Thomas and the Dragon Queen Read online

  He shielded his face and looked toward the westering sun. Not far in that direction, there was something he couldn’t miss—a dark shape. Just down the shore, sitting in the entrance from the ocean to the bay, was an island with two mountains like jagged brown teeth. It had to be Barren Isle. He wrapped his arms around his chest to stop his shivering.

  Thomas made his way down the dune to the shingle on the shore. He dipped his hands into the waves that rushed up to meet him. The air tasted salty. The water was salty. He knew it was supposed to be, but it surprised him nevertheless.

  He tried to wash some of the muck from his face and body. Then he sat down and nibbled a tiny bit of his remaining bread. He carefully rewrapped the rest and tucked it deep into his pocket with Isabel’s horse. All the while he wondered how he was going to get across the water to the island.

  Thomas had been thinking about this for some time along the journey. He’d thought there’d be some sort of boat when he got to the shore, or a cottager who would row him out to the island. Truthfully, though, it did not surprise him that no one seemed to live this close to the awful lake and the dragons of Barren Isle.

  Thomas decided he’d better have a look around before the sun set and darkness came on. He did not relish the idea of sleeping with the lake at his back. He hoped he’d find someplace a bit more sheltered. He trod off along the shore in the direction of Barren Isle.

  In a short while, Thomas noticed a humped spit of land that stuck out from the seashore. As he drew closer, it became obvious that it was a long wall of rocks, like a bony finger stabbing into the sea. The tip was a goodly way off, and it was difficult to make out its details. However, it seemed to Thomas that there was a crook in the wall. Near the tip, gray waves crashed furiously.

  When Thomas arrived at the spot where the rocky causeway branched off, he could see that it did, indeed, have a crook near the tip. Now the assembled boulders looked like a beckoning finger. Thomas wondered to whom it was beckoning. The causeway jutted so far out that there couldn’t be much distance between the tip and the shallows around Barren Isle. Did it serve as the invitation to dragons on the isle to ravage the countryside? Or did it point the way for travelers to explore the dragons’ island—a trap, perhaps?

  Sir Thomas did not like the look of it. However, night was coming on and he had no place to wait for the day except upon one of the sun-heated slabs of stone. At least it would be warm for a short while from the sunshine it had absorbed, and dry.

  He scrambled a little distance along the rocky finger and found a spot where he could lie between two up-thrusting walls of granite and not worry about rolling off. He lay on his side, head cradled in his hand, and pulled his knees up. As he drifted toward sleep, he thought about snuggling down into the good, clean hay of the sleeping loft back home. He thought about blanket tugs-o’-war with his brothers, about the stories Da told, and about his own bedtime boasting: One day I’ll be a knight and ride off on a quest for the king. Oh, if he’d only known how lonely and bone-wearying it was!

  He allowed himself a small smile. What a story the beast of the lake would make to tell his brothers and sisters. What a tale to tell Da! Albert would be sure to catch every word of it. He was certain of that.

  He slid his free hand into his pocket until it touched the wooden horse. He imagined Isabel’s bright laughter. In the deepening dark a new thought came to him. Perhaps—just perhaps—his hand and his heart would be strong enough for what lay ahead.

  Thomas awoke damp and sore, still aching from the fight with the beast of the lake. He winced. Sleeping all night on hard stone hadn’t helped. At first he couldn’t get his legs and feet to work properly. He feared sliding off a boulder and into the sea, so he took some time to stretch and to nibble a tiny bite from the remaining bread. Then he shut his eyes and soaked up a bit of morning sunshine on his face. Eventually there was nothing more to do but to go on. And there was only one way to go, toward the end of the rocky causeway.

  Thomas began to pick his way up, over, around, and down the huge boulders. Like a spider, he clung gingerly to the slopes of stones he could not see over, and imagined they must have been tossed there by giants. As he ventured along toward the tip, the out-thrusting finger of land grew skinnier and taller.

