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  The spicy scent of sassafras filled the kitchen. It was one of Twig’s favorites. Beau took his seat at the table.

  “Ah,” he sighed, sipping the hot tea carefully. “That hits the spot.”

  “Mm,” Twig agreed, peering over his cup.

  Beau pushed a bowl of shelled walnuts across the table. “Help yourself,” he said. But then his eyes became serious. “Twig, you shouldn’t have spoken like that to Master Burdock.”

  Twig figured that word had already gotten around about his outburst in class that afternoon. “I know,” he replied. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

  “It’s Master Burdock you’ll need to apologize to. You know, Twig, you’ll have to control your temper better if you want to become a Master Metal Crafter.”

  “Do you think I ever will be one?” Twig asked quietly.

  “I’ve never been good at making predictions, Twig, and don’t want to try now. Do you want to be one?”

  “I thought I did, but now . . . it feels good to do well, but it’s not what I want to be, Beau.”

  “What do you want to be?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll become a Master Metal Crafter, or what. No one can say. But I will tell you this, Twig. You’ve got a fine head on your shoulders. And a big heart. . . . That counts for a lot. Maybe there are bigger and better things out there besides metalworking. I see in you someone who is destined for great things. You’ll find your way, if you’re true to yourself.”

  “How do you know if you’re being true to yourself?” Twig asked.

  “You’ll know. You’ll feel it.”

  Twig sat in silence for a moment, sipping the delicious tea. His mind was on more important things than Metal Craft.

  “Beau,” he said hesitantly, staring into his cup. “What do you know about . . . dragons?”

  Beau’s eyebrows went up. “Dragons? What do you mean, ‘dragons’?”

  “Dragons,” Twig continued. “You know, like in my picture books. Do you think they exist?”

  “Well, now . . . that’s a peculiar question. But yes, I think they really exist. I heard stories about them, when I was little.”

  Twig sat up. “Like what?”

  “I remember a story I heard a long, long time ago, from an ancient badger. I was just a youngster. You think I’m old? This badger was so old he could remember the first computer that was discovered at the Hill.”

  Twig’s eyes widened. “Wow,” he murmured.

  Beau continued, “I remember him saying that he remembered somebody who had actually seen a dragon. Now keep in mind, this is a long-ago memory from someone who had a long-ago memory. But I can still recall how the old badger lit up like a firefly as he told the story. Of how the dragon had emerald-green scales, and beautiful wings. And he said the dragon had been discovered in the Woods, not far from here, and that it had been so startled at being seen it flew off, fast, through the trees.”

  “It flew?” asked Twig.

  “Yep. That’s what he said. Good flier, too, from the sound of it, dodging the trees and branches and going fast. Pretty amazing, eh?”

  Twig took a sip of his tea. “Yeah . . . amazing,” he said.

  Beau poured a little more hot water over his sassafras roots. “Tell me, Twig,” he said evenly, looking across his teacup. “What would you do if you ran across a dragon in the Woods?”

  “Me? Oh, I—uh—I—” Twig stammered.

  “Would you . . . run?” Beau prompted.

  “No. I mean, I don’t guess I would,” Twig replied.

  “Would you hide?”

  “No, not that either, I don’t think. . . .”

  Beau looked at Twig steadily. “Would you try to capture it?” he asked.

  Twig gulped his tea, glancing at Beau. The old raccoon gazed over his spectacles.

  “Well,” Twig finally answered. “Maybe. I think I’d try to find out if he was dangerous or not. Then I . . . maybe I’d try to bring him home.”

  “Interesting,” Beau said.

  Twig’s head was swimming with all sorts of thoughts, but he was afraid that he was being cornered. “I should go now,” he said.

  Beau looked at him squarely. “Anything you want to share with me, Twig?”

  “No . . . I’m good.”

  “Well, just tell me one thing. That you’ll never say anything but the truth to me, always.”

  “I promise, Beau.”

  “Finished your tea?”

  Twig took one last gulp. “Yes.”

  “Then off you go. Your mom will be getting worried.”

