"Tannis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meikle William)

The autumn sun drifted through the trees dappling the ground around him in soft shades of yellow and gold and green. But Tom didn't notice. All his attention was on the pond in front of him.

He'd been stalking the newt all morning - the little flash of green and grey, a two inch long piece of quicksilver on legs which had eluded all his efforts so far.

He'd been close the last time and he had been ready to pounce but three swans had floated serenely past at just the wrong moment.

But he had to have it. His Granddad needed it for the experiment and he couldn't let the old man down, not when it meant so much to him.

He sat on a flat rock just by the side of the pool, trying hard not to move, not to do anything which would frighten his quarry. The muscles at the back of his legs were beginning to cramp up but he forced himself to stay still. It was there - just under his net, and this time he meant to get it.

A small breeze blew a ripple across the pool beneath him, momentarily taking the newt out of his sight but then it was calm and he could see it beneath him and his net swooped and, unbelievably, he had it.

'Keep it wet - don't let it dry out,' Granddad had said and he'd come prepared. He stood up, grimacing as his muscles stretched, and stepped over to where he'd left the jam jar. He turned the net over the jar and its contents fell into the small puddle of water with a plop.

For a second or two the water clouded and Tom couldn't see his catch but the debris soon settled and there it was, the miniature dinosaur scampering around amongst the weed.

He carefully dropped a large pebble into the water, turning it so that a portion of it stood above the surface - "Give it a way to get some air" his Granddad had said. He hoped the stone would be enough as he headed home.

Granddad's study was a cornucopia of delights. He'd only been allowed in to it for the first time last week on his twelfth birthday but already he'd found wonders beyond his wildest imagination.

First there were the books - the encyclopaedias, the travel books, the old yellowed leather bound tomes. And then there were the pictures - the griffins, the centaurs and the unicorns. But best of all there were the jars, the big thick glass jars with the wonders floating lazily inside - Granddad's experiments.

He'd been entranced by the mice with the great hairy spider's legs, the crow with the cat's head, the frog with the sparrow's wings. "Just tests" the old man had said. "I couldn't keep them alive very long. But I'm getting better. Maybe the next time eh."

Tom had nodded enthusiastically and when Granddad said he needed a newt he'd been only too happy to oblige.

Granddad was bent over the workbench when Tom went in and he moved quietly, trying not to disturb the old man. As he got closer he could see that there was a small bat pinned to the table by its legs and head. Something glinted in the overhead light and Tom could see that there was a very fine scalpel in the old man's hand and he seemed to be removing the wings, thin fingers working fast as the blade stripped away the fur to expose the tiny muscles underneath.

'Easy does it,' Granddad said as Tom put the jar down on the bench. Tom stood, scarcely breathing as the tiny wings were carefully prised away from the body and placed precisely to one side.

Granddad stood up straight, hands held at the base of his spine as he stretched his back.

'Five hours, and six bats. But I got it right this time. Oh yes. And fortuitously it seems,' he said, moving over to investigate Tom's catch.

'Now let's see what we've got here.' The old hands wrapped themselves around the jar and lifted it up towards his bifocals.

'Ah ha,' he said, adopting what Tom called "his professor voice."

'A small lizard-like amphibian of the Salamander family. Triturus Vulgaris if I'm not mistaken.' He looked down at Tom and winked.

'Not, as you might think, the vulgar newt. No, what we have here is a prime example of the common newt - and a big one too.'

He mussed Tom's unruly mop of hair then went over to the largest bookcase. He took out a large dusty volume bound in cracked red leather.

'Let me show you what I want to do.'

He opened the book near the middle and Tom leaned over to have a look but he was disappointed to see that it was all in Latin. Granddad had started to teach him the language but he had only got as far as "Amo, amas, amat". Granddad noticed the grimace on his face and chuckled.

'Don't worry. I won't make you translate it. This is what they used to call a grimoire, a book of spells and potions. A lot of it is nonsense of course, but I've used the chapter on Vitalism on other experiments.'

He was slipping into his professor's voice again.

'We are going to make a chimera, a mixture, and then we're going to imbue it with life, and then I'm going to find out if my theory of Electric Vitalism works. Shall we do it?'

His Granddad's enthusiasm was infectious.

'Yes' said Tom, 'but what are we going to make?'

His Granddad turned a few pages and pointed at the colour picture. The first thing that caught Tom's eye was the Knight, all silver shining armour and purity, but then Granddad's hand moved and he saw the dragon, a huge leathery golden dragon, breathing fire and swooping down on the Knight.

'But Granddad - it's so big.'

'Yes,' the old man said with a smile, 'it is, isn't it?'

Granddad let Tom hold the instruments while he transplanted the wings onto the newt. First he anaesthetised the small creature, using only a spot of ether on a cotton bud.

He worked with the parts spread under a large magnifying glass and Tom marvelled at the dexterity of the old fingers as they manipulated the bone and sinew and muscle.

Tom couldn't see how it was going to work - the little wings lay flat and limp and the newt had suffered terrible damage in the operation, but he trusted his Granddad - everything would turn out to be OK.

'Bring me the jar from the top shelf - the one which looks like golden syrup.'

The professor's voice was back. It often ordered him around but Tom didn't mind - he knew it was only because Granddad was concentrating. He went to fetch the jar, cradling it carefully in his arms as he carried it across the room.

