“Do you have a gun, Captain?” Geneva murmured.

“Back in the Belbelo…”

“Something,” she said. “Anything. Kiss Curl?”

Carlotti moved down the little boat to look for something that they could use to defend themselves. His motion attracted the gaze of the worm, and without hesitation the creature swooped down. Kiss Curl didn’t have a chance. The dragon came up behind him, unhooked his jaw, and took Carlotti into its mouth whole.

“No!” Geneva yelled, flinging herself toward Kiss Curl to catch hold of him before he was swallowed. But the dragon threw back its head, like a bird taking a fish, and Carlotti slid out of sight into one of its bellies, as silent in death as he had been in life.

“Bastard thing!” Geneva said, tears of fury running down her cheeks.

The dragon made a terrible sound in its throat: a low joyless laughter. “Who will be next?” it said, scanning the survivors.

“McBean?” Geneva whispered.

“Yes?”

“Does the lifeboat have a flare gun?”

“I believe it does.”

“Can you get it?”

“Surely.”

“Very slowly, Captain. Take. Your. Time.”

The Captain did as Geneva had instructed. With great caution he lifted the center seat of the lifeboat, where there was a compartment containing emergency rations, and—yes!—a flare gun.

The worm meanwhile twitched and reeled. It was obviously getting closer to collapse with every passing moment. But that didn’t make it any less dangerous, Geneva knew. She had once seen a dragon take the lives of six people when it had all their swords driven into its head.

“Here,” the Captain said, oh-so-softly, and put the flare gun into Geneva’s hand.

It was a cumbersome thing, but Geneva knew she didn’t need to have perfect aim: her target was large.

Had the worm seen what they were doing? It opened its mouth and loosed a ragged noise, but the sound was more of anguish than of rage; the death tremors in its serpentine body were increasing with every beat of its heart.

Geneva brought the gun into view. The worm’s good eye flickered. There was a moment’s stillness, then the worm said:

“Damn you, woman.”

And Geneva fired the flare.

It left a smoky red trail, bright even in the light of the approaching day.

Though her aim didn’t need to be good, it was. The flare flew straight down the dragon’s throat, and for a moment the creature became the very image of its mythological self: the fire-breathing beast of the Testaments of Pottishak that Geneva had learned by heart at school.

“And yea, the Great Dragon Cascatheka Rendithius came upon the land like a plague, and fire came from its throat and blackened the living earth—”

She had scared herself many times as a child conjuring that image in her mind’s eye. But seeing it now—made flesh, made smoke—it was not so terrible. It was just a worm after all: petty and sly and cruel.

Then the gunpowder exploded, and two columns of blinding white fire blew out the monster’s eyes. The dragon screamed; a shriek that rose out of the inferno of its bellies and out of its throat and its pierced heart.

It lasted a little time, then it died away.

The dragon’s body swayed, its eyes reduced to blackened holes, and without further sound the beast collapsed upon itself as though its spine had turned to jelly. It didn’t fall to the left or right. It sank upon itself down into the bloodstained waters, descending so gracefully that it was gone from sight with scarcely a bubble.

“Thank you and good night,” the Captain remarked bitterly.

“Worms,” Geneva said, matching his bitterness. “I hate them with all my heart. And now they’ve taken Kiss Curl from us. I swear… I swear 1 will not be content until every dragon is wiped off these islands. And out of the waters too. Every last one.” She looked sideways at Tom and the Captain. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” they both said.

They all stood in silence then, meditating for a time on their lost comrade.

And while they did so, the tide carried them gently to the beach, so that by the time their silent prayers were over, and they raised their heads, the hull of the lifeboat was gently nudging the soft white sand of the Nonce.

“We’re here,” said Tria.

“Finnegan is somewhere on this island?” Geneva said.

“Yes,” the child replied.

Tom shook his head in disbelief.

“Back where it all started,” he said. “Who would have thought?”

They said no more, but worked in thoughtful silence for the next little while, carrying the body of John Mischief and his brothers from the boat and up the sand to the cool shadows of the blossom-filled trees that lined the shore.

Candy walked across rolling hills, the route before her illuminated only by stars. As she went, she kept her eye on the strange domed house that was built on top of the hill. She was more tired and hungry with every step she took, and was desperately hoping she’d find a simple welcome there at the house; a place where she could finally lay her head down and sleep. Her limbs felt like lead, and her eyelids kept fluttering closed, so that it felt that she was actually sleepwalking.

She contemplated lying down right where she stood, making a nest for herself in the grass and napping until the worst of her exhaustion passed. But she rapidly argued herself out of that plan.

She had no idea of what kind of animals lived on Ninnyhammer. For all she knew it could be an island of venomous toads, vampiric weasels and rabid snakes. Given the variety of strange fauna she’d encountered during her travels, anything was possible. So on she went, though her pace was slowing, step by exhausted step.

When she was about a mile from the house, she came upon a pillar topped with a little platform on which a well-fed fire was blazing. There were perhaps a dozen other such pillars, all topped with fires, which apparently marked the perimeter of the homeowner’s property.

They certainly marked something, because once she had walked past the pillar, there was a subtle change in atmosphere. Though the pillar fires weren’t particularly large, they cast a light with a strength out of all proportion to their size, multiplying Candy’s shadow and making the solid ground appear to cavort beneath her feet.

She also sensed the presence of living creatures in her imminent vicinity, though for some reason she couldn’t catch sight of them. Perhaps they were too quick for her weary eyes; or hidden in the long grass, or simply, given that this was the Abarat, invisible. But sometimes she felt them brushing her shins, or nudging the back of her legs.

After a while their teasing presence began to annoy her.

“Who are you?” she demanded finally. “Show yourselves, will you? There’s nothing I hate more than games of hide-and-seek.”

Her demand had an immediate effect. Two animals, twice as large as domestic cats but definitely of the feline family, emerged from behind a scattering of rocks close by. They had fur the color of brick and flame, with black stripes and vast, luminous eyes.

“You look hungry,” she said to them. “But it’s no good looking at me. I don’t have anything to give you.”

By way of reply the scrawniest of the two cats let out a spine-tingling yowl, and within thirty seconds, half a dozen of its brethren had emerged from hiding. They all studied Candy with the same wide-eyed intensity as had the first couple.

Candy was just a little unnerved. Were they now sizing her up for devouring? If not, then why had they been following so closely on her heels, as though they were sniffing her raw flesh?

She halted a second time, turned back to them and said: “Will you just stop staring at me? Don’t you know it’s rude?” If they understood, they didn’t respond to the instruction. They just kept following her, staring, staring, as she strode along the narrow track that zigzagged up the slope toward the domed house.