It took all her self-control to begin her journey inward, feeling her way along the side of the throat, pushing through ferns and cobwebs, her hands encountering unfamiliar textures that made her skin crawl, alert to the burbling of insects and other night creatures. On one occasion she was close to turning back, but she heard shouts behind her, and fearful that the Willens were on her trail, she kept going. As she started down an incline, she saw a faint gleam riding the curve of the throat wall. The glow brightened, casting the foliage into silhouette, and eager to reach the source, she picked up her pace, tripping over roots, vines snagging her ankles. At length the incline flattened out, and she emerged into a large chamber, roughly circular in shape, its upper regions lost in darkness; upon the floor lay pools of black liquid; mist trailed across the surface of the pools, and whenever the mist lowered to touch the liquid, a fringe of yellowish red flame would flare up, cutting the shadows on the pebbled skin of the floor and bringing to light a number of warty knee-high protuberances that sprouted among the pools – these were deep red in color, perforated around the sides, leaking pale threads of mist. At the rear of the chamber was an opening that Catherine assumed led farther into the dragon. The air was warm, dank, and a sweat broke out all over her body. She balked at entering the chamber; in spite of the illumination, it was a less human place than the mouth. But once again she forced herself onward, stepping carefully between the fires and, after discovering that the mist made her giddy, giving the protuberances a wide berth. Piercing whistles came from above. The notion that this might signal the presence of bats caused her to hurry, and she had covered half the distance across when a man’s voice called to her, electrifying her with fear.
‘Catherine!’ he said. ‘Not so fast!’
She spun about, her scaling hook at the ready. Hobbling toward her was an elderly white-haired man dressed in the ruin of a silk frock coat embroidered with gold thread, a tattered ruffled shirt, and holed satin leggings. In his left hand he carried a gold-knobbed cane, and at least a dozen glittering rings encircled his bony fingers. He stopped an arm’s length away, leaning on his cane, and although Catherine did not lower her hook, her fear diminished. Despite the eccentricity of his appearance, considering the wide spectrum of men and creatures who inhabited Griaule, he seemed comparatively ordinary, a reason for caution but not alarm.
‘Ordinary?’ The old man cackled. ‘Oh yes, indeed! Ordinary as angels, as unexceptional as the idea of God!’ Before she had a chance to wonder at his knowledge of her thoughts, he let out another cackle. ‘How could I not know them? We are every one of us creatures of his thought, expressions of his whim. And here what is only marginally evident on the surface becomes vivid reality, inescapable truth. For here,’ – he poked the chamber floor with his cane – ‘here we live in the medium of his will.’ He hobbled a step closer, fixing her with a rheumy stare. ‘I have dreamed this moment a thousand times. I know what you will say, what you will think, what you will do. He has instructed me in all your particulars so that I may become your guide, your confidant.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Catherine hefted her hook, her anxiety increasing.
‘Not “what,”’ said the old man. ‘Who.’ A grin split the pale wrinkled leather of his face. ‘His Scaliness, of course.’
‘Griaule?’
‘None other.’ The old man held out his hand. ‘Come along now, girl. They’re waiting for us.’
Catherine drew back.
The old man pursed his lips. ‘Well, I suppose you could return the way you came. The Willens will be happy to see you.’
Flustered, Catherine said, ‘I don’t understand. How can you know . . .’
‘Know your name, your peril? Weren’t you listening? You are of Griaule, daughter. And more so than most, for you have slept at the center of his dreams. Your entire life has been prelude to this time, and your destiny will not be known until you come to the place from which his dreams arise . . . the dragon’s heart.’ He took her hand. ‘My name is Amos Mauldry. Captain Amos Mauldry, at your service. I have waited years for you . . . years! I am to prepare you for the consummate moment of your life. I urge you to follow me, to join the company of the Feelys and begin your preparation. But,’ – he shrugged – ‘the choice is yours. I will not coerce you more than I have done . . . except to say this. Go with me now, and when you return you will discover that you have nothing to fear of the Willen brothers.’
