The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [101]
“And the coins?” asked Quixote. “Of what significance are they?”
“I kept those in case I needed to buy an ale,” said the professor. “This adventuring life is hard work, and it makes one very thirsty.”
With the offering to the dragons made, they sailed on toward the next island gate.
“Professor,” Rose asked suddenly, “do you know what time it is?”
“I’m not sure if time works the same way here as it does up top,” the professor replied. “Worry not, dear Rose. We’ll get there, by and by.”
“But professor,” Rose started to say.
“There,” the professor interrupted, pointing. “The second gate!”
The next island was wildly overgrown with foliage and was almost perfectly divided down the middle by a large swamp.
“Anything dangerous here?” asked Quixote.
“The usual,” said the professor. “Ligers and tigons, and the occasional gorilla, who will leave you be if you throw the names of books at them.”
“Throw books?” asked Rose.
“No,” said the professor, “just the names. They’re usually content with those. The only creatures to watch out for here are the crocodiles—they fly, you know.”
Sure enough, the moment the Scarlet Dragon moved into the swamp, the air was suddenly filled with winged crocodiles. They swooped and wove as if they were a great flock of leathery cranes, flying south for the winter.
It took only seconds for them to focus their attention on the tiny boat and its edible occupants, and they changed their formation to envelop the Scarlet Dragon.
Before the others could react, the professor reached into a satchel and flung a handful of small objects into the air. The crocodiles immediately dispensed with the formation to chase the treats. Professor Sigurdsson threw two more handfuls for good measure, and soon all the flying crocodiles had retreated into the jungle.
Rose peered inside the satchel. “Lollipops?”
“Indeed. The crocodiles here are fond of lollipops,” the professor explained, “and I made certain to raid the store of them Bert keeps onboard the White Dragon so that we’d be prepared.”
“I don’t think it likely that you carried many lollipops on your first voyage here in the Aurora,” said Quixote, “so how did you discover the crocodiles’ weakness for them?”
“Completely by accident, I assure you,” replied the professor. “As we were fighting them off, one of the crew was yanked overboard—and it was in watching the crocs tear the poor devil to pieces that we realized what they were really after.”
“The lollipops,” said Rose.
“Just so,” said the professor. “He had a penchant for them. Claimed it kept him from eating too much, as he hoped to keep his weight down. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“This is not a gate where we must pay a toll to get through,” the professor said at the third island. “To pass here, one must simply resist the urge to take something.”
“How do you mean, professor?” asked Rose.
“I’ll show you,” he said, “but this is a place we’d best cross in the air.”
He and Quixote deployed the balloons, and the little craft rose into the air.
The island was small, and unremarkable in most respects. It had palm trees, sandy beaches, and a few gently rolling hills. And in the center was a large, glistening lake.
“Look,” he said, pointing over the edge of the Scarlet Dragon at the water below.
The lake was filled with gold.
Not just raw ore, or coins, but every manner of object one could think of: fruit, and fish, and mugs, and swords, and on and on—all made of the gleaming yellow metal.
“A pirate’s repository, perhaps?” asked Quixote.
“No,” said the professor. “Death. The waters here bring death. Look farther.”
All around the edges of the lake were larger golden masses, which the companions had at first assumed to be simple piles of gold. But they weren’t—they were people.
“The water turns everything it touches into gold,” said the professor, “including those who seek to take