Thoughtfully Firedrake looked first at the map and then at the boy. “Where’s the village where the woman who knows about dragons lives?”
Ben tapped the map. “Here. Right at the mouth of the river Indus. So it wouldn’t take us far out of our way to visit her. And do you know where the Indus rises?”
The dragon shook his head.
“In the Himalayas!” cried Ben. “That fits, doesn’t it? We only have to find the palace I saw in Asif’s eye and then —”
“Then what?” Sorrel sat down beside them in the fragrant flowers. “Then you break moonlight on the stone dragon’s head. Can you tell me what that’s supposed to mean?”
“Not yet,” said Ben. “But I’ll know when it happens.”
“And how about the twenty fingers?” The brownie lowered her voice. “Always supposing that blue person wasn’t just putting us on.”
“Oh, no.” Twigleg climbed onto Ben’s lap. “That’s only the way a djinn talks. The young master’s right. The words will explain themselves, you wait and see.”
“I hope you’re right,” muttered Sorrel, rolling up in a ball underneath a huge fern frond.
Firedrake lay down beside her and lowered his head to his paws. “Break the moonlight,” he murmured. “Sounds like a riddle to me.” He yawned and closed his eyes.
It was dark and cold under the palms now. Ben and Sorrel pressed close to Firedrake’s warm scales, and soon all three of them were asleep.
Only Twigleg remained awake, sitting beside them among the white blossoms. The scent of the flowers made him feel dizzy. He listened to Ben’s peaceful breathing, looked at Firedrake’s silver scales and his friendly face, so different from the face of Nettlebrand, and sighed. A single question was buzzing around in his head like a captive bumblebee.
Should he tell his master what the djinn had said and, by doing so, betray the silver dragon?
Twigleg’s little head was aching so hard as he pondered this question that he pressed his hands to his throbbing temples. He hadn’t stolen Nettlebrand’s scale back from the boy yet, either. He leaned against Ben’s back and closed his eyes. Perhaps his brain would calm down in his sleep. But just as he thought the peaceful breathing of the other three was making him drowsy, something plucked at his sleeve. The homunculus started and sat up. Was one of those nasty giant lizards that lurked among the creepers trying to take a bite out of him?
But it was the raven sitting in the tangled leaves in front of Twigleg, plucking at his sleeve with his beak.
“Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” whispered the homunculus, annoyed.
He rose quietly and beckoned the raven to follow him away from his sleeping companions. The big bird stalked after him.
“You’ve forgotten your report,” he croaked. “How much longer are you going to leave it?”
“What business is that of yours?” Twigleg stopped on the other side of a tall bush. “I — I’m going to wait until we’re over the sea.”
“Why?” The raven pecked a caterpillar off the branches of the bush and looked at the manikin suspiciously. “There’s no reason to wait,” he cawed. “You’ll only make our master angry. What did the djinn say?”
“I’ll be telling our master,” replied Twigleg evasively. “You ought to have listened more carefully.”
“Huh!” croaked the raven. “That blue creature wouldn’t stop growing. I thought I’d better keep out of the way.”
“That’s your bad luck.” Scratching his ear, Twigleg peered at Firedrake through the branches. But the dragon and his friends were fast asleep, while the shadows in the ravine grew ever darker.
The raven preened his feathers and gave the homunculus a black look.
“You’re getting too uppity, manikin,” he cawed. “I don’t like it. Maybe I ought to tell the master.”
“Go on, then, do! Goodness knows that won’t be news to him,” said Twigleg, but his heart beat faster. “Anyway, I can set your mind at rest.” He assumed a grave expression. “I’m going to report to him today. Word of honor. I just have to take another look at the map first. The boy’s map, I mean.”
The raven put his head on one side. “The map? Why?”
Twigleg made a face. “You wouldn’t understand, beaky. Now get out. If that brownie girl sees you, she won’t believe it if I say we have nothing to do with each other.”
“All right.” The raven caught another caterpillar and flapped his wings. “But I’m following you. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. So you be sure to make that report.”
Twigleg watched the raven until he disappeared among the tops of the palm trees. Then he quickly went over to Ben’s backpack, took out the map, and opened it. Oh, yes, he’d make his report. At once. But it would be a special kind of report, a very special kind indeed. His eyes scanned the seas and mountains until he spotted a large, pale brown area. He knew what brown meant. Ben had explained exactly how to read the wonderful map. Brown meant no water. Not a drop of water far and wide. And that was exactly what Twigleg was looking for.