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

trotting along at his heels. As they passed through the kitchen and into the hall, the mail slot rattled and a small white envelope fluttered to the mat.
    David picked it up. On the front was a picture of an injured fox. On the back were several lines of writing:

     
    David left it on the hall shelf for Liz.
    Guessing that Lucy and her mom were in the Dragons’ Den, he started up the stairs to tell them what had happened next door with Conker. The house was unusually still. There was a strange, almost haunted atmosphere about it, as if everything had somehow frozen in time. David thought about Gawain right then and looked at the door to the pottery studio. It was closed. A sign was hanging from the polished brass knob:

KILNING IN PROGRESS
     
    DO NOT ENTER
     
    Kilning. The word shaped like a question in David’s mind, though he knew exactly what it meant. A kiln was a name for a potter’s oven. When a dragon was being made, it would be put into an oven for firing — so its clay would harden and its glaze would set. But the last time David had visited this room he remembered that the only thing missing … was an oven. How could Liz be kilning dragons if she didn’t have anything to fire them in?
    Puzzled, he pressed one ear to the door. A faint
hrring
echoed through the panels. That noise again. It was everywhere. The tenant stood back, rubbing his lip. There was something very odd going on in this house, and the answer to the mystery lay inside this room. But he couldn’t just barge in, unannounced. If Liz was making delicate repairs to Gawain, she’d be furious if he ignored the notice.
    So he raised a knuckle, to knock — just as Bonnington, weaving around his feet, yowled loudly enough to rattle the lid off a trash can.
    “That’s Bonny,” said a voice: Liz, from inside Lucy’s room.
    That meant the den was empty.
    Temptation pushed David toward the door. Sign or no sign, he was going inside. He quickly let his hand close around the handle — and instantly wished he hadn’t.
    The brass was scorching hot.
    Stifling a yelp of pain, he flapped his hand and twisted away, colliding lightly with the stair post behind him.
    “What on earth is that cat doing?”
    There was a creak of boards. Gentle footsteps. David dropped down to the turn in the stairs, dipping his head beneath the level of the landing. He slipped lower as Lucy’s door creaked open.
    “In you come,” he heard Liz say.
    Bonnington padded along the landing.
    “Is David there?” Lucy’s voice rang out.
    David closed his hands in prayer. If Liz looked over the banister now …
    “Not that I can see,” she said, and backtracked into Lucy’s room, this time leaving the door ajar.
    “Oh. I want to know about
Conker.”
    “I’m sure David won’t let him get hurt,” said Liz. “Now, into bed, birthday girl. I want you to rest, while I look at Gawain.”
    Lucy gave out a sad little sniff. “You
can
fix him, can’t you, Mom? Nothing horrible’s going to happen, is it?”
    David heard a creak of springs and guessed that Liz had settled on the bed.
    “Lucy, his fire is within you, always. If you love him, how can it ever go out?”
    Lucy sniffed again and blew her nose. “Tell me the story of his fire tear, please.”
    His what?
thought David, glancing at the dragons in the picture window. Was he dreaming it or had their ears just pricked up?
    “Oh Lucy, you know it inside out.”
    “It is my
birthday,
Mom.”
    There was a pause, time enough for David to adjust his position before Liz said, “All right, but just a minute — and only if you promise to go to sleep afterward.”
    “I promise.”
    “All right, then, close your eyes. You know what to do.”
    “I have to dream back.”
    “Way back,” said Liz. “To a time when the special people lived. A time when dragons roamed the earth.”
    David instinctively closed his eyes. Immediately a picture formed in his mind of something akin to prehistoric times. He began to imagine a