Out on the lake, Henry Stubbs, piloting the ferry with the Coniston coach and one black-and-white cow on board, heard it—and held his breath while the coachman clung to the bridles of his plunging horses and the cowman grabbed the horns of his terrified cow and hung on to keep her from leaping overboard.

In Bowness, a shopkeeper was so startled by the noise that he dropped an expensive crystal goblet and broke it. When he turned to get the broom, he knocked the matching crystal pitcher from the shelf.

In Ambleside, at the blacksmith’s shop, the smith and his helper rushed out to see the plane, leaving a pile of wood shavings too near the forge. The shavings burst into flame and caught a horse blanket, which burnt a timber and then another and finally ended by bringing the roof down.

And down at Newby Bridge, a motorcyclist looked up to see the plane and was so distracted by the sight that he ran into the back of a wagon carrying a load of milk cans bound for the cheese factory, startling the draft horse so that it bolted and flung the wagon, cans and all, into the ditch.

None of these major and minor calamities, however, was visible from Oat Cake Crag, where the owl and the dragon were watching Water Bird as it skimmed up and down the lake with its pilot and its animated passenger. The owl was perched on the limb of a tree, whilst the dragon crouched beneath, disguised as a bush. The dragon had turned nearly purple with astonishment, for he had never before seen a flying object the size of Water Bird—except for other dragons, of course.

Now, the last time we saw the owl and the dragon together (at Bosworth’s birthday party), the two of them appeared to be very confused. The dragon had inquired about the Windermere monster whose sighting had been reported by Bailey Badger’s great-great-grandfather. The owl replied with regard to the hydroplane. It was clear that each was laboring under a rather substantial misconception as to the meaning of the other.

But at last the dragon realized that the owl was describing some sort of motorized flying machine, like an oversized mechanical wind-up toy that was somehow capable of getting into the air, and the owl got it through his head that the dragon was looking for a water-dwelling monster, something on the order of an aquatic dragon.

Having sorted out their misunderstanding, the pair discussed the matter at length. They decided to go to Oat Cake Crag, take up a lookout position, and see what they could of the monster, the hydroplane, or both. The owl had packed a light lunch (mutton-and-cheese sandwiches with pickle, cold sliced tongue, deviled eggs with capers, carrot sticks, and frosted ginger cakes). In addition, he had worn his vest and daytime goggles and brought binoculars, a notebook, and a stopwatch. Thus equipped and provisioned, the owl and the dragon had just set up their post when the hangar doors swung wide open and Water Bird skidded down the ramp and splashed into the water.

The dragon watched, open-mouthed, as the aeroplane wended its way through the moorings of sailboats and row-boats and fishing boats and took off upwind, climbing into the sky. “Oh, my starsz and scaleszs,” he hissed incredulously. “It swimsz and it fliesz. It really doeszs.” He stared at the Bird out of the ragged fringe of fir branches he had tied to his head and shoulders. “Doesz it dive? Under the water, I mean.”

“It did once, after a fashion,” said the owl, watching the aeroplane through his binoculars as it whizzed up the lake in the direction of Ambleside. “But that was when it stopped flying and crashed intooo the water. I dooo not believe that it dives deliberately. It does not seem tooo be constructed for that purpose.” He frowned, trying to focus on the passenger riding behind the pilot. The previous passenger had clung to the struts, bleating and terrified and repenting his desire to fly. This one, however, was almost demonic, shouting and waving his arms, with his greatcoat streaming behind like a magician’s cape. He was obviously enjoying himself.

“And thiszs iszs the thing that haszs been terrorizszsing the neighborhood?” asked the dragon, studying the hydroplane from behind his screen branches. “Thiszs iszs the creature who iszs annoying people and frightening animalszs?”

