down the hill from the castle towards the village.

“None?” Baloo and Kit echoed, alarmed.

“The dragon moved into the cave a fortnight ago. Before that, the Dragon’s Den was calleth ‘the really large hole in the hill’.”

“An’ we get to be the first ta face it,” Baloo said glumly. “Swell.”

“How do you know a dragon lives in the cave?” Kit asked as they stopped before a modest, one-room, drab-brown, thatched-roof hut, which was exactly identical to its neighbors.

Lowering his voice, Dunder said, “All day and all night, there are fearsome noises and spurts of fire from deepeth within the Dragon’s Den as well as earth-shaking rumblings that can be feltest all the way here in Hammalot.” He smiled shyly at Baloo and Kit. “I am relieveth knowing that I havest two brave sorcerers with me on my quest.”

“Yeah. Sorcerers,” Baloo murmured uncertainly. Every muscle in his body was taut, ready to flee to the Sea Duck, away from Hammalot and a prospective dragon’s quest.

Kit asked, “Where is the cave? Is it far from Hammalot?”

“Nay, ‘tis not far. It is but over the river and through the woods.”

“To grandmother’s house we go,” Baloo sang.

Dunder flashed him a puzzled glance before pointing across the river to a hilltop shrouded in haze. “Ifeth the dragon’s smoke wasn’t so thicketh, thou couldst see the opening of the cave from here. But come, we must resteth so that we mayst start on our journey at dawn’s first light.” He entered his hut with Baloo and Kit on his heels.

Dunder’s Hut
That Night

While Kit nibbled half-heartedly on a bland boiled turnip, he looked around at the one room that served at Dunder’s humble abode.

Jeepers, Higher for Hire is a palace compared to this place!

He, Baloo, and Dunder, sitting on upended empty wine casks, were gathered around a rough-hewn table near the fireplace. The room was dark, for the two windows cut in the bare walls were covered with oilcloth. The only source of light was a sputtering fire in the stone fireplace, which also filled the air with an acrid smell of smoke. The firelight cast weird dancing shadows over everything, especially Dunder’s suit of armor standing in the corner by the door. A black iron pot hung over the fire where a few small turnips bobbed in the stale, brown water. Barely discernable over the crackle of the fire and bubbling of boiling water were the faint sounds of rats squeaking and scurrying on the thatched roof. Overhead, from the bare rafters, hung scraggly bunches of turnips and onions. In one corner of the dirt floor was a crude bed of straw that Dunder had graciously offered to Baloo and Kit.

It wasn’t much, but to Dunder, it was home.

Dunder fished a mushy turnip out of the pot and asked politely, “Wouldst thou like some more boiled turnips?”

“No, thanks,” Baloo said hastily, hoping that his host didn’t see the turnips that he had surreptitiously dropped on the floor and buried with his toes. They tasted worse than whatever Louie scraped up for his All-You-Can-Stand-For-A-Dollar Special.

“I’m full,” Kit mumbled, putting a hand over his growling stomach. He didn’t want to eat all of Dunder’s meager supply.

Dunder pushed back his pewter plate and rose from his seat. “Ifest thou don’t mind, I’m going over to Sir Spigot’s. He saidest I needest more instructions before tomorrow’s quest, and I needest to polish his armor.”

“Isn’t he coming, too?” Kit said.

“Nay. He toldest me that he’s slain so many dragons that it wouldst be unfair for him to assisteth.”

After Dunder left, Baloo and Kit swivelled on their casks to face the fire. Now that the sun had gone down, the evening was chilly as evidenced by the wind whistling through the chinks in the walls.

Baloo leaned backwards against the table, resting his elbows on it. “No matter when or where, Spiggy’s still the same ol’ blowhard with the same short temper.”

“Is that a short joke?” Kit lisped in imitation of the diminutive knight.

Baloo’s chuckle trailed off into a longing sigh. “Man, I sure do miss Becky’s cookin’.” He tossed the remainder of his turnip into the fire, causing the flame to sizzle.

“Yeah.” Kit’s stomach growled again. A few overcooked turnips weren’t enough to satisfy his voracious teenaged appetite.

For a while, Baloo and Kit stared into fire, each lost in their own thoughts.

Kit broke the silence with: “I’m sorry, Papa Bear.”