He let loose of her hand and stood gazing at her with calm regard. She would have liked to disregard his words, but they were in such accord with all she had ever felt about her association with the dragon, she found that she could not. ‘Who,’ she asked, ‘are the Feelys?’
He made a disparaging noise. ‘Harmless creatures. They pass their time copulating and arguing among themselves over the most trivial of matters. Were they not of service to Griaule, keeping him free of certain pests, they would have no use whatsoever. Still, there are worse folk in the world, and they do have moments in which they shine.’ He shifted impatiently, tapped his cane on the chamber floor. ‘You’ll meet them soon enough. Are you with me or not?’
Grudgingly, her hook at the ready, Catherine followed Mauldry toward the opening at the rear of the chamber and into a narrow, twisting channel illuminated by a pulsing golden light that issued from within Griaule’s flesh. This radiance, Mauldry said, derived from the dragon’s blood, which, while it did not flow, was subject to fluctuations in brilliance due to changes in its chemistry. Or so he believed. He had regained his lighthearted manner, and as they walked he told Catherine he had captained a cargo ship that plied between Port Chantay and the Pearl Islands.
‘We carried livestock, breadfruit, whale oil,’ he said. ‘I can’t think of much we didn’t carry. It was a good life, but hard as hard gets, and after I retired . . . well, I’d never married, and with time on my hands, I figured I owed myself some high times. I decided I’d see the sights, and the sight I most wanted to see was Griaule. I’d heard he was the First Wonder of the World . . . and he was! I was amazed, flabbergasted. I couldn’t get enough of seeing him. He was more than a wonder. A miracle, an absolute majesty of a creature. People warned me to keep clear of the mouth, and they were right. But I couldn’t stay away. One evening – I was walking along the edge of the mouth – two scalehunters set upon me, beat and robbed me. Left me for dead. And I would have died if it hadn’t been for the Feelys.’ He clucked his tongue. ‘I suppose I might as well give you some of their background. It can’t help but prepare you for them . . . and I admit they need preparing for. They’re not in the least agreeable to the eye.’ He cocked an eye toward Catherine, and after a dozen steps more he said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to proceed?’
‘You didn’t seem to need encouragement,’ she said.
He chuckled, nodding his approval. ‘Quite right, quite right.’ He walked on in silence, his shoulders hunched and head inclined, like an old turtle who’d learned to get about on two legs.
‘Well?’ said Catherine, growing annoyed.
‘I knew you’d ask,’ he said, and winked at her. ‘I didn’t know who they were myself at first. If I had known I’d have been terrified. There are about five or six hundred in the colony. Their numbers are kept down by childbirth mortality and various other forms of attrition. They’re most of them the descendants of a retarded man named Feely who wandered into the mouth almost a thousand years ago. Apparently he was walking near the mouth when flights of birds and swarms of insects began issuing from it. Not just a few, mind you. Entire populations. Wellsir, Feely was badly frightened. He was sure that some terrible beast had chased all these lesser creatures out, and he tried to hide from it. But he was so confused that instead of running away from the mouth, he ran into it and hid in the bushes. He waited for almost a day . . . no beast. The only sign of danger was a muffled thud from deep within the dragon. Finally his curiosity overcame his fear, and he went into the throat.’ Mauldry hawked and spat. ‘He felt secure there. More secure than on the outside, at any rate. Doubtless Griaule’s doing, that feeling. He needed the Feelys to be happy so they’d settle down and be his exterminators. Anyway, the first thing Feely did was to bring in a madwoman he’d known in Teocinte, and over the years they recruited other madmen who happened along. I was the first sane person they’d brought into the fold. They’re extremely chauvinistic regarding the sane. But of course they were directed by Griaule to take me in. He knew you’d need someone to talk to.’ He prodded the wall with his cane. ‘And now this is my home. More than a home. It’s my truth, my love. To live here is to be transfigured.’