The dweller in the well.

What is it? What can it do?

If it detects your presence it will rise up and attempt to prevent the theft. It is a great feathered serpent.

Mouseglove began to shake. With his cloak, he muffled the lowering of the blade to the stone floor. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes, massaged his forehead.

This is so unfair! I only work in prime form, not when I'm half-dead with fatigue!

This time, there is no other way.

Damn you!

We are wasting time. Will you do it?

Have I any real choice? If there is any justice--

Then be about it!

Mouseglove dropped his hands and straightened. He swung into a seated position upon the top step and adjusted his boots. He ran his fingers through his hair, wiped his palms on his trousers and took up the blade. He stood.

With a silent, sweeping movement, he took himself to the left hand side of the stair. Turning sideways then, he began to descend a step at a time, slowly and soundlessly.

When he reached the bottom, he stood perfectly still, listening. Was that the slightest of rustling noises from the well? Yes. It came again, then ceased. Would it be better to dash forward, seize the cylinder and run for it now? Or should he continue to rely on stealth? How big was the creature, and how fast could it move?

As no answers were forthcoming, he took it that his guesses were as good as his tormentors'. He took a single step forward and paused again. Silence. He took another. Yes, the thing was definitely glowing. It was what Pol would be after and apparently would not have time to reach. Why not? Those approaching ships of Mark's... ? Probably. So where would that leave him, Mouseglove, even if he succeeded in making off with the bauble? Had the Seven something more in mind for him? Or would he finally be totally free, to go his own way?

Another step... Nothing. Two more quick ones...

A rustling, as of scales against stone...

He controlled a shudder and stepped again, over a small heap of rubble. The rustling continued, as if something large and coiled were unwinding itself.

The grenade! Heave one down the well! Fall flat! Cover your head!

He did as he was told. The grenade was in his hand, then in the air. As he threw himself forward behind the pedestal, he caught a glimpse of an enormous, bright, feather-crowned head rising above the low wall, of huge unblinking eyes, dark as pits, turned in his direction, a green excrescence, like a blazing emerald, set in the brow above them. Then an explosion shook the building.

A large block fell from the ceiling at the corner to the left of the stair, followed by a fall of gravel and dirt, dust particles dancing in the light rays. The orange basket tumbled from its rest, the rod rolling from it. It struck the lower step of the small pyramid, bounced and came to rest beside Mouseglove's elbow.

You've got it! Take it and run!

He looked about, discovered it, seized it, scrambled to his feet.

Too late! he replied, the rod in his left hand, the blade in his right. It's not dead!

An explosive hissing drowned the final rattlings of the stonefall. The orange, red and pink-bonnetted head was swaying as if disoriented, but moving steadily in his direction, too rapidly for him to escape it.

Strike at the jewel between the eyes!

He darted backward, raising the blade, knowing he would have but one chance.

As the serpent struck, so did he.

They burst into the dawn, retching and gasping, ears ringing, pulses pounding. Pol leaned forward and looked down at beaches running back to a line of lush tropical growth.

Down, Moonbird! We can barely hang on!

Moonbird dropped lower, slowing.

On the beach?

Yes. I want to bathe, to eat, to walk.

"Pol, I can't--"

"I know. Neither can I. Just another minute."

Moonbird settled gently. They slid off and lay unmoving on the sand. After a time, Pol reached out and touched Nora's hair.

"You did well," he said.

"You hung right in there, too." She patted Moonbird. "Good show." Then, "Where are we?" she asked.

How much farther?

We will reach it before the sun stands in the high places.

Good.

"We'll be there by noon," he said to Nora.

After a time, they undressed and bathed in the ocean, then cleaned their garments while Moonbird hunted and ate things that squealed a lot back among the trees. Their own breakfast was more silent as they watched the sun-dappled waves and the fire-splashed clouds.

"I would like to sleep for an awfully long time," she finally said.

"We have been rather busy."

"When this is over, what are you going to do?"

"If I live," he said, "I would like to read the rest of the books in my father's library."

"And with that knowledge--what?"

"I look upon it as an end, not a means. I don't know what I'll do then. Oh, I want to rebuild Rondoval, of course, whether I stay or move on."

"Move on? To where?"

"I don't know. But I once traveled a golden road that went by wondrous places. Perhaps one day I'll walk it further and see more things."

"And will you be coming back if you do?"

"I think I must. Your land seems more like home to me than any other place I've ever lived."

"It's nice to have such choices," she said.

"If I live," he said.

When Moonbird returned, they stretched, brushed off sand and mounted, holding hands. The sun was higher and the jungle seemed greener now. They rose again, and soon Moonbird was bearing them south.

It was nearly noon when they sighted the stepped pyramid, approached it and began to circle.

You may be too late, Moonbird stated.

What do you mean?

Among the trees there are ships like the one you broke on the island.

I don't see...

I see their heat.

How many are there?

I count six.

I wonder how long they have been here? It could be an ambush.

Perhaps. What should I do?

I have to have that piece--

An explosion shook the pyramid.

"What--?" Nora began.

Go low and pass it fast. I want a better look.

Moonbird circled, positioned himself and began to fall. Pol studied the jungle, still unable to detect the vessels of which the dragon had spoken. As they descended, he turned his eyes toward the pyramid itself. Clumps of dirt slid down its sides, and a minor cave-in had occurred at one point. A cloud of dust rose like smoke above the structure.

They passed through the dust and swept in tow, regarding the pyramid and the trees beyond it. Nothing stirred. Moonbird commenced climbing once again.

"Gods!" Nora shouted above the wind. "What is it?"

A small man in dark garments had just emerged, running, from an opening in the far side of the pyramid. Moments later, a gigantic feathered head followed him out, to rise, swaying, tongue flashing like fire or blood. It continued to emerge, at great length, with such rapidity that the likelihood seemed strong that it would soon foil upon the man.

Moonbird! Stop! Go back! The jade strand--That man has the rod!

Moonbird was already braking, turning, growing warmer.

It is the serpent of the well! I have always wanted to meet him... You must slide off and run as soon as I strike. Take those things you would preserve.

Strike? No! You can't!

I must! I have waited ages for this! It is also the only way to save the man with your thing of power.

Pol struck him with his fists, but it seemed unlikely that Moonbird even felt the blows.

"Get ready to jump down and run!" he cried to Nora, slinging his guitar case, grabbing at the basket of water bottles.

The serpent heard the shout and turned its head upward. Moonbird landed upon its back a moment later. Pol slipped off to the right and began running. A great roaring and a loud hissing rose up behind him. He felt a wave of heat. He saw the giant serpent body twisting toward him. He dodged it, looking about for Nora as he moved. She was nowhere in sight. But the small man with the rod had stumbled and picked himself up again. They sighted one another at the same time, and Pol realized that it was Mouseglove.