Werewolf versus Dragon Read online

  “I’m going to do an autopsy,” Dr. Fielding said. “To find out how the dragon died. I’m going to have to open it up.”

  “Urgh! That sounds horrible,” Tiana said. The fairy took off from Ulf’s shoulder. “I’ll be in the forest if you want me.”

  In a burst of sparkles she flew off over the feed store.

  Ulf watched her go. As he turned back, Dr. Fielding was unlocking the doors of a large concrete building: the operating theater for large beasts.

  He ran over to her. “Can I watch?” he asked.

  Chapter 4

  AUTOPSIES WERE AN ESSENTIAL PART OF crytozoology at the RSPCB. Though opening up a dead beast may sound horrible, it was also fascinating. Clues could be found about how the beast lived and died, and scientific discoveries could be made about the beast’s inner workings.

  Ulf watched as Dr. Fielding slid open the heavy doors of the operating theater. She flicked a switch and a huge light came on in the middle of the room. It lit up a large rectangular slab of metal surrounded by a shallow trench. This was the operating table for large beasts. Around the walls, shelves were loaded with tools for cutting and clamping, opening and probing.

  Dr. Fielding washed her hands in the sink, then pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

  “Are you sure you want to watch, Ulf?” she asked. “It won’t be very nice.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Ulf said. He washed his hands and dried them on his T-shirt.

  Orson ducked through the door, dragging the dragon by its tail. Hunched over, he heaved the dragon to the middle of the room onto the operating table.

  The giant wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. “Dragons are heavy work,” he said.

  “Thanks, Orson,” Dr. Fielding told him. She was loading a metal tray with surgical equipment: scalpels, scissors, pliers, clamps, and a crowbar.

  “Good luck,” Orson said. “I’ll wait outside if you don’t mind.”

  Orson ducked back out of the door into the yard.

  Dr. Fielding laid a black plastic sheet beside the dragon and placed the surgical equipment on it. Then she unlocked the door of a large metal cupboard and lifted out a chainsaw.

  “What’s that for?” Ulf asked.

  “A chainsaw is the best tool to break through a dragon’s scales.”

  Ulf gulped. Then he heard a giggle.

  Druce the gargoyle was hanging upside down, peering through the door of the operating theater. The gargoyle ran his finger from his neck to his stomach. “Bluuurgh!” His tongue unrolled and hit the floor. He dropped down from the doorway, sucked his tongue back into his mouth, and scuttled away.

  Dr. Fielding laid a clipboard and a pen on the operating table and stepped down into the trench. “If you feel faint at any time, you must promise to tell me,” she said.

  Ulf picked up the clipboard. “I feel fine. I’ll take notes.”

  On the clipboard was a piece of paper. Printed at its top was: Autopsy Case Notes. Underneath were boxes to be filled in: Species, Vital Statistics, External Features, Internal Features, Cause of Death.

  “Species: firebelly dragon,” Dr. Fielding said, walking around the trench. “Vital Statistics: male, about three years old. Approximately two tons in weight.”

  Ulf scribbled everything down.

  Dr. Fielding pulled out a measuring tape and stretched it along the dragon. “Sixteen feet from head to tail,” she said. “External Features: cuts and bruises to the left flank. Pass me the pliers, please, Ulf.”

  Ulf grabbed the metal pliers from beside the trench, and Dr. Fielding used them to probe a wound on the dragon’s wing, pulling out a jagged length of wood. She held it up. It was as long as her arm.

  “From a pine tree,” she said.

  “Is that what killed the dragon?” Ulf asked.

  Dr. Fielding shook her head. “No. That’s just a splinter to a dragon.”

  She felt along the dragon’s side. “Some of its ribs feel broken,” she said.

  On the notes, Ulf wrote: Broken ribs.

  “Do you think it crashed?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” Dr. Fielding said. “Though I’ve never heard of a dragon crashing before.”

  Ulf reached over, touching the dragon’s wing. “What if it was struck by lightning?”

  “Dragons’ scales are fireproof, frostproof, and just-about-everything-else proof,” Dr. Fielding told him. “Lightning can’t hurt a dragon.”

