puts it in his pocket. Before he leaves, he switches his jacket to the other arm and touches his right hand to his lips, releasing a silent kiss for Liz. It’s then that David sees something he’s never seen before. On Bergstrom’s temple, revealed by his receding hairline, is a three-lined scar.

David grips the Norwegian’s arm.

“How did you get this?” He points to the temple.

Bergstrom  stares   at   him  without blinking. That powerful icy squint, straight out of the polar bear handbook. “I had minor surgery when I was younger. It’s nothing, David. A scar, that’s all.”

But it doesn’t look like nothing to David. It looks very much like the ‘sometimes’ symbol. The trademark of dragons. The sacred sign of ice bears, the Inuit – the North. “Why have you never shown me this?”

“Because some things are better not said,” says Bergstrom, gently but firmly freeing his arm. He looks at the grave for a long moment before adding, quietly, “Be with your mother.” As he walks away, he

pulls an old trucking cap out of his jacket. He puts it on, covering the scar.

David watches him all the way to the gate. It creaks as he opens it, clatters as he leaves.

Another leaf falls from another tree.

The smell of mown grass is in the air.

David turns to his mother again. Thereis so much he wants to talk to her about.

So much he’d like to know. He crouches

again and thinks about the mark on Bergstrom’s head, all that it has meant to him over the years. And perhaps because he can’t let go of that symbol, his mind begins to flood with dragon auma. One by one, they all flash through. The natural dragons – Gawain, Galen, Grockle, Godith. Roaring at him from every angle.

Then the firebirds in the great librarium,flitting back and forth between the shelvesof books. And then, inevitably, his mindgrows calm and only one kind of dragonfills his thoughts. His mind does a tour ofhis mother’s creations before settling onthe one most personal to him. He pictures Gadzooks as he has so often. The dragon,as usual, is poised with his pencil, readyto scribble a note on his pad. David’sheart begins to thump. He can’t explain itbut he feels much closer to Gadzooks

today. Yet they haven’t written a story for years. What message could the dragon have for him? What could be so important at this odd juncture of their lives?

In his mind’s eye, he watches Gadzooks lick the pencil tip. Slowly, but steadily,

the dragon starts to write.

H… E… L… L… O

“Hello,” mutters David, and opens his

eyes.

Gadzooks is sitting on Elizabeth’s

grave.

Hrrr!
 
he says, and blows the perfect smoke ring.

It drifts upwards and catches in David’s nostrils.

The scent of dragon fire.

Powerful.

Real.