Thorfinn and the Dreadful Dragon

by David MacPhail

  “You won’t have much luck. She hasn’t been seen for ten years.” He emptied the contents of his flagon down his throat and belched. “I should know, I was the last one who saw her.”

  Oswald suddenly gave Harek a swift kick. “Put me down, you stinking oaf!” Once on solid ground, he leaned forward to peer into the miserable man’s face. “It can’t be … but it is!”

  “Who?” asked Velda.

  “He was so fearless. It is said that even the King had a portrait of him in his great hall,” Oswald droned. “Huh! And now look at him.”

  “Who?” Velda repeated.

  “Heartbreaking!” added Oswald, with a shake of his head.

  “WHO? WHO?” cried Velda.

  “All this suspense is SO depressing!” blubbed Grimm.

  “Why, it’s Hel, the greatest, most fearsome dragonslayer of them all. Slayed every dragon he ever fought – except one.”

  “Him?!” cried Velda, staring in horror at the man’s greying hair, tattered furs and rusty sword.

  “Yes, that was me.” Hel’s eyes glistened as he gazed off into the distance. “Whole towns used to watch in amazement as I battled that pesky dragon. People cheered in their hundreds as I pursued her in my golden-wheeled chariot… or my trusty longship, Dragonsbane. With my flaming sword, I chased her away from many a village. Everywhere I went people chanted my name. Ah, those were the days.”

  “But why did she disappear?” asked Thorfinn.

  Hel shrugged. “No idea. We’d just fought a very long and epic duel. The skies thundered as we traded blows. Then she gave a sort of cough and a splutter, and wheeled into the clouds. That was the last I ever saw of her. Not even a card on my birthday.” Hel’s face crumpled, and he started to cry. “BOO HOO! I miss her!”

  “You know, I’m starting to like this man,” said Grimm, patting the dragonslayer on the shoulder.

  “My dear sir, can I ask where you last saw her?” asked Thorfinn, producing a clean handkerchief and passing it to the weeping former warrior.

  “Off the cliffs,” said Hel pointing, before blowing his nose loudly. HONNNNK! “Way to the west of here. A sparse, rocky and uninhabited stretch of coast.”

  Thorfinn turned to his crewmates and smiled. “Then what are we waiting for, my good friends?”

  “Wait!” sniffed Hel. “Are you going to try and track her down?”

  “Why, yes,” said Thorfinn.

  “You won’t find her.” He shook his head, then grabbed Thorfinn’s sleeve. “But if you do, then you’d better watch out! She’s the most ferocious dragon I ever fought. Her teeth are as sharp as sabres. Her eyes blaze like the heat of a volcano. And her breath is hotter than a barbeque in hell.”

  “Yum, barbeque,” said Grut dreamily.

  “She’ll burn you to a cinder before you even blink,” continued the dragonslayer. “Then she’ll gobble you up in a heartbeat and eat your friends here for pudding.”

  Grimm started blubbing. “I might have known I’d end up as some great monster’s pudding. Oh poor me!”

  “You really are a pudding!” shouted Velda. “Now get a move on! We need to find this dragon. The entire village of Indgar depends on it!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Thorfinn and the crew set sail, hugging the rugged coastline to the west. The clifftops soared high above them, and seabirds swooped and dived around their heads.

  “Why would a dragon disappear?” Velda asked.

  “What does The Book of Dreki say, Thorfinn?” asked Oswald.

  Thorfinn flicked open the book and ran his finger along the crusty yellow pages. “It says, ‘When ill or unhappy, dragons will often retreat to a cave in a remote spot.’”

  “You think the dragon is hiding in a cave somewhere?” asked Velda.

  “Hel said she gave a sort of cough and then disappeared. It seems rather odd that he mentioned it, so yes, perhaps the dragon was ill,” replied Thorfinn.

  “But how do we find this cave?” Velda stared up at the surrounding rocks.

  Thorfinn continued reading: “‘Look out for scorch marks from their hot breath, or scratch marks at the cave mouth. Dragons also shed their scales, which they cast on the ground outside’.”

  Thorfinn pulled out his spyglass and peered through it, searching the cliffs for any sign of the dragon. “Aha!” He handed it to Velda and pointed in the direction of a black cave sitting atop the highest cliff stack. “See the reddish colour on the ground, spreading out from the cave’s mouth?”