  Beau gave Twig a reassuring pat on the back and sent him on his way.

  chapter 16

  Olive

  Twig plodded slowly up the pathway. He could hear the sound of hammer on chisel and knew his mother was busy with her sculpture. It was a bit of a relief; maybe she’d be less inclined to ask about his day.

  Not this day.

  “Twig? That you?” she called out from her workroom.

  “Hi, Mom,” Twig said with a bright chirp, trying to sound at ease.

  “What happened at school today?” she asked, chipping delicately at a piece of marble.

  Twig watched her work for a moment. “Oh, nothing,” he answered.

  “How’s Lily?”

  “She’s good.”

  “How were classes?”

  Twig hesitated. “Okay, I guess.”

  Olive cocked her soft ears. “Just okay?”

  “Pretty good.”

  His mother was unrelenting. “Twig . . . is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Uh . . . no. In fact, there’s something I’m trying pretty hard not to tell you.”

  Olive stopped her work and turned toward him. “What is it?”

  Twig sighed, thinking he might as well get it over with. “Professor Burdock kicked me out of school today.”

  Olive put down her chisel. “He did what?”

  “He suspended me. For today and tomorrow.”

  “For what? What did you do?”

  “Mom,” Twig moaned.

  “Tell me what you did before I go to see Professor Burdock myself and ask him face-to-face!”

  “I . . . I guess you’d say I back-talked.” Twig rolled his eyes, body slumped, waiting for her reaction. It came quickly.

  Olive stared at Twig in disbelief, her tail quivering. “Please tell me you are joking,” she said.

  Twig related the whole classroom incident. Olive looked at her son for a minute, then picked up her chisel and begin chipping again at the marble. “Well, I’m angry with you for being suspended, Twig,” she said. “But I admire your ability to stand up for Lily.”

  “I didn’t mind getting yelled at myself nearly as much as I minded him yelling at Lily.”

  Olive’s brown eyes softened. “I know. Sometimes it’s easier to feel pain yourself than to imagine others having to feel it.”

  Twig looked at her gratefully. “Well, anyway,” he continued, “I told Burdock that he shouldn’t talk to Lily that way and, well, he ordered me out. He was plenty mad.”

  “But I bet Lily was tickled that you defended her,” Olive added with a smile. “Please tell me . . . she was there, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” Twig grinned. “She heard everything.”

  “Well, that’s good, at least,” Olive sighed. “We’ll talk more about this some other time, if you want. Wash your paws for dinner. And I made mashed cricket pudding.”

  LATER, TWIG CREPT QUIETLY OUT OF THE HOUSE. IT WAS dark as pitch, but he couldn’t sleep. Too much had happened during the day for him to shut his mind off and get some rest. He wanted to see Char.

  All was quiet at the wooden tower, Twig was relieved to see. But as soon as he approached, he heard clawing at the door.

  Twig slipped inside. Char vibrated his wings, and the pink-and-yellow tongue slithered this way and that in greeting. Even though Char wasn’t his usual rambunctious self, his eage
rness at seeing Twig made the chipmunk smile.

  “Hey, Char!” Twig cooed.

  He sat with the dragon for a long while, scratching his chin, stroking his velvety wings. But even in the dark of the tower room Twig could see his bright colors had faded. Char looked tired. His scales seemed irregular, and his skin sagged.

  Soon Char dozed off. Twig grinned as the dragon jerked in his sleep, kicking and wiggling his feet, possibly because of a dream, then tucked his head under his wing. The familiar snoring began, and Twig quietly tiptoed out, carefully latching the door, and scampered down the path.

  Not a breath of breeze was stirring, and the air was sweet and dewy, full of the scent of locust blossoms. The moon was like a thin slice of crabapple, and Twig could see stars far above him between clumps of the Woods canopy. He silently made his way home under the umbrella-like mayapples—owls were a constant danger—and then tiptoed into the house and up to his room. Olive was still busy with her sculpture. She did not say a word, and Twig wondered if she had known he was gone the whole time.

  chapter 17

  Basil

  Twig decided to create one final masterpiece. It wasn’t for school; it wasn’t for credit. It was for fun.

