“Well, Mr. Jackaby?” Charlie prompted. “Unlikely as it sounds, this certainly looks like it could have been done by a creature a lot like this one.” He gestured to the scattered dragon bones. “Are you satisfied?”
“Rarely.” Jackaby finally looked up. “But they match too closely. As the saying goes, ‘Here, there be dragons.’ ”
Even as the words left his mouth, the crunch of wood splintering and the terrified bleating of livestock erupted from the farm below. My employer and I exchanged a momentary glance—whether the look in his eyes was alarm or excitement, I could not say—and then we leapt into action.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We had to weave around a tide of free and panicked goats as we made for the source of the clamor. Another terrific crunching sound issued from the direction of the barn, followed by the clatter of wood collapsing. As we reached the bottom of the hill, Horner burst out of the farmhouse and joined us. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were wild with confusion and concern. I could hear Lewis Lamb taking a deep breath to begin his customary accusations, but then we rounded the corner and it all left him in a whoosh. The wall of the barn was carved open as if it had been made of paper. The hole reached nearly to the roof, at least twenty feet high. On the far side of Brisbee’s field, the trees shook as something massive vanished into the forest, leaving a ragged trench across the pasture in its wake.
We stared for several seconds. It was Lewis Lamb who finally broke the silence. His voice had lost all of its bluster and rage, and he might have been a child waking from a nightmare. “Wh-what is that?” I followed his shaking finger to yet another red, wet mess within the debris of the barn. The carnage was of the same sort as the prior sites, although the leftovers were larger.
“If I were to hazard a guess,” Jackaby said, peering in, “I would say cows. Sadly, it seems Mr. Brisbee will need to buy his milk from town in the future.”
“It’s all my fault,” said a voice from the back of the savaged barn, trembling and feeble. Charlie picked his way carefully into the building and Jackaby followed. They returned, supporting Hugo Brisbee between them. He seemed unhurt, but his knees had gone weak and he had trouble keeping himself upright.
“Help me get him up to the house,” said Charlie.
“I made it angry,” Brisbee half mumbled to himself. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“What did you do?” Jackaby asked.
“I thought I was doing right by my Maddie. I thought . . . I thought maybe they would write about it all across the world. That maybe I could get her name in all the papers. She only ever wanted to get out of this valley . . .” He glanced around nervously. “It was me. I took the foot bones. I set them up, pressed them down with my boot. I—I thought it would make a bit of a mystery, get folks out, the way that first article brought you all out here. I put them back afterward . . . but it was too late.” He shivered, turning his pale face apologetically toward Lamb, who had not taken his eyes off the forest. “It’s all my fault. I woke the thing up, and it took my sweet Madeleine. N-now it’s out to get me. It came and . . . and then the cows . . .” The farmer stopped speaking and began to whimper.
“Yes, I imagine that was a rather unpleasant spectacle,” said Jackaby, glancing back over the sticky mess. “But I need to ask you a few questions, so please try to remain calm. If you do not remain calm, we may all be devoured in a horrifically violent manner by that very same medieval monster that consumed your cows–or possibly by one of the two similar monsters also presently at large. Are you calm? Mr. Brisbee?”
“He’s fainted,” said Charlie.
“Well that’s not helpful in the least.”
“Help me get him up the steps.” They carried him up to the farmhouse and set him down on the sofa.