  “Could be dragon’s scales,” said Oswald.

  “My thought exactly,” said Thorfinn cheerfully. “Let’s go up there and see.”

  “Woah! Woah! Woah!” Olaf waved his arms. “You heard that man Hel. That dragon’s ferocious, he said. I distinctly remember the words ‘burn’ and ‘cinder’.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she won’t hurt us,” replied Thorfinn. “Not if we’re perfectly nice to her. After so much time alone, she’ll be overjoyed to have visitors.”

  Olaf stomped off in a huff. “Yeah, I’m sure that empty stomach of hers will be thrilled to see us!”

  ***

  They pulled in at a tiny cove, the bow of the longship crunching against the pebbly beach. Thorfinn, Harek and Grut leapt over the side, while Velda slung her roll-o-boots over her shoulder for the climb.

  Gertrude waved them off. “I’ll haves a tasty snack ready for yous ifs – I mean, whens – you comes back. A lovely boiled beetle stew!”

  Olaf glowered at them from his spot near the prow. He had refused to come on account of not wanting to become a tasty snack himself.

  “I thought you were a real Viking?” asked Velda with a grin.

  “Yeah, a real live one, and I want to stay that way!” huffed Olaf.

  The group were just starting to clamber up a track that led towards the cliffs when there was a whine like a slowly deflating balloon. “Hey, wait! You’re not leaving me here with these turnip heads!” Oswald shook his fists and yelled at Harek and Grut, “You must carry me, you bilge rats!”

  “No chance, you old goat!” yelled Grut.

  “Yes,” he insisted. “Or I’ll put pigeon poo in your ale!”

  Harek and Grut stared fearfully at each other, then glanced at Percy, who was perched on the ship’s rail. Percy seemed to shrug.

  “Tchoh! Alright!” snapped Harek. He and Grut argued over who would do the carrying. Being Vikings, they didn’t have any straws to draw, so they pulled beard hairs instead.

  “OUCH! Ha! Mine is longer!” cried Harek. “You have to carry the old windbag!”

  Grut sighed as he hoisted Oswald over his back. “I’d better get double rations for this!”

  Thorfinn and Velda forged ahead. The track became steeper until it cut through a narrow gap in the rocks. Soon, they were standing on top of the cliffs, staring down at the longship below. The mouth of the cave was only a short distance away, and up close, the ground was clearly covered in reddish scales. Thorfinn picked one up and turned it over in his fingers. It was as hard as plate armour. He stepped up to the edge of the dark cave and called inside. “Hello in there!”

  His voice echoed back at him: “…lo in there!… O in there!… O in there!”

  “You absolutely sure this is a good idea?” whispered Velda out of the side of her mouth.

  But Thorfinn didn’t get a chance to answer.

  Suddenly, deep in the blackness, something stirred.

  CHAPTER 11

  A pair of slitted yellow eyes cracked open in the dark and glared out at Velda and Thorfinn. A blast of hot, foul-smelling air blew the helmets off their heads. Then came a low, slithery growl, followed by a fierce but somehow frail voice. “Who are you, to enter my cave?”

  Thorfinn stepped forward and smiled politely. He was going to doff his helmet – except that it had been blown off and lay about two longship-lengths behind him. “Oh, good day. My name is Thorfinn. I’m ever so sorry to bother you, but I represent the Vikings of Indgar.”

  Anot
her growl, and the voice spoke again: “Thhh-orfinn, hmmm? I wonder what a Thhh-orfinn tastes like?”

  Velda stretched out her leg and took a LOOONG step away from her friend.

  The lizardy eyes loomed closer. A head poked out of the shadows, a giant head, with a hard, shiny nose. Its teeth were just as sharp as Hel had described. Its scales were a deep red, and two large claws reached out, each so huge they would make Harald the Skull-Splitter look like a teeny-weeny beardy flea in comparison.

  The dragon’s belly rumbled, a sound so low that even the pebbles on the ground began to vibrate. Grut, who’d just struggled up the steep slope carrying Oswald on his back, and Harek both froze. Oswald had been napping, but now he sprang awake. “Oh my great giddy Thor!”

