The Ivory Dragon 7/14

Brian Taylor, the editor of the Holmwood Advertiser, sat quietly behind his office desk as the door closed behind the two boys. He’d paid them for the information as he’d promised and was now putting together the few facts that he knew.

He’d checked with the owner of the Smuggler’s Cave as soon as the analyst had passed on the tip about Bobby’s interest. He’d seen the models for himself and found it very hard to believe that the material could be anything other than ivory.

Then he discovered that one of the few models sold in the village had gone to the Bell’s next door neighbour. They had been the source of the story about the disappearing pool in the local woods. Surely it couldn’t be just coincidence that they were now involved in finding models supposedly made from huge human teeth.

Now he’d been reliably informed that the salesman had just disappeared after being tracked to the old charcoal burner’s pitstead. He’d known the place well when he’d been a boy himself and wondered if the old hiding place that he and his friends had cut in the brambles was still there. With that memory a plan came into his mind, so coming to a decision, he told his secretary that he was out for the rest of the day and went home.

He found his hiking boots and changed into a strong pair of gardening trousers, before collecting his secateurs and thorn resistant pruning gloves and driving across to the supermarket car park.

He followed the well-remembered pathway out of the town, smiling to himself as he passed underneath the busy ring road that had been built since his childhood. As he climbed the rise that lead to the moor, the traffic noise rapidly faded behind him. It seemed strange how familiar and yet how different the pathway appeared now he was an adult. Everything seemed a lot smaller than he remembered and the path was shorter than his memory told him, as he walked into the burnt circle of ground marking the old charcoal-burning site.

Well one thing was certain, the wildness of the place was no different, there was nowhere here that anyone could disappear. He retraced his steps looking carefully for the old hiding place. The occasional bush grew amongst the brambles and he counted carefully until he’d stepped off the correct distance. This particular bush had been cut until it had a foot or so clearance from the ground. A child could easily crawl under there and then would find himself hidden from passers by in the secret chamber cut from the hedge.

Making sure that nobody else was about, he clipped the bottom of the hedge until the entrance was another six inches higher, then carefully wormed his way in, cutting the overgrown pathway as he needed to allow his passage. The secret chamber was badly overgrown as he’d expected, but the ground still showed signs of clearance.

Ten minutes work with his secateurs and he could stand in relative comfort, yet be unseen from the path. He collected all his clippings and brought them into the space he’d cleared, then tidied the screen of bushes between himself and the path, so that he could just see if anyone passed his hiding place. Now all he had to do was find out when the salesman was going to call at the Smuggler’s Cave again and drive up here before he arrived. Once hidden, he was confident that he would be able to see where the man went.