The Fire Within (The Last Dragon Chro) by Chris D'Lacey Page A

while you have the chance,” said Henry.
    “Sssh!” hissed David. “You’ll frighten it away.” Helooked the little squirrel straight in the eye. It sat back and did its best to smile. “Snigger,” David whispered, trying Lucy’s favorite tactic of talking to the animal, “bring Conker to the nutbox. It’s the only way I’ll be able to help him.”
    “You’re the one who needs help,” Mr. Bacon snorted.
    “Mr. Bacon, will you
please
—” David was about to say “shut up,” when Snigger unexpectedly chirped with alarm and fled at high speed to the end of the garden.
    “Drat,” said Henry. “Lost the little pest.”
    David stepped back in confusion. “Something frightened him,” he said, and looked over his shoulder. “Something like …”
    On a fencepost between the neighboring gardens was a huge black crow. It was sitting tight with its shoulders hunched, fixing its beady-eyed glare on the men.
    David felt his mouth turn slightly dry. Even Mr. Bacon looked a little wary. “Wouldn’t tangle with that. Looks a bit mean, if you want my opinion.”
    David gave an uneasy nod. He rose up slowly. The crow’s eyes followed. Its sharp claws tightened against its perch.
    David took a sideways step. Was it his imagination or was the bird trying to stare him down? He shuddered and found himself thinking of dragons, half-hoping some fire-breathing champion would come. Not surprisingly, he fixed on Gadzooks. In his mind’s eye he saw the special dragon hurriedly scribbling something on his pad:

Caractacus
     
    David whispered the name to the wind. The crow immediately screeched its displeasure, spread its wings, and took to the sky. It swooped straight over David’s head, making a dreadful screeching sound as it climbed and banked toward the sycamore tree. And there, cradled in the uppermost branches, David spotted something he hadn’t seen before: a large crow’s nest — not far from the hole beneath the eaves where a squirrel had once made a drey in Liz’s roof. The crowsplit the air with another loud screech, as if to warn anyone with ears to listen that
it
was most definitely King of the Castle. David nodded and made the connection.
    “It was you,” he breathed as the great bird landed and folded its wings. “Caractacus, the crow. You were the one who hurt Conker’s eye….”

T HE L AST D RAGON IN THE W ORLD
     
    A steady drizzle had begun to fall by the time David came back to Liz’s garden. He closed the gate with a hasty bang and hurried, teeth chattering, across the patio. As he was passing the kitchen window a plaintive meowing brought him to a halt. Bonnington was sitting on the garden bench, glistening like a fiber-optic Christmas tree. He had his paws tucked neatly under his tummy and raindrops misting the ends of his fur. Beside him lay the rabbit hutch, untouched since the day that Snigger had sprung it.
    David wandered over and knuckled the cat’s ear. “What are you doing sitting here, in the rain?”
    Bonnington rose and rubbed his cheek against the corner of the hutch. David, remembering his words bythe pond, studied the trap with renewed determination. If Conker
could
somehow find his way to it, there might yet be a chance to save him. He looked into the kitchen. No sign of Liz — or Lucy. “Come on,” he whispered softly to Bonnington. And he hauled the trap into his shivering arms, took it to the rock garden, and reset the door.
    While he was checking the acorn trail, he issued the cat some hopeful orders. “I want you to be a guard cat, Bonners. There’s a big crow nesting in the sycamore tree. If you see it in the garden, chase it away. Don’t hurt it. Just shoo it away, OK?”
    Bonnington, who’d been sitting on a large, flat rock impassively treading his columnlike paws, pricked his ears and sat to attention.
    “Very good,” said David. “Very guardlike. Now, let’s go and see how Lucy is, shall we?”
    With that, he led the way back into the house, Bonnington