  Choppy waves rocked up and splashed over him, though he tried to stay near the crest of the jumbled boulders. In addition, he was beginning to notice more and more gaps between the stones. These crevices gurgled, filled with water as a wave came in and then drained away, gulping to unknown depths. What if he should fall and slip into one?

  All this water washing the slanted sides of the boulders made for precarious footholds. More than once he put a foot or hand down only to find he was sliding and had to throw himself backward. It was a long and arduous route that required all of Thomas’s concentration. Therefore, he was surprised when, climbing on his knees to a ledge, he found himself at the crook of the rocky finger.

  Here waves funneled in through a narrow slit open to the sea at both ends. Across the gap continued the rocky finger of land for a short distance before sloping off into the depths. In this water-filled gorge were massed knots of old netting, wood that might have once been boats, and bleached tree trunks. The whole mishmash was continually bashed against the boulders on both halves of the causeway. The roaring of the water and the banging of the logs was so loud that Thomas had to put his hands over his ears as he surveyed the water-filled trench between him and the other side.

  Somehow he had to get from this stony point out to Barren Isle. When he’d first seen the causeway, he thought it ended close to the island, and he’d nursed the small hope that he might be able to wade across. That had been an illusion, for the closer he got to the tip of the finger of land, the farther away the island seemed to be. He shook his head. Despite the drenching he was getting from the splashing waves, he lay down on his stomach, hung his head over the side, and took a closer look into the watery gap. Perhaps there might be something washed into it that he could use to strike out across the bay toward the island? After all he’d been through, he wouldn’t allow himself to stop now.

  Caught up in his thoughts about getting to the island, Sir Thomas almost did not see the silvery fin waving from below. However, upon rising, he saw a flash in the rocks, slightly to the side of the slit and below a high-water mark that had stained the rocks the length of the causeway.

  At first he thought it might be a piece of snagged metal. But as he stared at it, it seemed to move of its own accord—not in rhythm with the waves.

  Thomas lay down again, brushed his wet hair aside, and squinted through cupped hands. He spied a beautiful creature. He had never seen one before—except those that were woven into the artwork of the tapestries that hung in the castle. He was certain it was a dolphin. Thomas had spent much of his spare time with the other boys at the castle studying the animals in the tapestries.

  This one was trapped in tangled netting. Every time a wave rushed in, the poor creature banged up against a rock. Then the receding water would uncover the dolphin to the air and wind. Thomas was surprised the animal was still alive. He leaned forward, as far as he dared, and stared into its eyes—they were wild with fright. It called out. To him? Was the creature calling to Thomas for help?

  Thomas surveyed the choppy waters nearby. Another fin was slicing through the waves—and then a sleek silver back curved up. It was a larger dolphin, and it was circling nearby. Thomas watched it raise its snout above the waves and squeal, as though in answer to the one caught in the net.

  Thomas wiped the water from his face. He ducked his head and peered as closely as he could at the smaller, trapped dolphin. Why, it was just a baby!

  It cried out again. Was the circling one its mother?

  In his astonishment at the scene before him, Thomas found he’d hardly dared to breathe. Now his breath came back to him in a painful rush. The trapped dolphin was a baby—he had to do something! He had to do it fast before the baby w
as pounded to death on the rocks.

  Still, Thomas closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself. He remembered with some shame his panic in the quicksand. If he had calmed down and thought about his situation—about how to lie back and float on top of the quicksand—he might not have been dragged into the lake.

  Thomas opened his eyes and came up with a plan. He glanced along the side of the causeway and saw several logs there as well. Some were tossed higher than the other debris—above the rushing water. With great care, Thomas slithered down the steep decline of the boulders.

  Finally, he made it to the top of a rock near the logs. There he found a smaller branch, which he used to roll one of the longer logs over several times, until it slid forward a short distance and wedged itself down into a cranny. Thomas lay on his stomach, wrapped his arms around the log, and scooted down the slippery length of it to a mound of floating timbers and litter below.