Granddad took it from him and started lecturing again.

'The vital fluid - see how it glows with its own light? Watch and learn.'

He placed the composite creature in the jar and in turn placed the jar on a tripod above a Bunsen burner. At first the creature floated on the fluid but as the liquid warmed the creature sank until the liquid was boiling and the newt floated half way down the jar.

The Bunsen was turned off and they pressed their noses close to the jar to see the next stage.

'If it has worked, breathing should start at forty degrees and it should stabilise at thirty seven,' Granddad said, placing a small medical thermometer in the jar.

Tom watched wide eyed as the temperature fell, seventy, then sixty, then fifty-five as they pressed closer still. Fifty and still falling, forty-six and slowing down, then forty-two, then forty. The newt gave a jerk and a small stream of bubbles floated up the glass. At exactly thirty-seven degrees the bubbles were coming rhythmically and the small wings were wafting sluggishly back and forth in the thick fluid.

'Okay' Granddad said. 'That's all we can do for a couple of days.'

Tom started to protest but Granddad stopped him.

'We've got to give it time to heal. If it hasn't healed properly it won't grow properly. And we want it to grow, don't we?'

Tom nodded in agreement and let Granddad lead him away from the table. He looked back just once, just to make sure and was relieved to see that the tiny streams of bubbles were still rising up in the fluid.

'What are we going to call it Granddad?' he asked.

'I'll leave it up to you,' the old man said, smiling. 'I'm sure you can come up with something appropriate.'

Granddad kept his study locked for the next three days and, after several fruitless attempts to see through the window, Tom busied himself with thinking up a name for the new creature.

At first he was going to call it Smaug but Granddad would scoff at using a name from a child's fairy tale. No, he had to find something from legend. Granddad was hot on legends.

He installed himself in the library where old books and manuscripts took up his time and he became so engrossed in them that the three days passed quickly.

'Tannis' he said as he stood with Granddad outside the stud.

The old man thought about it for so long that Tom thought he disapproved but then he nodded his head.

'Tannis. Tannis. Yes, the right name, the apt name. Just the right combination of the water and the fire, the right gravity. And Hebrew in origin too, just like the vital fluid. Very good Tom,' he said, mussing the boy's hair again. 'We'll make a scholar of you yet.'

The newt was still breathing and to Tom's eyes the wings looked like they grew naturally from its body. They no longer looked limp and, by using the magnifying glass, he was able to see the blood coursing through the fine veins.

'Now comes the tricky part. This is where the rest of them died.' Granddad said, reaching into the jar with a pair of padded forceps. Slowly he lifted the creature until it was fully out of the jar then, moving very carefully, he placed it down on the white tile under the magnifying glass.

'Fetch me the other jar from the top shelf please, the tall clear one.'

Tom rushed to oblige while Granddad prodded at the newt with the end of a pencil.

The jar almost slipped out of his hands, so excited, so eager was he to get back to the bench but he was finally able to put it down beside his Granddad's right arm.

Granddad was muttering to himself.

'Come on you little bugger - breathe.'

He prodded it with the pencil again and it jerked, just once, the wings rising off the tile only to fall back again, limp and seemingly lifeless.

Tom could see the disappointment in the old man's eyes as he leant forward once more.

'Breathe dammit,' he muttered as he nudged a wing with the pencil. And it moved, it lifted and fell, lifted and fell. There was a very small sound, like a far off cough, and a thin stream of golden fluid poured from the newt's mouth. It coughed once more and the wings beat, faster, and it lifted itself off the tile.

Things started happening fast round about then. Granddad stepped back, amazed, and knocked the large clear jar over. The thick oily fluid spilled out, catching the creature on an upbeat of its wings and washing it back down onto the table where it flopped and squirmed before finally taking to the air again. And then it started to grow.

Granddad was screaming.

'Too much. Too much.'

The thick fluid was oozing off the bench onto the floor and Granddad was dancing around trying to prevent it getting on his feet.

The chimera was flopping and flapping around the room, barely managing to keep itself in the air, banging into the shelves, the lights, the books.

Tom was running around trying to catch it but it was always just out of touch. Once his fingertips touched it and he felt the sliminess of its body, the dryness of its wings, but it still eluded him and it was still growing, the size of a sparrow, the size of a blackbird, the size of a small crow. He was vaguely aware that Granddad was shouting something about the window but he was too late.

Granddad rushed over towards him carrying a large butterfly net which swished in the air as it swooped past his nose.

'I've got it, I've got it' his Granddad cried, and then let out a startled yelp as he was pulled off his feet by the strength of the struggling creature.

Tom grabbed hold of his Granddad's arms and together they managed to bring the creature to the ground - but inside the net it was still growing.

Suddenly there was a whoosh, like the ignition of a gas cooker, and then there was a smell of burning, and when they looked down the butterfly net was smouldering at their feet and the creature was flapping its way across the floor.

Leathery wings rustled as it fluttered past Tom and made straight for the patio doors. Before Tom could do anything it was out and gone. He just caught one glimpse of it, powering its way upwards, the size of a vulture as it made its way over the trees at the bottom of the garden. The breeze from its wings caused the branches to sway, dislodging a flock of nesting crows which took one look at the growing shadow overhead and flew off in the opposite direction.