  And when he was finished, it was spectacular: a wind catcher. It wasn’t anything useful, yet it was amazing. It whirred and chimed and clicked, but it didn’t have any purpose except to catch the breeze. It was made from dozens of the parts and pieces that had littered Twig’s bedroom. And it glittered and glowed under the burnished handiwork of Char’s flame.

  Twig gave a few spots a final polish. He stepped back, admiring the brass-and-copper piece, and his foot landed on Char’s tail. The dragon flinched slightly, but otherwise didn’t move.

  “Sorry, Char,” Twig said absently, and then stopped. “Char . . . you okay?”

  Char was noticeably thinner than he had been several weeks earlier. His emerald-green scales were now gray and dull. They didn’t ripple with excitement. Twig noticed that even Char’s eyes were funny. Filmy and lackluster, they were not the shiny gold they had been.

  “We’ll have some fun today, Char!” Twig said brightly. For a second he wondered if his cheery tone was for Char or for himself. He knew Char didn’t belong inside the old tower.

  “You’ll be okay, Char. You just need some rest,” said Twig.

  The dragon lifted his head and blinked.

  TWIG HURRIED BACK ALONG THE PATH, UNDER THE MAYAPPLES, carrying a sack full of spicebush berries. His mother would be making a spicebush berry cake this evening, Twig thought, or maybe spice acorn pudding. His mouth began to water.

  “Where are you going so fast?” came a voice from directly up the path, and Basil appeared, blocking his way.

  Twig tried to scoot by. “I’ve got no time for you, Basil.”

  “Oh yeah?” Basil replied. He reached into Twig’s bag uninvited, pulled out a ripe berry, and began to munch. “You better make some time for me, ’cause I’ve got an important message for you.”

  Twig looked doubtful. “Important message? From?”

  “From Professor Filbert. He’s at school. I think he wants to tell you how good you’re doing in class or something stupid like that. He said to make sure I found you, and to make sure you come see him.”

  Twig squinted at Basil suspiciously. “Why’d he ask me to come to him? Why can’t he just see me tomorrow at school?”

  “How should I know?” Basil replied, sounding annoyed.

  Basil scampered off but stopped just past a bend in the path to look back at Twig. Twig was still pondering what to do. In a moment, with a glance at the pathway home, he started off down the forked trail, down to the school.

  TWIG GOT TO THE SCHOOL AND SCAMPERED TO THE Electricity Lab. Professor Filbert was at his desk, a tall, elderly rabbit, missing patches of brown fur here and there from electrical burns. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose as he peered through them at Twig.

  “Ah!” he chirruped. “Just in time.” He fumbled with stacks of papers on his desk. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind helping me, would you, Twig, my boy? Hard to manage, you see. Lots of homework papers to grade tonight. Thank you so much.”

  “Uh, well, you see . . . ,” Twig began. But the professor had already dumped the large pile of homework into Twig’s arms and was absentmindedly hopping out of the classroom.

  “Keep up, my boy!” Professor Filbert called back to Twig, who scurried after him, trying to keep the stack of papers in his arms. They took a circuitous route to the professor’s burrow, a cozy but tangled labyrinth of tunnels beneath an old, rusty wheelbarrow.

  “You can set the papers there, my boy. Excellent! Thank you so much! Could never have made it home by myself. Lucky you came along!” he squeaked. “Now, how about a cup of blackberry tea as a thank-you?”

  Twig had the sinking realization that coming to see Professor Filbert was just a ruse that Basil had concocted. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to find out, and find out immediately.

  “Uh, no thank you, sir,” he said. “I have to get home right away. Uh . . . my mom ordered me to.”

  “Well, can’t disobey a mother’s orders, eh?” the old rabbit chuckled. “Off you go. Be quick. Can’t thank you enough.”

  Twig darted off to the tower, his heart pounding. Basil suspected something. And if he found out about Char, so would Burdock. He hated to think of what they might do to Char.

  He raced faster.

  TWIG GOT TO THE CLOCK TOWER. HE SAW BASIL SURVEYING the scene, and then, creeping alongside the clock, peeking into cracks. He started to push open the door.