  Thorfinn moved closer, smiling. “Pardon me, but would you by any chance be the Great Dragon?”

  The dragon’s eyes flickered with surprise. “The Great Dragon… Yessss, that is what they used to call me. Mmmany years ago… These islands were my islands. People would gaze up at me in terror assss I roamed the skies. I used to have such great battles with their dragonsssslayer, Hel. Oh, how I missss those dayssss!”

  “Oh dear! I am sorry,” said Thorfinn. “Can I ask what happened to you, dear friend?”

  “I caught a cold,” the dragon said sadly.

  “So you were right, Thorfinn!” said Velda.

  The dragon coughed – probably quite a gentle cough for a dragon, but to everyone else it sounded like a siege cannon blasting the walls off a fort. And it felt even worse than it sounded, as the shockwave blew everyone off their feet. Grut teetered for a moment, then fell back.

  “You rollicking oaf!” yelled Oswald as they both tumbled back down the slope.

  Grut’s moans echoed around the cliffs as he bounced down the rocks. “OW. OW, OW, OW, OW. OW.”

  The cough also set off a cascade of metal in the cave’s darkness. Behind the dragon lay mounds of silver and gold and jewels. Once upon a time they might have gleamed and sparkled, but now they were dull and covered in dust.

  Ever the Viking, Velda’s eyes gleamed. “Look at all that lovely loot!”

  “My dear friend, I wouldn’t recommend you touch it,” said Thorfinn. “The Book of Dreki says dragons get very attached to their treasure.”

  The dragon sniffled, and Velda’s brow creased as she stood up. “You’ve had a cold that’s lasted ten years?” she asked.

  “A dragon’sss cold can last decades. I just cannot shhhake it off. Oh, it’s drrreadful! I can’t even breathe fire any more.”

  The dragon arched her neck, as if about to spew forth great flames, but instead gave a mighty sneeze. Thorfinn and Velda both ducked. A giant spurtle of greeny goo flew out of her nose. Harek dodged out of its way in the nick of time, only to find that he’d rather dodged into its way instead.

  “AARGH!”

  Harek sprawled flat on his back, smothered in slimy dragon snot. Meanwhile, Grut had scrambled back up the slope for the second time, panting and carrying Oswald over his shoulders. Grut stared down at his friend and whistled. “I’m glad I drew the short hair.”

  The dragon sighed, a long, sad sigh full of misery. “I am no longer the Grrreat Dragon. I’m jussst plain old Hazel.”

  “Hazel?” asked Thorfinn.

  “Hazel wasss my original name. Oh yesss, we all have normal names, we dragonsss. My ffffather was Edward, my mother was Jennifer.”

  “Well,” said Thorfinn. “I think Hazel is a perfectly lovely name, and I intend to call you that from now on.” He stepped closer and gently placed his hand on Hazel’s nose.

  Velda gasped. “Thorfinn, be careful!”

  But Hazel let him pat her. She even leaned towards him a little bit, like a very scaly, very overgrown cat. “You poor, poor thing,” said Thorfinn. “Tell me, my dear friend, can your cold be cured?”

  “Oh, if only sssomeone could,” Hazel sniffled. “I would be indebted.”

  Thorfinn scratched his chin. “Hmm, what if I was able to help you? What if I could not only make you well again, but make you great again? And if I could do that, might you be willing to do us a little favour?”

  The edges of the dragon’s mouth turned up, almost like a smile. “My dear Thhh-orfinn,” she said. “If you could do all that, why, I might not eat you after all.”

  CHAPTER 12

  With a grunt and a heave, the Vikings launched their longship off the beach.

  “Phew!” said Velda. “I’m glad to get away from that dragon. But where now?”

  “Yeah, and how in Valhalla are we supposed to cure a dragon’s cold?” sniped Olaf.

  Grut scratched his head. “Well, you know the old saying, ‘Feed a cold, starve a fever’? Actually, I feel a bit sniffly myself. Any chance of some lunch?”

  “I haves a special soup that gets rid of coughs and sneezes,” shrieked Gertrude. “It’s cream of cockroach.”

  Grut gulped. “Suddenly I feel a lot better.”

  “Why don’t we make Hazel a hot toddy?” suggested Velda.