Granddad was muttering to himself. 'Internal combustion - reaction between Vitrol and enzymes in the gut. Fascinating. Must remember to lower the petrochemical ratio. Come on. Come on! No time to lose!' he cried as they rushed out into the garden.

Tannis seemed disoriented. It flew around the garden, rising higher all the time, growing all the time, but its flight was uncoordinated and for every fifty feet it climbed it fell back forty when it stalled as it failed to beat its wings.

It was bigger by now than any bird Tom had ever seen and reminded him more than anything of the pterodactyls in the old movies, although whereas they moved jerkily and slow, at the mercy of their makers, Tannis was all flow and grace and muscle.

Tom cringed behind Granddad as the huge head turned to look at them and the creature swooped down out of the sky.

Granddad stepped off to one side and Tom was left alone, kneeling on the ground as the sky above him filled with a roaring screaming wall of monster. He opened his mouth to scream, just as his Granddad stepped in front of him, brandishing a broom handle as if it was a sword.

Faster and faster it came until it was almost on them, and then Granddad gave out a cry and lifted the broom handle above his head. For that split second Tom saw him shining, golden, like the Knight in the picture, and then the dragon was on them. Granddad's muscles tensed and then, at the last moment, he brought down the broom handle and struck Tannis on the snout, hard. The great head gave a shake and Tom could see a huge grey eye open and close as it passed by less than a foot from him.

Granddad was knocked over by a glancing blow from a wing and then there was another whoosh and the broom handle burst into flames. Tom felt the surge of heat as it passed him and heard another explosion as the fuchsia bush behind him went up in a sheet of flame.

'Water. Quickly,' Granddad shouted, running past him into the house. But Tom could only stand and watch as Tannis rose on great black wings, pulling itself laboriously over the treetops and away out of his sight.

By the time he turned round Granddad had put out the fire and was standing beside him, smoke blackened and grimy but with a broad smile on his face.

'What do we do now Granddad?' Tom asked, but he could see that his Granddad had already started thinking.

'The pond. The pond. Triturus Vulgaris. Well known for its territoriality - stays in the same place. Carnivorous. Need some bait. Come on.'

Tom couldn't understand what the old man was going on about but he followed him as he ran out into the garden. He had to run to keep up with him as Granddad headed out the garden gate and into the field beyond. The old man was still muttering to himself.

'It has to be big. A dog? No, too small, too violent. A sheep? No, too quiet - need something that'll make some noise.'

When Tom finally caught up with him he was trying to manhandle Champion out of his field. Champion was Farmer Duncan's prize Shetland pony, the apple of his eye.

'But Granddad…' Tom began, but Granddad was not to be stopped.

'No time. No time for pleasantries. Needs of science and all that. Give me a hand here boy. Don't just stand there gawking.'

Together they managed to get the pony into the back of Granddad's estate car and Tom found himself squashed in beside a foul smelling rear end as Granddad slammed his foot on the accelerator and they sped off down the road towards the pond.

Tom was being bounced around, first banging his head on the roof, then slamming his shoulder into the pony's rump causing the small horse to bray, deafeningly loud in the confines of the car. Granddad was talking, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

'Too much Vitrol, too much. Big as a house by now I shouldn't wonder. Yes, and then some.'

Suddenly his tone changed and he shouted. 'Fine day, fine day. Sorry can't stop - bit of a flap on.'

Tom pushed himself up in his seat and was just in time to look back and see Farmer Duncan shaking his fist at the car. He was standing in front of his barn, or what used to be his barn. It looked like something heavy had sat on it.

He dwindled to a speck in the distance as Granddad put his foot down even harder on the pedal and Tom bounced around like a doll in a tumble dryer.

Tom could see the smoke while they were still a mile from town, and as they got closer the roads were filled with screaming running people.

'Damn fools,' Granddad was muttering. 'You would think they'd never seen a newt before.'

As they got closer they could see the reason for the panic. The town square was in shadow, a black moving shadow which swayed in time with the beat of the chimera's wings and flickered redly in the glow from the fire which had taken hold of the town hall. Tannis sat on top of the church steeple, its head level with the weather vane, its tail dragging along the ground and the great wings almost touching the buildings on either side of the square.

Granddad stopped the car and was just about to get out when there was a creaking and a groaning and, in a pile of rubble and dust, the church collapsed under the creature's weight. Tannis lifted his head and screamed, a screech which rang in Tom's ears long after the actual sound had faded. As they watched, it continued to grow, slowly filling up the centre of the square.

'Conversion of energy into mass. Fascinating. Where does the energy come from? Must remember to write that down.' Granddad was mumbling, just before Tom tapped him in the shoulder.

'Don't you think it would be a good idea if we got out of here Granddad?' he asked, motioning at the grey green wall of flesh which was creeping slowly towards them.

Granddad shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. 'Yes indeed. But we mustn't let it out of our sight.'

Tom thought that might be a bit difficult, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that Granddad disapproved of his occasional flippant remarks.

Just as Granddad reversed the car, three men ran into the square brandishing shotguns. They balked when they saw the sheer size of the thing, but then they raised their guns and fired. Tannis gave out a scream, louder than before, and the great body began to move, rising up as the wings started to beat. Beneath him Tom could feel the earth tremble as the tail swung back and forth, bringing down the few buildings which remained.