  “Basil!” Twig yelled out. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going to find out what your big secret is,” he said. “Everybody knows your projects were done by someone else, and I’m going to find out who. All I had to do was follow Lily. Easy as pie.”

  Just then Lily poked her head out the tower door. “Go away, Basil!” she squeaked, pushing at Basil. She yanked on his whiskers. “Don’t come in here!” Twig pulled on his tail.

  “Ouch! Let go, you maniacs!” he yelled back, shoving past Lily. His eyes grew large as they became accustomed to the dark of the tower’s interior. In the dim light he could just make out what he thought was a pile of dead leaves, but it moved.

  “Hello?” he said nervously. His fur stood on end as the shape quivered, and then two wings started to flutter.

  “H-hey . . . ,” he stuttered. He heard a popping sound. Then came a small flash of light as Char burped a warning flame, lighting the corner.

  “Whoa!” Basil shrieked, eyes wide as he saw Char. He scrambled backward, falling through the door and out into the leaves outside. Twig slammed the door shut with a bang.

  “What was that?” Basil exclaimed, panting heavily.

  “I told you not to go in there!” Lily squeaked harshly.

  “Now you know, Basil,” fumed Twig. “You can’t say anything to anybody. You can’t!”

  Basil was still shaking but was beginning to put two and two together. Suddenly he smiled. “It’s all making sense now,” he said. “Sure! Twig wasn’t so hot at Metal Craft before . . . but now he is.” He slapped his paws together. “Wait until Uncle Burdock hears about this!” he said, and darted off into the weeds.

  “What? No, Basil!” Twig called out after him. “You can’t tell a soul!”

  But Basil had disappeared into the greens of the forest floor, heading to his uncle Burdock’s house.

  chapter 18

  Char, Unleashed

  In no time, Basil and his uncle arrived back at the clock tower, Burdock with a coil of rope in his paws. Lily steamed with anger.

  “He’s just a baby!” she called out. “Don’t hurt him!”

  Char lay tense and shaking in his corner. The dragon’s scales were grayish and pointing awkwardly from his body. The weasel and his nephew approached slowly.

  Burdock eyed the dragon with awe, but suspiciously. “A dragon,” he said. “So t
hey do exist. And you were using one so that you’d be Named.”

  “Please!” Twig yelled. “Char isn’t well! Leave him alone!”

  Burdock would have none of it. “Get back!” he barked. “I’ve got him. Basil, get over to that side. We’ll come from two directions. Take this end of the rope!”

  But suddenly Burdock saw Twig’s masterpiece on one side of the room.

  The delicately soldered workings, the balanced arms, the weights, the glistening hinges, and shiny orbs were all wired with copper, brass, silver, and iron. The seemingly nonsensical uselessness of it irritated Burdock. His eyes darted around the room until he saw what he needed. A hammer.

  “So you’ve had help with your projects?” he barked. “This is what I think of your projects!”

  “No!” Twig cried out.

  Burdock grabbed the hammer and began striking at Twig’s project. Pieces of metal flew through the air. Gears and levers were mangled and bent.

  Char snapped to attention with a snort. Using what little strength he had, he flapped toward Burdock, with wings vibrating and stretched out—lifting off the ground and flying for the first time. His eyes were once again flames of orange and yellow, his scales undulating, his tail flicking and twisting. The dragon opened its bright-pink mouth in a hiss. He let out a strange, growling, gurgling sound that surprised even Twig.

  And then it happened.

  The scales on Char’s neck stuck out, perpendicular to his body. His mouth opened wider, and he lowered his head close to the floor. He snorted again, and out came a flame that made his past fire breathing seem like a damp match. The entire room lit up with blue-white light as fire rushed out of the dragon with a roar. Lily shrieked, and Burdock yelped, backing away and dropping the hammer.

  Then Char reared back again and sent another flame directly at Burdock, hitting him in the shoulder.

  “AAH!” he screamed, wincing in pain, clutching at the burned patch. The smell of scorched fur filled the room.