Icefire by Chris D'Lacey

Author:Chris D'Lacey [D'Lacey, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780545414654
Publisher: Orchard Books
Published: 2003-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

A few moments later, standing by the window in David’s room and watching him fetch a shovel from the shed, Liz said to her “aunt,” “I’m really not sure about this, you know. I still say it was unwise, allowing David to see.”

“A temporary diversion,” Aunty Gwyneth replied. “Making the boy a part of our world has removed his need to poke and nose. He accepts what he sees as commonplace. Therefore, he will not make a nuisance of himself.”

Liz sighed and tightened her lip. “I asked him about Gadzooks just now. He says the dragon’s unhappy.”

“That, my dear, was Gretel’s doing.”

Hrrr? went Gretel, looking around. She was hunkered on the floor by a table leg, grinding up seeds against a large piece of plaster taken from the growing mess of rubble around her.

“Too much dill in the mix,” said Aunty Gwyneth. “The writing dragon is active, but helpless; muted by the boy’s muddled state of mind.”

“What?” Liz turned away sharply from the window. “Is this what you meant by testing him? I don’t want their relationship harmed. David’s meeting a publisher tomorrow. He’s going to need all the help he can get.”

“The boy was a threat,” Aunty Gwyneth hit back. “He smells of bears. Powerful bears. You expect me to tolerate that?”

“David’s a storyteller,” Liz said tautly. “Writing’s in his auma. Take that from him and he’ll have nothing left.”

“Storytellers,” Aunty Gwyneth scoffed. “Whistlers, wastrels, and woebegones, all. The boy can scribe what nonsense he likes — that’s exactly what it will be for now: gibberish.”

“But his essay? He can’t win his competition if he can’t write well. He won’t be able to go to the Arctic.”

“How sad,” said Aunty Gwyneth, sounding anything but. “The bears will soon grow tired of him anyway — then move on as they always do. Now, enough prattle. We need to progress.”

Liz looked in disgust at the bed. Not only was it stripped of its blanket and sheets, but the mattress had been torn in several places, too. Plaster dust lay in every seam. Wood lice were scuttling in and out of the stuffing. “Do we have to turn the room into a cave?” she sighed.

“It will aid you,” Aunty Gwyneth replied. “You must dream back, to the first encounter. Take the egg. Hold it close to your body.”

Liz lay down, cradling the bronze egg just above her waist. The embryo inside it wriggled and squirmed and swished its scaly dragon tail. “But I can dream back — with ease,” she said. “I’m not even sure I need her potions.” She rolled her head and looked at Gretel. The dragon was stripping an Honesty plant of all its pearl-colored papery shells. “Why are you using Honesty flowers? I don’t remember them when Lucy was born.”

Aunty Gwyneth raised her chin. “New developments occur all the time, my dear. The seeds have a soothing, aromatic quality. They will calm you during the transfer of auma. Hurry up,” she snapped at Gretel.

The dragon gave out a

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