The guns boomed again, but Tannis had gone. By stretching out of the car window Tom was able to follow its ascent as it went up, and up, and up before finally being hidden by the clouds.

Granddad had turned the car and negotiated the rubble, trying to avoid the people who were still rushing around, occasionally giving them a blast of the horn when they didn't get out of his way fast enough.

Tom was still looking up to the sky, trying to peer through the clouds, hoping to catch a quick glimpse of Tannis.

And suddenly he was in the front seat in a jumble of arms and legs and tail and mane along with Granddad, about eight stone of sweaty frightened animal and a sudden smell of manure.

'Sorry,' Granddad said from underneath the stomach of the pony, 'A little too hard on the brakes I fear. But I think you'll see I was justified.'

They managed to disentangle themselves and squeeze out of the car. Looking around him Tom could see that they were in the forest near the pond where he had found the newt. But things had changed. A hundred small fires played amongst the branches of the trees - those which were still standing that is. More than half the forest had been felled in a tangle of trunk and branch, leaf and twig.

He turned back to the car and had coaxed the pony out onto the grass verge when Granddad stopped him.

'Leave it there son,' Granddad said, turning him round to face in the direction of the pond. 'I think it's a bit too small.'

The boy looked up and found a grey wall, and up and the wall went on and somewhere up there, way up there, the wings were beginning to move.

As he watched they opened out and the area was suddenly thrown into shade as the wings beat, just once, and all the remaining tress around the pond were knocked flat to the ground.

He staggered under the sudden downward draft and almost fell but Granddad put out a steadying hand at just the right moment.

'I think we're going to have to rename him to Tannis giganticus, don't you think so?'

Tom just nodded, having to move back as the grey green wall moved closer. There was no trace of the pond - the chimera had covered it all, an area the size of a football field. Tom could just see one open white-feathered wing creeping from under the body, the only visible remnant of the flock of swans.

Granddad was muttering again.

'Surface area to volume ratio getting too big. Bones won't handle it. Muscles under too much strain. Can't get much bigger.' He was nodding. 'Yes, that's right. Can't get much bigger.'

And then there was a scream. Tom had never heard anything like it, the agony, all the pain in the world as the ground shook and the air rushed in great vortices and the wall began to shrink.

Smaller and smaller, the huge unblinking eyes peering down at them, accusing. As fast as it had grown it shrunk, and the sun came back and there was a popping in Tom's ears and the grey wall shrunk and receded revealing the flattened mud where the pool used to be.

And still it shrunk, the size of a bus, the size of an elephant, and still smaller. Tom could see that one of the wings was beginning to come away from the body, a long red sore which wept watery blood down to mingle with the sodden ground beneath.

'Sunlight. That's what it is,' Granddad was muttering. 'Shouldn't have trusted the Vitrol. High decay factor. Thought it was all mumbo jumbo, all this messing around in the dark. Scientific basis after all. Fascinating.'

Granddad kept going on in the same vein but Tom couldn't take his eyes off the chimera. It seemed to have stopped shrinking. It stood, up to its belly in mud, about the size of an ostrich. Its left wing was hanging away from its body and it was trying to nuzzle it back into place, keening all the time, a shrill piteous sound that carried and echoed in the still evening air.

Tom's sight misted over and he had to brush tears from his eyes.

When he looked back Granddad was making his way over the mud towards the creature, brandishing a branch from one of the fallen trees in front of him. He only got to within ten feet when there was a rumbling in the creature's throat, then a cough and a sheet of orange flame jetted out towards the old man who only just managed to skip out of the way in time as the branch went up with a whoosh.

The flash of heat passed close to Tom and he squeezed his eyes shut as it came. He got hotter, then hotter still.

Suddenly he felt himself being pushed off his feet and he was being rolled in cool wet mud. He looked up in time to see Granddad's car explode in a black wall of smoke, frightening the pony into a startled bray.

He pushed himself up and looked around for Tannis. It was shrinking again - smaller, and smaller still, a crow, a starling, a sparrow - until finally, in the middle of the dampness and the mud and the still, pitiful bodies of dead swans, a small struggling creature breathed what seemed to be its last gasps.

Huge salty tears ran down Tom's face.

Granddad waded out to where the small body lay and carefully placed it in a pocket of his waistcoat. On his way back he noticed the bodies of the swans and stopped to examine them.

He lifted one heavy mud stained wing and Tom could see the thought, the look at the wing then the sly glance over to the pony which had made its way along the verge and was contentedly munching on some green grassy shoots. Tom knew that he could never allow it - he was finished forever with Granddad's experiments.

He slung one small arm around the pony's neck and looked back at Granddad. Something seemed to be bothering the old man, something about his waistcoat.

He was jigging around, dancing and batting his hands at the pocket where he had placed the chimera. A small puff of smoke rose from the pocket, smoke which rapidly turned to fire. A small creature emerged, first the head, then the neck, then the body. The tiny wings beat once, twice, three times as it took off across the pond, heading for the remaining puddle of water. This time it wasn't growing.

Granddad was still trying to douse the flames rising from his waistcoat when Tom, smiling now, took hold of the pony and led it back towards the farm.

