The six travelers followed a set of weedy railroad tracks into a sort of courtyard surrounded by huge, empty doorways, each large enough to drive a lorry through and as black as pitch. Hulking over the tracks was a monstrosity of metal hoppers and closed hatches, blotting out the clouds above.
And there was a smell. It was not dragon dung, as James’ father had hoped. It was a high chemical smell, like the potions closet on a steamy day. James recognized it immediately.
“It’s her breath!” he whispered, raising his nose to the still air.
“That’s what it smells like when she flames! She must be here somewhere!”
Merlin angled toward one of the huge open doors. As he did, a brief gust of warm air blew out of it, rippling his robes. A chuff of yellow firelight illuminated a scaly snout, a curl of tail, and a pair of gold-foil eyes peering out of the darkness.
Merlin didn’t hesitate, didn’t even slow his step. But he did begin to speak. James recognized the sound of the sorcerer’s old Welsh, only low and muttered, like words sung to a half-sleeping baby.
The dragon’s huge eyes were only visible where they reflected the distant city lights. They seemed to open wide and elevate, watchful and wary as Merlin approached.
Merlin raised a hand, as if to offer a benediction to the dragon.
Then, amazingly, he lowered it to the dragon’s hard, scaly snout.
Norberta lowered her head again and her eyes seemed to slit shut in the darkness. Low and rumbling, Merlin spoke to her, his tone lilting and hypnotic.
Almost to himself, James said, “Looks like Heddlebun isn’t the only beast whisperer in town.”
His father looked at him. “Who?”
James glanced up and then shook his head. “This elf that Hagrid brought along when we first came to collect Norberta. She could talk to beasts, soothe them, like. But she used her powers to set Norberta off when we got out onto the river. She wanted to make a point about elf rights or something.”
Millie frowned. “By setting a dragon loose in London?”
Hermione gave a brisk little sigh. “People will resort to whatever gets attention when they feel that every other option’s been taken away.”
The earth thumped faintly as Merlin backed away from the dark doorway, leading Norberta out into the faint nightglow. Her head emerged first on its long, serpentine neck, sweeping low over the ground. Then her shoulders hove into view, carrying the muscular bulk of her chest. Finally, her rear legs and tail appeared. Her claws clattered on the frozen gravel and her footsteps made faint tremors, but otherwise she was completely silent, her golden eyes half-lidded, contentedly following Merlin and his gently glowing staff.
A little awed, Ron said, “Back to the ship, then?”
“Indeed,” Merlin answered. “But not the way we came. Our dragon friend will never fit through the alleyway. Nor could she cross the thoroughfare that we traversed. We shall have to forge an alternate route through the city proper.”
“That’s, like, an actual dragon…!” Millie said, her eyes bulging at the enormous creature. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one this up close and personal!”
“A privilege we would like to reserve for as few people as possible,” Hermione commented, a little worriedly.
Merlin nodded. “Which means we shall have to tread very carefully. Our dragon friend is quite docile at the moment, but make no mistake: beneath her current calm lies a hungry and terrified and deeply driven dragon, responding to the most fundamental and undeniable instincts of all creatures. Her male counterpart, the redoubtable Montague, is nearer than ever. We must increase the distance between them while she is still, nominally, under our influence.”
Harry gave the old wizard a sidelong grin. “I assume that you have some suitably cunning subterfuge in mind, Headmaster?”
“You speak well, Mr. Potter,” Merlin nodded, meeting Harry’s smile with a small one of his own. “I sometimes wonder if perhaps there is some trace of sorcerer in your lineage.”
Harry bobbed his head and shrugged. “Medieval Muggle royalty, I once was told. But sadly, no sorcery.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes at this, unsurprised, and then turned his attention back to the dragon who stood nearby, her head hovering just over his shoulder.
“I beg your pardon, Madame Norberta,” he said in a low voice, and patted her again on the snout. “Do try not to be too offended…”
Ten minutes later and three blocks away, a huge metal gate shuddered slightly, shaken by a golden flash. The padlock securing the gate snicked open, releasing its loops of chain, which unwound and slithered to the ground with a ringing chime of metal. The gates eased inward, opening onto the unmistakable depths of the railroad switchyard beyond.
James stepped out into the buzzing streetlight, his eyes wide, his hair buffeting in a sudden gust of wind. He looked around, up and down the narrow street. Cars lined the far curb, parked bumper to bumper, but no one was currently in sight.
“All clear,” he called back, cupping his hands to his mouth.
A moment later, Millie crept out into the light, hurrying to join James, her face a mask of mingled excitement and trepidation. Ron and Hermione came next, followed by Harry Potter and Merlin, the former glancing around alertly, his wand just visible in his sleeve, the latter walking with calm, even strides, moving straight out into the empty street, leaving no footprints on the sheen of melting slush.
Following Merlin at a low, grumbling idle, was what looked like, for all intents and purposes, the largest, dirtiest, most conspicuous refuse truck that James had ever seen. The truck’s tyres bumped down over the curb, thumped in icy puddles, and angled out onto the road to join Merlin as he chose a direction, seemingly at random, and began to walk.
The refuse truck followed him, its engine throbbing throatily, rolling along at his very heels. Behind the filthy glass of its windscreen, the steering wheel pivoted by itself, with no driver. This, however, was perhaps less strange than the fact that the truck was driving backwards, leading with its open rear compactor, currently empty but looking hungry enough to swallow a small car whole. James wasn’t sure if this detail was due to Merlin’s unfamiliarity with the operation of municipal fleet vehicles, or if the wily magician simply preferred a challenge.
The drone and honk of far busier streets could be heard from very nearby. The troupe would be avoiding those streets however possible, sticking to less populous, albeit narrower side streets and avenues. This did mean, however, that their route to the river would be much longer and more circuitous than preferred.
“Hermione, Ron,” Harry said, turning to his friends, “why don’t you two head back to the Gertrude and pilot her to London Bridge City Pier? That will be a more convenient place to embark from our new route.”
Ron nodded his agreement, but Hermione looked concerned.
“Should we separate, though?”
“It’s probably for the best at this point,” Harry said. “We’ll be less conspicuous this way.”
“And what could possibly go wrong?” Ron grinned, throwing an arm around Hermione’s shoulders.