  Dr. Fielding prised open the dragon’s jaws. “Look at this, Ulf.”

  Ulf looked into the dragon’s mouth and saw row upon row of razor-sharp teeth.

  Dr. Fielding pointed to four large teeth at the back of the mouth. They had jagged edges and were blackened with soot.

  “Those are the sparking teeth,” she explained. “They strike together to light the dragon’s fire. I have read about cases of dragons backfiring.”

  She shone a flashlight down the dragon’s throat. “No signs of internal combustion here, though.”

  She closed the dragon’s mouth and climbed onto the operating table.

  “Orson,” she called. “Can you help, please?”

  Orson’s face appeared in the doorway. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Could you turn it over, please?”

  The giant stooped inside and took hold of the dragon’s wing. He heaved, rolling the dragon onto its back.

  The wings fell outward. Its belly was covered in hard yellow scales.

  In an area of soft flesh beneath the wing, Ulf saw a deep hole about a foot across.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  The hole was black around the outside and full of dried blood.

  Dr. Fielding examined it.

  “It’s a wound,” she said. “A bad one.”

  Ulf wrote: Badly wounded.

  “Time for the internal examination,” Dr. Fielding said, picking up the chainsaw. “Stand back!”

  Ulf jumped out of the trench, and Orson quickly ducked back out of the door as Dr. Fielding climbed onto the dragon. She pulled the starting chord and the chainsaw roared.

  Chapter 5

  ULF STARED AS DR. FIELDING RAN THE chainsaw blade down the underside of the dragon.

  Sparks flew from its scales and a mist of dark red blood sprayed Dr. Fielding’s white coat.

  She cut all the way down through the dragon’s belly. It opened like a zipper, and its guts spilled out. Ulf had never seen anything so repulsive or incredible.

  “What’s that thing?” he shouted, pointing his pen at a large green lump covered in a sticky membrane.

  “That’s its stomach,” Dr. Fielding said, turning the chainsaw off.

  “And what’s that?” Ulf asked, touching what looked like a huge inflated bag.

  “Its gas bag. That’s where the dragon makes the hydrogen gas that it burns and breathes out as fire. We have to remove it. Any gas that hasn’t burned could explode.”

  Dr. Fielding slid her hands underneath the dragon’s gas bag and lifted it up slowly. The gas bag was full like a balloon. Two tubes were sticking out from it, one on either side. “These tubes connect the gas bag to the lungs. We need to cut them.”

  Ulf put down his clipboard and pen, and picked up a pair of scissors. “Can I do it?” he asked.

  Dr. Fielding held the gas bag still as Ulf reached forward with the scissors.

  “One tube is red and one is green. You have to cut the red tube first.”

  Both tubes were covered in blood. Ulf held the scissors over the tube that looked the reddest. He snipped.

  “Now the other one.”

  He snipped the other tube, and the bag started hissing. “Is it okay?” Ulf asked, alarmed.

  Quickly, Dr. Fielding handed him the gas bag. “Point it away from the dragon,” she told him.

  Ulf pointed the gas bag to the open doors.

  Dr. Fielding leaped across the trench and fetched a box of matches from a shelf. She struck a match and held it up in front of the gas bag. “Now squeeze it!�
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  Ulf squeezed the gas bag, and a jet of flames shot out through the doors of the operating theater.

  “Wow!” he said. “Dragon fire!”

  Slowly the gas bag emptied, and the flames stopped.

  Orson poked his head in. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” Dr. Fielding said, stepping over the trench, back onto the operating table.

  Plunging her arms inside the dragon, she felt the stomach sack, pressing it with her fingertips.

  The stomach wall was ripped.

  “A rupture of some sort,” she muttered to herself.

  “Urgh! It stinks,” Ulf said, getting a waft of the dragon’s last meal.

  Dr. Fielding reached into the stomach and pulled out a half-digested mountain lion.

  “It didn’t die of starvation, then,” Ulf said. He was pinching his nose. He watched as Dr. Fielding picked up a metal crowbar from among the tools and began prising open the dragon’s ribcage.

  She climbed inside the chest cavity and checked the lungs. They looked like two enormous sponges. “Come see,” she said.