  One of the young dolphin’s eyes bulged watchfully as Thomas balanced himself upon the half-submerged pyramid of small logs and wave-tossed debris. The distressed creature was caught on the side of the raft that was closest to the channel and was covered in dirty foam. Fortunately, Thomas was so light that he did not sink through the rocking, floating hodgepodge.

  Carefully he lay down across the raft of litter and reached out to the tangled creature at the water’s edge. A wave crashed over him; he slammed his eyes shut. A minute later, he gulped for air. When he did, he glanced up and saw the larger dolphin close by, as though watching his every move. He began to work on the knots ensnaring her baby.

  Thomas’s fingers were small and the rope of the net was large. The net was also water-soaked and heavy. He hadn’t the strength to haul it up. So, patiently, he endured the battering waves as they regularly rose and slapped over him, only stopping to breathe deeply when he needed to steady himself. He pried at knots with a small stick he found in the debris, he bit through twine and grasses bound up with the net when he had to, and when he was so tired he could barely continue, he noticed that he was lying lower in the water. He looked over his shoulder. The back end of his floating raft was rising. It was now closer to the high-water mark that had stained the rocks.

  The tide was coming in. Thomas had learned about tides in his studies, about how they came and went. When tides were low, clammers could walk out on the exposed sand. When they rose, water covered the mudflats. That must be what was happening now: the waters were rising. Though his tangled platform still floated, its front edge dipped at a sharper angle into the sea. It was getting caught up in the larger logs that littered the causeway. And the dolphin caught in the net was sinking below the water, farther from Thomas’s reach. There were no more cries from it. At this slow pace, Thomas would fail and the young one would die.

  He needed something to cut the net, but he no longer had Starfast. If only he had a piece of metal, something with an edge or point! He could see one bit of shiny metal snagged in the rocks, but there was no reaching that. He tucked his wet, numb hands into his armpits to warm them for a moment and to think. That’s when his hand brushed one of the clasps on his leather jerkin.

  Metal, Thomas realized. He’d completely forgotten that he had metal clasps on his jacket. He slid back to a more stable position and slipped his jerkin off. Quickly he unfastened the clasps and wiggled out of the vest.

  Again it took his breath away. How light and supple it was! How beautifully fashioned were the clasps! Da was a master craftsman, and Thomas doubted there would be any sharp bits on the intricate clasps, or any easy way to break one off and sharpen part of it—but he had to try. Time was running out. The anxious mother dolphin was calling repeatedly. Getting no response, she was circling frantically, too close to the pull of the watery fissure between the rocks. Thomas was afraid she might get sucked into that melee.

  Nimbly Thomas ran his fingers over the clasps, inspecting every bend of them. He tried to find a bit he could wiggle until he could break one of them off, with no success. He was just about to give up when something pricked his finger. “Ouch!” A drop of blood appeared.

  He brushed the water from his eyes, held the jerkin up close to his face, and searched for what had poked him. Near the top of the bottom clasp, a small circle of silver had been broken and twisted outward. It must have happened in the struggle with the beast, thought Thomas.

  It was just what he needed. He crawled forward, clutching the jerkin. The whole floating pile of litter tilted abruptly downward. His head went into the water; he yanked it back, sputtering. “Ah!”

  Thomas wedged his knees between some sturdy branches in the pile and hooked a foot over a thin log. He could no longer see the trapped young dolphin. He plunged a hand into the sea and felt for the netting. With his other hand, he fisted up the leather of the jacket, with the broken piece of metal pointing out, and began to saw at the tangles.

  As soon as he cut through one strand, he grabbed for another and another. Now his shoulders were lying in the water and he was having a hard time keeping his balance. The timbers on the floating pile were shifting with the rising tide and starting to float apart. Thomas strained to keep his head out of the water. His neck muscles ached. His arms ached.

