The Iron Man nodded. But his answer was to signal to the engineers. Once
more they poured oil into the trough under the grid. Once more they lit it. Once more
the flames roared up and the black smoke billowed up into the clear blue. And once
more the Iron Man stretched himself out on the grid of the raging furnace.
The space-bat-angel-dragon watched in horror. He knew what this meant for
him. He would have to go once more into the sun’s flames.
And now the Iron Man’s hair and toes and elbows were red-hot. He lay back
in the flames, smiling up at the dragon. And his whole body was becoming red-hot,
then orange, and finally, white, like the blazing wire inside an electric bulb.
At this point, the Iron Man was terribly afraid. For what would happen if the
flames went on getting fiercer and fiercer? He would melt. He would melt and drip
into the flames like so much treacle and that would be the end of him. So even though
he grinned up at the dragon as though he were enjoying the flames, he was not
enjoying them at all, and he was very very frightened.
Even the engineers, who were hiding behind thick asbestos screens over a mile
away along the beach, felt the hair singeing on their heads, and they too thought it was
the end of the Iron Man. Perhaps they had poured in just a bit too much fuel oil.
But at that very moment, and the very second that the edge of the Iron Man’s
ear started to melt, the fuel was used up and the flames died. The engineers came
running down the beach. They saw the red-hot Iron Man getting off his fearful bed,
and they saw him moving to and fro on the sand, cooling off.
At last, the Iron man looked up at the dragon. He could hardly speak after his
ordeal in the flames. Instead, he simply pointed towards the sun, and jabbed his finger
towards the sun, as he gazed up at the monster.
“That’s twice,” he managed to say. “Now it’s your turn.”