The pole-legged birds were scattered across this mud field in their thousands. I scanned the sky but found no sign of the dragon. For now. The ground trembled and I fixed my eyes on the volcano. The smoke was thick above it and a spray of orange lava spurted into the air. A scattering of birds flew off in a giant cloud of white and pink, and then landed again farther along the shore. The ground steadied, but the volcano definitely looked angrier.

“What are you up to?” I said when I saw Farthing wallowing in the sludge like a pig. She burrowed her snout in a muddy pool and blew thick bubbles. I laughed.

“Have you brought me here to play?” I said, and as I said it, I remembered the local people we’d stayed with at Tierra del Fuego in South America. They’d made a poultice of straw and mud …

Could Farthing have brought me here for healing? I leaned down, dipped my finger in the black mud, and sniffed it. It wasn’t rotten, didn’t smell of much at all, just earth and sea. I reached over and smeared some across the wound on my shoulder while Farthing watched me. It didn’t feel good or bad, maybe a bit cooler. I shrugged. When I’d finished, she sniffed the air in my direction. She was satisfied.

What a clever and strange little beast she was.

Darkness was falling now. I turned and started back toward the opening that led into the tunnel. I checked that Farthing was behind me; she followed at a distance. I reached the gap and ducked through into the tunnel. I waited for my lizard friend and wondered what I would do if she didn’t follow. I couldn’t force her to stay with me and I had nothing to tempt her.

After all your maudlin, the creature wasn’t even dead.

Scratch was propped up by the boat.

I stared up at the entrance to see Farthing’s bright copper eyes peering down at me.

The memory of the dragon filling the hole with flame billowed into my mind and I wanted to run up there, grab her close, and keep her with me. But I just watched. She glanced this way and that, then gave a small hoot, and slipped through the gap to join me.

This time it was Farthing who had followed me.

I slept near the opening of the tunnel, far from the long-dead buccaneer. Farthing stayed close, her head rested on her claws, her tail—its bitten end now crusted in dried mud—curled around her. Her eyes didn’t close, but they narrowed to slits.

The blue light of sunrise woke me. This must be my third morning on the island.

The Beagle could be long gone by now.

I swallowed and forced myself not to think about it.

“Well, who’s being maudlin now?” I said. “I’ve got a boat to launch.”

Farthing’s eyes flicked open wide at the sound of my voice.