Read The Fire Within (The Last Dragon Chro) for Free Online

those hinges were in dire need of oiling or …
    Neee-yaaaaah!
    The same whine split the air again. It was someone cutting wood with a high-powered saw.
    Someone like Henry Bacon, perhaps.
    A light was on in the neighbor’s garage. Fueled bycuriosity (but more by suspicion), David crouched low and crept up to the doors. As he raised his face to the grimy window, the thump of a hammer rattled the glass. Something hit the garage floor with a crash. There was a snapping sound. Mr. Bacon cussed. He tossed his hammer onto a workbench. It hit a box of nails and spilled them onto the floor.
    David dipped away, frowning hard. Henry was obviously making something. But what, exactly, it was impossible to say. David shook his head and let it pass. There was no law against people doing woodwork in their garages, even if they were as crazy as Henry.
    With a shrug, he crossed over onto Liz’s drive and let himself into number forty-two. He had barely finished kicking the mud off his shoes when Lucy came sprinting down the hall to greet him.
    “Where’ve you been? School was out ages ago.”
    “I had lunch with the president and walked his dog around the White House.”
    “Liar,” said Lucy. “Did you get a book?”
    A book. David had forgotten the book.
    Lucy read the defeated expression on his face. “You did
go
to the library, didn’t you?”
    “Yes,” he said. “Thanks for telling me Mr. Bacon works there.” He draped his coat over her head and walked on into the kitchen. “Hmm, something smells good.”
    Down the hall Lucy shouted: “This coat stinks!”
    “Baked potatoes, sausages, and baked beans,” said Liz, pointing a wooden spoon like a wand. “Simple, but filling. How was your day?”
    “Not bad. Spent most of it in the library gard — ow!”
    David started with pain as Lucy jabbed him in the thigh with a lollipop stick.
    “Hey, that’s enough of that,” Liz scolded.
    “He’s being horrible,” Lucy complained. “He says I didn’t tell him about Mr. Bacon.”
    “Oh dear. You found Henry?”
    “Couldn’t miss him,” David muttered, glaring at Lucy. “He was at the information desk when I went in specially to get
someone
a squirrel book.”
    “Where is it?” Lucy badgered, ever hopeful.
    “They didn’t have one.” David flicked a breadcrumb at her.
    Lucy made a moody face and thumped into a seat at the kitchen table. On the table was a half-made dragon, a jelly jar of water, and a number of sticks. Lucy took a finely pointed stick and began to scrape doggedly at a flat piece of clay. David watched in quiet admiration as she turned it into a three-toed foot.
    “So, what did you think of the gardens?” asked Liz.
    “Nice,” said David, yawning lightly. “I met the library gardener.”
    “Oh, George. He’s been there since the place was opened. They grew him from seed, I think. His wife bought a dragon from me once. He’s a funny old guy. A little grouchy, but his heart’s in the right place.”
    “Can’t say the same for his timing,” David muttered. “He told me this peculiar story about everyone in Scrubbley knowing it’s eleven when the library clock strikes three.”
    “It’s true,” muttered Lucy. “All the chimes arewrong. We learn it by heart at school. You have to remember it never bongs nine.”
    “That spells doom and gloom,” explained Liz.
    “Hasn’t anyone thought to repair it?”
    “Frequently,” said Liz, turning sausages with a fork, “but a petition always goes around to leave it be. It’s become sort of a tourist attraction. Tricky when the clocks go forward, though.”
    “You gain four bongs,” said Lucy, bending to retrieve a piece of clay. It was then that David noticed two complete dragons, sitting on the windowsill at Lucy’s side. One of them, a rather regal-looking creature, bore an uncanny resemblance to Lucy herself. David looked again from a different angle. The dragon had the usual spikes and scales — and yet, when he stared at it, he