The autumn sun drifted through the trees dappling the ground around him in soft shades of yellow and gold and green. But Tom didn't notice. All his attention was on the pond in front of him.

He'd been stalking the newt all morning - the little flash of green and grey, a two inch long piece of quicksilver on legs which had eluded all his efforts so far.

He'd been close the last time and he had been ready to pounce but three swans had floated serenely past at just the wrong moment.

But he had to have it. His Granddad needed it for the experiment and he couldn't let the old man down, not when it meant so much to him.

He sat on a flat rock just by the side of the pool, trying hard not to move, not to do anything which would frighten his quarry. The muscles at the back of his legs were beginning to cramp up but he forced himself to stay still. It was there - just under his net, and this time he meant to get it.

A small breeze blew a ripple across the pool beneath him, momentarily taking the newt out of his sight but then it was calm and he could see it beneath him and his net swooped and, unbelievably, he had it.

'Keep it wet - don't let it dry out,' Granddad had said and he'd come prepared. He stood up, grimacing as his muscles stretched, and stepped over to where he'd left the jam jar. He turned the net over the jar and its contents fell into the small puddle of water with a plop.

For a second or two the water clouded and Tom couldn't see his catch but the debris soon settled and there it was, the miniature dinosaur scampering around amongst the weed.

He carefully dropped a large pebble into the water, turning it so that a portion of it stood above the surface - "Give it a way to get some air" his Granddad had said. He hoped the stone would be enough as he headed home.

Granddad's study was a cornucopia of delights. He'd only been allowed in to it for the first time last week on his twelfth birthday but already he'd found wonders beyond his wildest imagination.

First there were the books - the encyclopaedias, the travel books, the old yellowed leather bound tomes. And then there were the pictures - the griffins, the centaurs and the unicorns. But best of all there were the jars, the big thick glass jars with the wonders floating lazily inside - Granddad's experiments.

He'd been entranced by the mice with the great hairy spider's legs, the crow with the cat's head, the frog with the sparrow's wings. "Just tests" the old man had said. "I couldn't keep them alive very long. But I'm getting better. Maybe the next time eh."

Tom had nodded enthusiastically and when Granddad said he needed a newt he'd been only too happy to oblige.

Granddad was bent over the workbench when Tom went in and he moved quietly, trying not to disturb the old man. As he got closer he could see that there was a small bat pinned to the table by its legs and head. Something glinted in the overhead light and Tom could see that there was a very fine scalpel in the old man's hand and he seemed to be removing the wings, thin fingers working fast as the blade stripped away the fur to expose the tiny muscles underneath.

'Easy does it,' Granddad said as Tom put the jar down on the bench. Tom stood, scarcely breathing as the tiny wings were carefully prised away from the body and placed precisely to one side.

Granddad stood up straight, hands held at the base of his spine as he stretched his back.

'Five hours, and six bats. But I got it right this time. Oh yes. And fortuitously it seems,' he said, moving over to investigate Tom's catch.

'Now let's see what we've got here.' The old hands wrapped themselves around the jar and lifted it up towards his bifocals.

'Ah ha,' he said, adopting what Tom called "his professor voice."

'A small lizard-like amphibian of the Salamander family. Triturus Vulgaris if I'm not mistaken.' He looked down at Tom and winked.

'Not, as you might think, the vulgar newt. No, what we have here is a prime example of the common newt - and a big one too.'

He mussed Tom's unruly mop of hair then went over to the largest bookcase. He took out a large dusty volume bound in cracked red leather.

'Let me show you what I want to do.'

He opened the book near the middle and Tom leaned over to have a look but he was disappointed to see that it was all in Latin. Granddad had started to teach him the language but he had only got as far as "Amo, amas, amat". Granddad noticed the grimace on his face and chuckled.

'Don't worry. I won't make you translate it. This is what they used to call a grimoire, a book of spells and potions. A lot of it is nonsense of course, but I've used the chapter on Vitalism on other experiments.'

He was slipping into his professor's voice again.

'We are going to make a chimera, a mixture, and then we're going to imbue it with life, and then I'm going to find out if my theory of Electric Vitalism works. Shall we do it?'

His Granddad's enthusiasm was infectious.

'Yes' said Tom, 'but what are we going to make?'

His Granddad turned a few pages and pointed at the colour picture. The first thing that caught Tom's eye was the Knight, all silver shining armour and purity, but then Granddad's hand moved and he saw the dragon, a huge leathery golden dragon, breathing fire and swooping down on the Knight.

'But Granddad - it's so big.'

'Yes,' the old man said with a smile, 'it is, isn't it?'

Granddad let Tom hold the instruments while he transplanted the wings onto the newt. First he anaesthetised the small creature, using only a spot of ether on a cotton bud.

He worked with the parts spread under a large magnifying glass and Tom marvelled at the dexterity of the old fingers as they manipulated the bone and sinew and muscle.

Tom couldn't see how it was going to work - the little wings lay flat and limp and the newt had suffered terrible damage in the operation, but he trusted his Granddad - everything would turn out to be OK.

'Bring me the jar from the top shelf - the one which looks like golden syrup.'

The professor's voice was back. It often ordered him around but Tom didn't mind - he knew it was only because Granddad was concentrating. He went to fetch the jar, cradling it carefully in his arms as he carried it across the room.