  Ulf stepped onto the operating table.

  The top of each lung was colored bright red.

  “Those colored patches are from screeching,” Dr. Fielding explained. “This dragon was screeching when it died. It must have been in pain.”

  Ulf wrote on his notes: Screeching.

  Next, Dr. Fielding reached for the dragon’s heart. She lifted it with both hands, and sticky blood oozed over her fingers. The heart had burst open. “Severe internal damage,” she said.

  Underneath the heart, Ulf saw something shiny and black. “What’s that?” he asked. It looked like a ball.

  Ulf put his hand in and touched it. It felt hard and cold.

  “Lift it out,” Dr. Fielding instructed, pulling the ruptured heart out of the way.

  Ulf dug both hands in, trying to grip the object. It was perfectly round. His fingers were slipping.

  “It’s heavy,” he said, trying to lift it. “Very heavy.”

  All at once, he heard a sucking sound, and then a squelch as the object loosened and came free.

  Ulf lifted it out, staggering, then he dropped it on the metal slab.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  It rolled into the trench.

  Dr. Fielding stared at it, and the dragon’s heart slipped out of her hands. “It’s a cannonball,” she said. “This dragon’s been shot.”

  She walked around to the dragon’s side and looked again at the wound beneath the wing. “Write this down, Ulf. Cause of Death: cannon fire.”

  Chapter 6

  THE RSPCB HAD BEEN FOUNDED TO CARE FOR endangered beasts, beasts once thought to have been extinct. It had set up breeding and conservation programs, and provided medical care for sick or injured beasts, sheltering them from harm. Thanks to the RSPCB there were now laws against beast poaching, trading in beast furs, and beast experimentation. Cruelty to beasts had been made illegal. But there were still some people who were willing to break the law.

  While Orson cleaned up in the operating theater, Ulf followed Dr. Fielding to her office. He stood in the doorway and watched as she reached for her phone and pressed the numbers on the keypad.

  “Hello, can you put me through to the department for National and International Criminal Emergencies?” she said. “Yes, it is an emergency. A dragon has been killed.”

  Ulf was holding the clipboard with the Autopsy Case Notes. “Why would anyone want to shoot a dragon?” he asked.

  Dr. Fielding was pacing up and down, holding the telephone to her ear. “Hello, it’s Dr. Fielding from the RSPCB. Is that the department for National and International Criminal Emergencies?”

  Ulf unclipped the Autopsy Case Notes and placed them on Dr. Fielding’s desk.

  “When will they be back?” Dr. Fielding asked. She raised her eyebrows. “Two days? But this is an emergency.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ulf asked.

  Dr. Fielding frowned. “Can I leave a message for an inspector?”

  She looked up. “Give me one second, Ulf.”

  She changed the phone to her other ear.

  “Yes. Can you say that it’s Dr. Fielding from the RSPCB. A dragon has been killed.”

  She bit her fingernail and listened anxiously to the voice on the end of the line. “If you would, please, yes,” she said.

  Dr. Fielding put the phone down. “They’re useless. All the inspectors are busy. Beasts aren’t their top priority.”

  She sat down at her desk and turned on the computer. “Can you help, please, Ulf? Can you find the Helping Hand and start checking the archives for any criminals we have on file?”

  Ulf walked into a storeroom at the back of Dr. Fielding’s office. Filing cabinets ran along each side of the room. On top of them, stacked to the ceiling, were cardboard boxes and heaps of papers tied with string. The storeroom contained all the RSPCB’s paperwork.

  Ulf read the labels on the cabinets:

  RSPCB MEMBERSHIP…ENVIRONMENTAL SURVEYS…BEAST POPULATIONS…FOREST CONSERVATION…

  He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Something rustled in one of the boxes. Its top opened and a finger poked out. Ulf watched as three more fingers and a thumb emerged.

  The Helping Hand crawled out of the box and scuttled onto a stack of papers. It tapped a finger impatiently, awaiting instructions.

  Helping Hands are busy beasts. They run on their fingertips, and are perfectly suited to helping around an office, sorting and filing, fetching and typing.