  However, he could feel that the knotted net was becoming looser. He saw it start to float up and gape open. Suddenly the silver fin of the small dolphin flashed to the surface. The mother cried loudly, dipping her head, circling more and more tightly. The young one was straining at the net with its muscled back. It touched Thomas’s hands as it struggled, and he could feel its panic. Thomas grabbed and sawed at whatever netting he could reach.

  He gulped air just before a huge wave hit. It almost knocked him from his perch. When it hit, he thought of his struggle with the beast. He thought of his own young brothers and sisters when they were frightened—the idea that this baby might die tore at his heart.

  With that thought, he sucked in all the air he could and threw himself into the next wave, lunging and grabbing at the net. He rose between waves, spit out the salt water, inhaled again, and dove back beneath the surface—sawing through the last bit of knot. When he did, hunks of netting flew up against the rocks. The baby surfaced, arching above the waves. The mother dolphin rose into the air. And the raft Thomas floated on washed apart.

  Thomas slid into the sea.

  He was shocked by his sudden sinking. Not so much by the cold water, for he was already drenched from head to toe, but by how completely he’d forgotten about his own perilous position. He had concentrated so fiercely upon rescuing the young dolphin that now he needed rescuing!

  He kept a tight grip on his jerkin, and the cork within it helped him float back to the surface. But the waves kept pulling him under and out, and he had a hard time keeping his head above water. When he could, Thomas gasped for air. He kicked wildly, trying to get back to the rocks but not be smashed against them.

  Then he was hurled sideways by a wave—not toward land, but toward the channel in the crook of the causeway. Soon he’d be caught in that awful undertow and hauled into the gorge, where he’d be pounded and smashed in the whirlpool of trapped logs. He shook the wet hair from his eyes and, stretching out his arms and legs for all he was worth, attempted to swim toward shore. One leg went kicking down and back. It hit something.

  Something silver-smooth glided up and under him. The mother dolphin raised him above the waves.

  Thomas hooked his jerkin over the dolphin’s dorsal fin. Clinging to the leather vest, he managed to pull himself across the creature’s broad back. Then he collapsed.

  When Sir Thomas had enough of his strength back to raise his head and look around, he saw the dolphin’s snout cutting through the waves just below the surface. Then he realized, with relief, that his leather vest remained securely over its fin. He sighed. I still have my jerkin. Also, he saw that the young dolphin dove and leapt alongside them. Thomas smiled and rested his cheek against the mother’s strong body. After watching the young one for a while, Th
omas looked beyond the mother toward the horizon and noticed they were heading out to sea!

  He swiveled about, trying to stay balanced across the slippery back of the dolphin. He clasped the fin and peered over his shoulder. They were passing by the island of the dragons. The red rocks of Barren Isle’s peaks thrust up out of the water just a short distance to his right. “Wait! Wait!” he cried, yanking on his rescuer’s fin.

  The great creature slowed and fanned its tail about in the water, turning in circles for a moment, as though wondering what this thing on her back wanted. “Closer,” said Thomas, for he feared he had only a little strength left to get to the island.

  Thomas did not know if the creature understood him, but he slid partway off. Hanging from one side and holding tightly on to the fin with both hands, he tried to tug the dolphin in the direction he wanted to go. “This way!”

  The dolphin slowed and circled again—inward, toward Thomas. Thomas continued tugging at her fin. She circled again and again, toward this thing she had picked up. With each circle the animal drew closer and closer to Barren Isle until Thomas said, “Yes! Here. Here. This is good.”

  Still grasping the creature’s fin with one hand, Thomas slid down and touched sandy bottom. He reached out with his free hand to lift his vest from the fin, but the dolphin suddenly dove, jerking away from Thomas. She swam into the distance, the leather jerkin fluttering from her fin.

  “My jerkin!” Thomas screamed. “Come back, that’s mine!”

  His vest floated free of the dolphin’s fin for a moment. Maybe I can still get to it, Thomas thought. He was about to attempt the swim when he felt something nudge his leg. He looked down in time to see the baby swim past him, leap from the water, and snag Thomas’s jerkin on his snout!