Granddad took it from him and started lecturing again.

'The vital fluid - see how it glows with its own light? Watch and learn.'

He placed the composite creature in the jar and in turn placed the jar on a tripod above a Bunsen burner. At first the creature floated on the fluid but as the liquid warmed the creature sank until the liquid was boiling and the newt floated half way down the jar.

The Bunsen was turned off and they pressed their noses close to the jar to see the next stage.

'If it has worked, breathing should start at forty degrees and it should stabilise at thirty seven,' Granddad said, placing a small medical thermometer in the jar.

Tom watched wide eyed as the temperature fell, seventy, then sixty, then fifty-five as they pressed closer still. Fifty and still falling, forty-six and slowing down, then forty-two, then forty. The newt gave a jerk and a small stream of bubbles floated up the glass. At exactly thirty-seven degrees the bubbles were coming rhythmically and the small wings were wafting sluggishly back and forth in the thick fluid.

'Okay' Granddad said. 'That's all we can do for a couple of days.'

Tom started to protest but Granddad stopped him.

'We've got to give it time to heal. If it hasn't healed properly it won't grow properly. And we want it to grow, don't we?'

Tom nodded in agreement and let Granddad lead him away from the table. He looked back just once, just to make sure and was relieved to see that the tiny streams of bubbles were still rising up in the fluid.

'What are we going to call it Granddad?' he asked.

'I'll leave it up to you,' the old man said, smiling. 'I'm sure you can come up with something appropriate.'

Granddad kept his study locked for the next three days and, after several fruitless attempts to see through the window, Tom busied himself with thinking up a name for the new creature.

At first he was going to call it Smaug but Granddad would scoff at using a name from a child's fairy tale. No, he had to find something from legend. Granddad was hot on legends.

He installed himself in the library where old books and manuscripts took up his time and he became so engrossed in them that the three days passed quickly.

'Tannis' he said as he stood with Granddad outside the stud.

The old man thought about it for so long that Tom thought he disapproved but then he nodded his head.

'Tannis. Tannis. Yes, the right name, the apt name. Just the right combination of the water and the fire, the right gravity. And Hebrew in origin too, just like the vital fluid. Very good Tom,' he said, mussing the boy's hair again. 'We'll make a scholar of you yet.'

The newt was still breathing and to Tom's eyes the wings looked like they grew naturally from its body. They no longer looked limp and, by using the magnifying glass, he was able to see the blood coursing through the fine veins.

'Now comes the tricky part. This is where the rest of them died.' Granddad said, reaching into the jar with a pair of padded forceps. Slowly he lifted the creature until it was fully out of the jar then, moving very carefully, he placed it down on the white tile under the magnifying glass.

'Fetch me the other jar from the top shelf please, the tall clear one.'

Tom rushed to oblige while Granddad prodded at the newt with the end of a pencil.

The jar almost slipped out of his hands, so excited, so eager was he to get back to the bench but he was finally able to put it down beside his Granddad's right arm.

Granddad was muttering to himself.

'Come on you little bugger - breathe.'

He prodded it with the pencil again and it jerked, just once, the wings rising off the tile only to fall back again, limp and seemingly lifeless.

Tom could see the disappointment in the old man's eyes as he leant forward once more.

'Breathe dammit,' he muttered as he nudged a wing with the pencil. And it moved, it lifted and fell, lifted and fell. There was a very small sound, like a far off cough, and a thin stream of golden fluid poured from the newt's mouth. It coughed once more and the wings beat, faster, and it lifted itself off the tile.

Things started happening fast round about then. Granddad stepped back, amazed, and knocked the large clear jar over. The thick oily fluid spilled out, catching the creature on an upbeat of its wings and washing it back down onto the table where it flopped and squirmed before finally taking to the air again. And then it started to grow.

Granddad was screaming.

'Too much. Too much.'

The thick fluid was oozing off the bench onto the floor and Granddad was dancing around trying to prevent it getting on his feet.

The chimera was flopping and flapping around the room, barely managing to keep itself in the air, banging into the shelves, the lights, the books.

Tom was running around trying to catch it but it was always just out of touch. Once his fingertips touched it and he felt the sliminess of its body, the dryness of its wings, but it still eluded him and it was still growing, the size of a sparrow, the size of a blackbird, the size of a small crow. He was vaguely aware that Granddad was shouting something about the window but he was too late.

Granddad rushed over towards him carrying a large butterfly net which swished in the air as it swooped past his nose.

'I've got it, I've got it' his Granddad cried, and then let out a startled yelp as he was pulled off his feet by the strength of the struggling creature.

Tom grabbed hold of his Granddad's arms and together they managed to bring the creature to the ground - but inside the net it was still growing.

Suddenly there was a whoosh, like the ignition of a gas cooker, and then there was a smell of burning, and when they looked down the butterfly net was smouldering at their feet and the creature was flapping its way across the floor.

Leathery wings rustled as it fluttered past Tom and made straight for the patio doors. Before Tom could do anything it was out and gone. He just caught one glimpse of it, powering its way upwards, the size of a vulture as it made its way over the trees at the bottom of the garden. The breeze from its wings caused the branches to sway, dislodging a flock of nesting crows which took one look at the growing shadow overhead and flew off in the opposite direction.