“This is it,” the Professor replied grimly. “But people know what it is and can take account of it. The animals—particularly the not-sooo-bright ones, the cows and silly sheep—are terrified of it, and with gooood cause. They fear it is going tooo eat them, and nooo amount of talking will persuade them otherwise.” He put down his binoculars and shook his head gloomily. “The machine is truly a monster,” he added, “although not in the sense that you are looooking for.”

“Perhapsz it iszsn’t,” the dragon said regretfully. “I would rather have discovered a dragon that waszs more like the Loch Nesszs monszster, swimming and diving and the rest of it. But I wonder if it won’t serve my purposze just as well. And perhaps even better, considering its dire effect on the neighbors.”

“Serve the purpose?” The owl looked down from his perch, beginning to feel a niggling sense of suspicion. “Just what purpose dooo you have in mind, Thorvaald?”

Thorvaald shuffled his feet, looking a bit shamefaced. “Well, to tell the truth, I am looking for a way to redeem myszself with the Grand Asszsembly of Dragonsz.” He gave a windy sigh, exhaling a stream of smoke and live flame, which sparked a nearby fir branch.

“Don’t dooo that!” the owl cried urgently. “Are you trying tooo start a forest fire?”

“Szsorry,” the dragon muttered, and inhaled, pulling the smoke and flame back into his nostrils, as if he were a vacuum sweeper. “I am not exactly in the Asszsembly’szs favor, you see. In fact, I shouldn’t be at all surpriszsed if they revoked my airworthinesszs certificate and put me to work in the dining hall instead. I flew all around the globe on the Asszsembly expense account. I waszs supposed to be counting dragonszs, but I couldn’t find any to count. This thing, though—”

The Water Bird had made a large loop and was now flying south again, sweeping over Belle Isle and turning eastward in front of them, preparing to make a landing. The engine was buzzing so loudly that the dragon had to raise his voice to be heard above the racket. “Thiszs flying thing—this mechanical dragon—it isn’t just a law-abiding monszster minding its own busineszs in the depths of a very deep lake, where it’s a threat to nobody but a few large pike. In fact, this creature is much more dangerouszs. It threatens the lives and happiness of creatures all acroszss this region. Isn’t that what you’re telling me, Professor?”

“Indeed,” said the owl soberly. He was now beginning to get the picture. “That’s what I’m telling yooou, Thorvaald. But I don’t see that there’s anything you can dooo to stop it.”

“Oh, really?” the dragon remarked in a carelessly contemptuous tone. “I don’t suppose you know very much about dragonszs, do you? I am descended from a long and illustriouszs line of warriorszs.” He lifted himself up and his voice rang out. “I am the son of the magnificent Thunnor, son of the splendid Snurrt, son of the celebrated Sniggle. Our family motto is Alta pete: Aim at high thingszs. Our family emblem is two dragonszs rampant on an azure field, with a burning—”

“Of course, of course,” said the owl crossly. He was not accustomed to being addressed in such a tone, and he did not like being reminded that he was the only one amongst his friends who did not have a family motto and emblem. “But I still say that there’s nothing yooou can dooo. The aeroplane is locked up at night, and there’s a guard. Yooou can’t just break in there and expect tooo—”

“Aim at high things!” cried the dragon in great excitement. His belly was glowing like a hot stove, and sparks flew from his nostrils. “Don’t you see, Owl? It’s deszstiny, that’s what it iszs! I am the one ordained to bring this high-flying monszster to justice and szsave the Land Between the Lakeszs. Aim at high thingszs!”

The owl (who prided himself on aiming at high things with his telescope and felt himself to be much more experienced in such matters than the dragon) gave a derisive snort.

“What?” fumed the dragon. Tendrils of sooty smoke curled out of his nostrils. “You don’t believe me?”

“I will believe yooou,” the owl replied in a lofty tone, “when I see you actually doooing it.” He paused, frowning. “Just what are you planning on doooing?”

“Don’t rush me,” the dragon said. “I’m hatching a scheme.” He cast a hopeful look at the owl. “I wonder—are there any more sandwicheszs?”