Reluctantly, Baloo awoke from his pleasant reverie of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and Rebecca sitting opposite him. He looked over at his son. “For what?”

“For getting us stuck here.” Kit twiddled his thumbs nervously. “I wouldn’t blame you for being mad.”

“Mad?” Baloo said, surprised. “Kid, I ain’t mad.”

“Really?”

“Naw...accidents happen,” Baloo said, pushing himself up from the table. He gingerly shifted on the uncomfortable cask. Giving Kit one of his rare stern looks, he said, “But I am kinda disappointed. Disappointed that ya didn’t trust Becky an’ me enough ta tell us that your watch busted instead of runnin’ off to Buzz like a scared rabbit.”

Matter-of-factly, Kit admitted, “But I’m used to doing things for myself.”

“I know, kiddo, but ya don’t gotta do that so much now that ya got me an’ Becky lookin’ after ya. Ya gotta let us be the parents once in a while, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kit mumbled contritely. Meeting Baloo’s eyes, he said, “Does this mean that you won’t ignore me anymore?”

“Huh? You say somethin’?” Baloo teased.

Kit, pretending to be annoyed, playfully punched Baloo in the stomach. In turn, Baloo pushed Kit’s cap down over his eyes before putting an affectionate arm around the boy.

Mischievously, Kit asked, “And you won’t talk about Rebecca all the time?”

“I don’t know ‘bout that.” Smiling dreamily, the big bear added more to himself than to his son, “She’s one special gal.”

“Yeah, she is.” Kit smiled, his thoughts returning to the memory of his mother’s tender goodnight kiss. Then, his smile faded. Quietly, he asked, “Think we’ll ever see her or Molly again?”

In the space of a moment, Baloo’s face grew old. Swallowing hard, he whispered, “I hope so, Li’l Britches. I sure hope so.” His arm tightened around Kit as they returned to staring into the glowing embers.

Later That Night

Baloo, resplendent in bright medieval garb, sat on a grassy bank beside a bubbling brook. The moonlight made it as almost as bright as day. He strummed on a lute not unlike the court jester’s and sang to the tune of “I Dream of Jeannie”: “I dream of Becky with the glowing green eyes. She’ll whack you with a rain spout if you tell her lies...”

His song was curtailed by Covington streaking past him, screaming, “Heeeeelp!”

“What in the...?”

Feeling his lute being snatched from his hands, Baloo looked up to see Rebecca standing over him. Her glowing green eyes held a terrible demonic expression that made Baloo shiver in fear. Fused to her right hand was a large key, pulsating with a light the same hue as Rebecca’s eyes.

“B-Becky?” Baloo said warily.

The demon Rebecca fixed her gaze on him, her unearthly eyes narrowing. A low growl escaped her throat. Then, catching a glimpse of Covington zigzagging blindly around the trees in the forest, she hungrily licked her lips, raised the lute over her head, and bounded off, disappearing into the forest.

“Mommmeeee!” Covington yelled as he emerged from the forest. Desperate to get away from Rebecca, the jaguar jumped into the stream and waded across.

Rebecca growled, “We could make beautiful music together, Covington,” as she splashed in after him.

“Becky, come back!” Baloo shouted aloud, waking himself. Heart pounding, he looked around, dazed, at the darkness. He chuckled with relief. “Just a dream. Becky with green eyes? Nah, that’d never happen.” Feeling straw instead of a mattress beneath him and remembering his predicament, his face crumpled with anguish. “Oh, Becky...”

Kit, who had been awakened by Baloo’s outburst, lay very still in the straw, listening to his father’s stifled sobs and wishing that hewas a sorcerer so that he could fix the entire mess with a wave of his magic wand.

When the sobs were replaced by snoring, Kit rose, brushed the straw from his clothes, tiptoed past Dunder sleeping peacefully on the bare floor in front of the cold fireplace, and wandered outside. He sat down on a cask just outside the door and hugged his knees to his chest to conserve warmth. Everything was quiet save for a dog howling mournfully and the clinking of the guard’s armor as he paced the castle parapet. The stars sparkled overhead like diamonds on black velvet.

He wished with his whole heart he was home in his own comfortable bed in his own room with his family nearby. The sleepy slosh of the harbor outside. A gentle breeze whispering in the branches of the elm tree. The familiar nighttime sounds of Cape Suzette in the distance.

When Kit’s stomach growled, he

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