Granddad was muttering to himself. 'Internal combustion - reaction between Vitrol and enzymes in the gut. Fascinating. Must remember to lower the petrochemical ratio. Come on. Come on! No time to lose!' he cried as they rushed out into the garden.

Tannis seemed disoriented. It flew around the garden, rising higher all the time, growing all the time, but its flight was uncoordinated and for every fifty feet it climbed it fell back forty when it stalled as it failed to beat its wings.

It was bigger by now than any bird Tom had ever seen and reminded him more than anything of the pterodactyls in the old movies, although whereas they moved jerkily and slow, at the mercy of their makers, Tannis was all flow and grace and muscle.

Tom cringed behind Granddad as the huge head turned to look at them and the creature swooped down out of the sky.

Granddad stepped off to one side and Tom was left alone, kneeling on the ground as the sky above him filled with a roaring screaming wall of monster. He opened his mouth to scream, just as his Granddad stepped in front of him, brandishing a broom handle as if it was a sword.

Faster and faster it came until it was almost on them, and then Granddad gave out a cry and lifted the broom handle above his head. For that split second Tom saw him shining, golden, like the Knight in the picture, and then the dragon was on them. Granddad's muscles tensed and then, at the last moment, he brought down the broom handle and struck Tannis on the snout, hard. The great head gave a shake and Tom could see a huge grey eye open and close as it passed by less than a foot from him.

Granddad was knocked over by a glancing blow from a wing and then there was another whoosh and the broom handle burst into flames. Tom felt the surge of heat as it passed him and heard another explosion as the fuchsia bush behind him went up in a sheet of flame.

'Water. Quickly,' Granddad shouted, running past him into the house. But Tom could only stand and watch as Tannis rose on great black wings, pulling itself laboriously over the treetops and away out of his sight.

By the time he turned round Granddad had put out the fire and was standing beside him, smoke blackened and grimy but with a broad smile on his face.

'What do we do now Granddad?' Tom asked, but he could see that his Granddad had already started thinking.

'The pond. The pond. Triturus Vulgaris. Well known for its territoriality - stays in the same place. Carnivorous. Need some bait. Come on.'

Tom couldn't understand what the old man was going on about but he followed him as he ran out into the garden. He had to run to keep up with him as Granddad headed out the garden gate and into the field beyond. The old man was still muttering to himself.

'It has to be big. A dog? No, too small, too violent. A sheep? No, too quiet - need something that'll make some noise.'

When Tom finally caught up with him he was trying to manhandle Champion out of his field. Champion was Farmer Duncan's prize Shetland pony, the apple of his eye.

'But Granddad…' Tom began, but Granddad was not to be stopped.

'No time. No time for pleasantries. Needs of science and all that. Give me a hand here boy. Don't just stand there gawking.'

Together they managed to get the pony into the back of Granddad's estate car and Tom found himself squashed in beside a foul smelling rear end as Granddad slammed his foot on the accelerator and they sped off down the road towards the pond.

Tom was being bounced around, first banging his head on the roof, then slamming his shoulder into the pony's rump causing the small horse to bray, deafeningly loud in the confines of the car. Granddad was talking, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

'Too much Vitrol, too much. Big as a house by now I shouldn't wonder. Yes, and then some.'

Suddenly his tone changed and he shouted. 'Fine day, fine day. Sorry can't stop - bit of a flap on.'

Tom pushed himself up in his seat and was just in time to look back and see Farmer Duncan shaking his fist at the car. He was standing in front of his barn, or what used to be his barn. It looked like something heavy had sat on it.

He dwindled to a speck in the distance as Granddad put his foot down even harder on the pedal and Tom bounced around like a doll in a tumble dryer.

Tom could see the smoke while they were still a mile from town, and as they got closer the roads were filled with screaming running people.

'Damn fools,' Granddad was muttering. 'You would think they'd never seen a newt before.'

As they got closer they could see the reason for the panic. The town square was in shadow, a black moving shadow which swayed in time with the beat of the chimera's wings and flickered redly in the glow from the fire which had taken hold of the town hall. Tannis sat on top of the church steeple, its head level with the weather vane, its tail dragging along the ground and the great wings almost touching the buildings on either side of the square.

Granddad stopped the car and was just about to get out when there was a creaking and a groaning and, in a pile of rubble and dust, the church collapsed under the creature's weight. Tannis lifted his head and screamed, a screech which rang in Tom's ears long after the actual sound had faded. As they watched, it continued to grow, slowly filling up the centre of the square.

'Conversion of energy into mass. Fascinating. Where does the energy come from? Must remember to write that down.' Granddad was mumbling, just before Tom tapped him in the shoulder.

'Don't you think it would be a good idea if we got out of here Granddad?' he asked, motioning at the grey green wall of flesh which was creeping slowly towards them.

Granddad shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. 'Yes indeed. But we mustn't let it out of our sight.'

Tom thought that might be a bit difficult, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that Granddad disapproved of his occasional flippant remarks.

Just as Granddad reversed the car, three men ran into the square brandishing shotguns. They balked when they saw the sheer size of the thing, but then they raised their guns and fired. Tannis gave out a scream, louder than before, and the great body began to move, rising up as the wings started to beat. Beneath him Tom could feel the earth tremble as the tail swung back and forth, bringing down the few buildings which remained.

