Within seconds he had hopped away through the trees.
“Oh, nice job,” David said.
“He’ll get used to me,” Zanna said, standing. “Everyone does in time, even you.” She spun around. “How’s my butt? Is it wet?”
David glanced a bit sheepishly at it. Liz was certainly right about one thing: Zanna did have a very good figure. “No, not really.”
“Good. Come on.” She pulled him to his feet. In the background, the library clock (which was always wrong) bonged three times. “Eleven,” said Zanna. “Lecture’s over. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“A walk — to Rutherford House.”
“What for?” David asked, as she looped her arm through his. Rutherford House was an academic residence.
“The only person who can help us happens to be staying there.”
“Bergstrom?”
“Yep. He’s the key to all this. He’s interested in dragons and he works in the icy land of Lorel. I vote we go and ask him what he knows about the tear, and what happened on that glacier in 1913.”
17
A M EETING WITH D R. B ERGSTROM
R utherford House was a large, gray-walled Victorian building. It was set on the grounds of Scrubbley College, close to the railway line along the border of Scrubbley Common. It was hard to believe that a hundred years ago it had served as the local lunatic asylum, but as he crunched up the shale path with Zanna at his side, David couldn’t help but think that what they were about to do could qualify as madness and get them both committed.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked as they marched through a small ivy-covered portico and Zanna ran her eye down the ladder of address tags beside the main entrance.
“Room four. Let’s hope he’s in.”
David tried again. “There are underground cells here where they used to lock mad people up, you know. We might never get out alive.”
“Then we’ll end our days together, won’t we?” She kissed a fingertip and plunked it on his nose. “Come on.”
Through a maze of corridors, they found the room — an unimposing blue door with a small brass number. Zanna raised her fist to knock, then quickly lowered it again. “Who’s doing the talking?”
David threw her an incredulous look. “Oh, good time to be asking that!”
“It’s you; you’re making me nervous. We’ll both talk — but you start, OK?”
“Zanna?”
“That’s fair. How’s my hair?”
“Hair? What’s your hair got to do with —?”
Suddenly the door curled open. Both students jumped to attention. Dr. Bergstrom, looking as composed as ever, scanned them with his air of unruffled poise. “Miss Martindale and Mr. Rain … and dragon.”
David winced and swung Gadzooks out of sight. This was a bad, bad, bad idea.
“Am I expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” gulped Zanna.
“We can go if you’re busy,” David added.
“You look as if you’ve had a long walk,” said Bergstrom. He smiled and waved them in. “Take a seat. The sofa’s very comfortable. Swedish design. Coffee, anyone?”
Both students shook their heads. They settled together on the edge of the sofa, a stylish two-seater with high curved wings and dark blue corduroy covers and cushions. Bergstrom, arms folded, perched against a writing desk strewn with academic journals and papers. He was dressed much like the last time David had met him, in a pair of gray slacks and a loose cotton shirt. He was wearing no shoes.
“Is this visit to do with your essays?” he asked.
“Done mine,” said Zanna, sitting up brightly with her hands in her lap.
David made a clucking sound and looked away.
“He’s still researching his,” she said.
Bergstrom smiled again. “And is this a part of your research effort, David?” He stretched out a hand toward Gadzooks. “Please, may I?”
David glanced at Zanna. She gave a hesitant nod.
“That’s David’s writing dragon,” she said as David put him into Bergstrom’s hands. “It helps him do stories. It writes things — on its pad. In
“Oh, nice job,” David said.
“He’ll get used to me,” Zanna said, standing. “Everyone does in time, even you.” She spun around. “How’s my butt? Is it wet?”
David glanced a bit sheepishly at it. Liz was certainly right about one thing: Zanna did have a very good figure. “No, not really.”
“Good. Come on.” She pulled him to his feet. In the background, the library clock (which was always wrong) bonged three times. “Eleven,” said Zanna. “Lecture’s over. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“A walk — to Rutherford House.”
“What for?” David asked, as she looped her arm through his. Rutherford House was an academic residence.
“The only person who can help us happens to be staying there.”
“Bergstrom?”
“Yep. He’s the key to all this. He’s interested in dragons and he works in the icy land of Lorel. I vote we go and ask him what he knows about the tear, and what happened on that glacier in 1913.”
17
A M EETING WITH D R. B ERGSTROM
R utherford House was a large, gray-walled Victorian building. It was set on the grounds of Scrubbley College, close to the railway line along the border of Scrubbley Common. It was hard to believe that a hundred years ago it had served as the local lunatic asylum, but as he crunched up the shale path with Zanna at his side, David couldn’t help but think that what they were about to do could qualify as madness and get them both committed.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked as they marched through a small ivy-covered portico and Zanna ran her eye down the ladder of address tags beside the main entrance.
“Room four. Let’s hope he’s in.”
David tried again. “There are underground cells here where they used to lock mad people up, you know. We might never get out alive.”
“Then we’ll end our days together, won’t we?” She kissed a fingertip and plunked it on his nose. “Come on.”
Through a maze of corridors, they found the room — an unimposing blue door with a small brass number. Zanna raised her fist to knock, then quickly lowered it again. “Who’s doing the talking?”
David threw her an incredulous look. “Oh, good time to be asking that!”
“It’s you; you’re making me nervous. We’ll both talk — but you start, OK?”
“Zanna?”
“That’s fair. How’s my hair?”
“Hair? What’s your hair got to do with —?”
Suddenly the door curled open. Both students jumped to attention. Dr. Bergstrom, looking as composed as ever, scanned them with his air of unruffled poise. “Miss Martindale and Mr. Rain … and dragon.”
David winced and swung Gadzooks out of sight. This was a bad, bad, bad idea.
“Am I expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” gulped Zanna.
“We can go if you’re busy,” David added.
“You look as if you’ve had a long walk,” said Bergstrom. He smiled and waved them in. “Take a seat. The sofa’s very comfortable. Swedish design. Coffee, anyone?”
Both students shook their heads. They settled together on the edge of the sofa, a stylish two-seater with high curved wings and dark blue corduroy covers and cushions. Bergstrom, arms folded, perched against a writing desk strewn with academic journals and papers. He was dressed much like the last time David had met him, in a pair of gray slacks and a loose cotton shirt. He was wearing no shoes.
“Is this visit to do with your essays?” he asked.
“Done mine,” said Zanna, sitting up brightly with her hands in her lap.
David made a clucking sound and looked away.
“He’s still researching his,” she said.
Bergstrom smiled again. “And is this a part of your research effort, David?” He stretched out a hand toward Gadzooks. “Please, may I?”
David glanced at Zanna. She gave a hesitant nod.
“That’s David’s writing dragon,” she said as David put him into Bergstrom’s hands. “It helps him do stories. It writes things — on its pad. In
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