  “Dr. Fielding needs everything on dragons, criminals, and cannons,” Ulf said.

  The Helping Hand began rummaging through the files, opening each box and filing cabinet, pulling out sheets of paper, running its fingers over the words.

  “The Helping Hand is on the case,” Ulf said, walking back into Dr. Fielding’s office.

  Dr. Fielding was standing at the window. “Look, Ulf,” she said. “Come and see this.”

  A shiny black car was coming down the driveway. It stopped at the entrance gates, and a man got out. Ulf and Dr. Fielding looked at one another, then hurried through the house and out of the front door.

  “Can I help you?” Dr. Fielding called to the man as she walked across the courtyard.

  The man was standing behind the gates. He was tall and thin, dressed in a long black coat, a black hat, and black leather gloves.

  He tipped his hat, revealing black hair greased into a side parting. “Dr. Fielding, I presume?”

  Ulf stood beside Dr. Fielding and watched as the man took a wallet from his coat pocket. He opened it, showing a photo of himself.

  “My name is Inspector Black,” he said. “From the department of National and International Criminal Emergencies.”

  “NICE,” Ulf read above the man’s photograph.

  “I’ve come about the dragon.”

  “That was fast,” Dr. Fielding said, checking the man’s identity card. “I was told that all the inspectors were busy.”

  “I was in the area. May I come in? We have much to discuss.”

  Dr. Fielding opened the entrance gates, and Inspector Black parked his car next to the RSPCB vehicles: a rescue truck, a Jeep, and four all-terrain vehicles.

  He stepped out. His black shiny shoes scrunched on the gravel as he walked over to them.

  He looked to the left. Then he looked to the right.

  “Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m currently in the middle of a top-secret investigation. The situation is extremely serious. There are rumors of a beast hunter operating in the area.”

  “A beast hunter?” Dr. Fielding asked. “Who?”

  “This man hates beasts,” the Inspector said. “We do not know his exact identity, but we believe he is in the area and in possession of a cannon.”

  “A cannon? He shot the dragon!” Ulf said.

  The Inspector looked down at Ulf. “And who are you, young man?”

&
nbsp; “This is Ulf,” Dr. Fielding explained.

  From his coat pocket, Inspector Black took out a notepad and pencil and started writing. “Is this boy a relation of yours?”

  “Ulf is a werewolf.”

  The Inspector’s pencil lead snapped. “A w-w-w-werewolf?”

  “He lives here,” Dr. Fielding added.

  The Inspector’s eye began twitching. He took a step back from Ulf. “Dr. Fielding, is there somewhere we can talk privately?” he asked.

  “We can go to my office.”

  “I need you to tell me everything you know—when and where you found this dragon.”

  Dr. Fielding turned to Ulf. “Ulf, could you give the troll its medicine and check the temperature of the incubator, please?”

  “Now?” Ulf asked.

  “Please, Ulf,” Dr. Fielding said. “I won’t be long.”

  Dr. Fielding took Inspector Black to her office, leaving Ulf on his own. He was thinking about the dragon. He imagined it screeching and falling from the sky.

  He headed to the feed store, the largest building in the yard. Picking up a bag of frozen rats, he carried them to a large metal shed, the quarantine unit. He stopped at the big metal door.

  Inside, a troll was thumping the walls. It had been suffering from a highly contagious case of cavern fever. Dr. Fielding had brought it in from Troll Crag to keep an eye on it.

  Beside the door, she had left a bottle of antibiotic pills. Ulf pushed a pill into each of the rats’ rears, then opened a hatch in the door. He saw the troll’s green eyes in the shadows. It grunted, then stamped its foot and banged the walls. It didn’t like the light. Quickly, Ulf threw the rats in and slid the hatch shut.

  As he walked away, he heard loud thumping and chomping sounds. The troll was eating.

  Ulf headed down the line of buildings, wondering what Inspector Black and Dr. Fielding were saying in her office.

  He opened the door to the hatching bay, a square white shed two buildings along. On a table inside stood a fireproof glass incubation tank.

  In the tank, two chicks were sitting on piles of hot ashes. Ulf could hear them chirping. They were newly born fiery phoenixes, just a day old.