The guns boomed again, but Tannis had gone. By stretching out of the car window Tom was able to follow its ascent as it went up, and up, and up before finally being hidden by the clouds.

Granddad had turned the car and negotiated the rubble, trying to avoid the people who were still rushing around, occasionally giving them a blast of the horn when they didn't get out of his way fast enough.

Tom was still looking up to the sky, trying to peer through the clouds, hoping to catch a quick glimpse of Tannis.

And suddenly he was in the front seat in a jumble of arms and legs and tail and mane along with Granddad, about eight stone of sweaty frightened animal and a sudden smell of manure.

'Sorry,' Granddad said from underneath the stomach of the pony, 'A little too hard on the brakes I fear. But I think you'll see I was justified.'

They managed to disentangle themselves and squeeze out of the car. Looking around him Tom could see that they were in the forest near the pond where he had found the newt. But things had changed. A hundred small fires played amongst the branches of the trees - those which were still standing that is. More than half the forest had been felled in a tangle of trunk and branch, leaf and twig.

He turned back to the car and had coaxed the pony out onto the grass verge when Granddad stopped him.

'Leave it there son,' Granddad said, turning him round to face in the direction of the pond. 'I think it's a bit too small.'

The boy looked up and found a grey wall, and up and the wall went on and somewhere up there, way up there, the wings were beginning to move.

As he watched they opened out and the area was suddenly thrown into shade as the wings beat, just once, and all the remaining tress around the pond were knocked flat to the ground.

He staggered under the sudden downward draft and almost fell but Granddad put out a steadying hand at just the right moment.

'I think we're going to have to rename him to Tannis giganticus, don't you think so?'

Tom just nodded, having to move back as the grey green wall moved closer. There was no trace of the pond - the chimera had covered it all, an area the size of a football field. Tom could just see one open white-feathered wing creeping from under the body, the only visible remnant of the flock of swans.

Granddad was muttering again.

'Surface area to volume ratio getting too big. Bones won't handle it. Muscles under too much strain. Can't get much bigger.' He was nodding. 'Yes, that's right. Can't get much bigger.'

And then there was a scream. Tom had never heard anything like it, the agony, all the pain in the world as the ground shook and the air rushed in great vortices and the wall began to shrink.

Smaller and smaller, the huge unblinking eyes peering down at them, accusing. As fast as it had grown it shrunk, and the sun came back and there was a popping in Tom's ears and the grey wall shrunk and receded revealing the flattened mud where the pool used to be.

And still it shrunk, the size of a bus, the size of an elephant, and still smaller. Tom could see that one of the wings was beginning to come away from the body, a long red sore which wept watery blood down to mingle with the sodden ground beneath.

'Sunlight. That's what it is,' Granddad was muttering. 'Shouldn't have trusted the Vitrol. High decay factor. Thought it was all mumbo jumbo, all this messing around in the dark. Scientific basis after all. Fascinating.'

Granddad kept going on in the same vein but Tom couldn't take his eyes off the chimera. It seemed to have stopped shrinking. It stood, up to its belly in mud, about the size of an ostrich. Its left wing was hanging away from its body and it was trying to nuzzle it back into place, keening all the time, a shrill piteous sound that carried and echoed in the still evening air.

Tom's sight misted over and he had to brush tears from his eyes.

When he looked back Granddad was making his way over the mud towards the creature, brandishing a branch from one of the fallen trees in front of him. He only got to within ten feet when there was a rumbling in the creature's throat, then a cough and a sheet of orange flame jetted out towards the old man who only just managed to skip out of the way in time as the branch went up with a whoosh.

The flash of heat passed close to Tom and he squeezed his eyes shut as it came. He got hotter, then hotter still.

Suddenly he felt himself being pushed off his feet and he was being rolled in cool wet mud. He looked up in time to see Granddad's car explode in a black wall of smoke, frightening the pony into a startled bray.

He pushed himself up and looked around for Tannis. It was shrinking again - smaller, and smaller still, a crow, a starling, a sparrow - until finally, in the middle of the dampness and the mud and the still, pitiful bodies of dead swans, a small struggling creature breathed what seemed to be its last gasps.

Huge salty tears ran down Tom's face.

Granddad waded out to where the small body lay and carefully placed it in a pocket of his waistcoat. On his way back he noticed the bodies of the swans and stopped to examine them.

He lifted one heavy mud stained wing and Tom could see the thought, the look at the wing then the sly glance over to the pony which had made its way along the verge and was contentedly munching on some green grassy shoots. Tom knew that he could never allow it - he was finished forever with Granddad's experiments.

He slung one small arm around the pony's neck and looked back at Granddad. Something seemed to be bothering the old man, something about his waistcoat.

He was jigging around, dancing and batting his hands at the pocket where he had placed the chimera. A small puff of smoke rose from the pocket, smoke which rapidly turned to fire. A small creature emerged, first the head, then the neck, then the body. The tiny wings beat once, twice, three times as it took off across the pond, heading for the remaining puddle of water. This time it wasn't growing.

Granddad was still trying to douse the flames rising from his waistcoat when Tom, smiling now, took hold of the pony and led it back towards the farm.