  “What’s in it? Whisky, fruit, honey?” asked Olaf. “Do we even have any of those things?”

  “No, the whisky ran out days ago,” called Torsten from the steering tiller. “We used it to fumigate Oswald’s underpants.”

  “How dare you!” whined the old man, sounding like a donkey with tonsillitis.

  “How about honey?” asked Velda.

  “You must be joking!” said Torsten. “Grut polished that off half an hour after we left Indgar.”

  “And fruit?” added Olaf hopefully.

  Torsten burst out laughing. “HAAAAAA! Next you’ll be asking if we eat vegetables!”

  “No hot toddy, then. So what in Odin’s name are we going to do?” cried Olaf. “Harald and the rest of the village are expecting to meet us in Lerwick tonight with a dragon that breathes fire, not germs!”

  Gertrude jabbed her thumb at Harek, who was sitting on a barrel staring into space. He had cleaned off most of the dragon snot, but he still looked quite gooey. “What’s up with him?”

  “The dragon sneezed on him,” explained Velda.

  “Lucky so-and-so!” gasped Gertrude. “Dragon snot is quite tasty so I hears.”

  Thorfinn, who’d been flicking through The Book of Dreki, neatly stepped up onto a barrel. “Excuse me, my dear friends. Here it says: For a dragon’s cold, give black oil measured by the bucket, for as long as symptoms persist.”

  “But where will we get that?” asked Velda.

  “Simple.” Thorfinn turned to Torsten the Ship-Sinker. “My dear friend, would you please set sail to the east.”

  Torsten cringed. “Er…”

  “Oh, sorry, I mean that way, dear pal.” Thorfinn smiled and pointed in the direction of the dark patch of water on the horizon. “Towards the Blackened Sea.”

  ***

  As they sailed into the black, murky water once again, the crew peered over the side of the ship into the inky gloop below.

  “This is never going to work,” scoffed Olaf. “You’d need loads of oil to cure something the size of a dragon.”

  Undeterred, Thorfinn turned to Gertrude. “Pardon me, old friend. Would you mind terribly lending me a cauldron and a soup ladle, please?”

  The cook paused for a second. “OK, but only cos you asked so nicely.”

  Once Thorfinn had explained his plan to the crew, they lowered him over the side of the longship with a rope tied around his waist. He whistled cheerily as he wielded a long stick with Gertrude’s soup ladle lashed to the end. Velda dangled next to him, cradling a bucket in the crook of her elbow. As they splashed through the waves, Thorfinn skimmed his ladle across the oily surface, then dolloped the black oil into Velda’s bucket.

  “Excellent work!” cheered Oswald, sounding like a gannet that had just swallowed a very large fish.

  Olaf stared wide-eyed over the side as the bucket began to fill up. “I don’t believe it! It’s actually working!”

  “Of course it is, you
festering pig-dog!” cried Velda from the end of the rope.

  The bucket was soon full, and Grut hauled it aboard before tipping it into Gertrude’s big cooking cauldron on deck. They did this again and again until the cauldron was filled to the brim. “There we have it, medicine for Hazel,” said Thorfinn cheerfully.

  “But Thorfinn,” said Velda. “The Great Fire Festival takes place tonight. We don’t have enough time to cure Hazel and get to Lerwick.”

  In reply, Thorfinn just smiled. Then he asked Torsten to turn the ship around and drop him off at the beach.

  “I’ll take the medicine up to Hazel and meet you at the festival,” he said. “You should head straight there, but would you mind awfully picking up Hel the Dragonslayer on the way?”

  “Why? What’s your plan, Thorfinn?” Velda asked.

  “We’re going to bring a legend back to life, old friend. Is there a bigger or better show than that?”

  CHAPTER 13

  As the prow of the longship crunched into the sand of the dragon’s cove, Thorfinn pushed himself off the side, landing on the beach. Grut winched off the cauldron of oil and Harek tossed a very long rope and a pulley at Thorfinn’s feet. “Good luck, Thorfinn,” he boomed.

  “CAST OFF, YOU SLOTHS!” screamed Velda, and the Green Dragon pushed away from the shore.

  Thorfinn raised his helmet. “Good day, my dear friends. I shall see you this evening.”

  Alone except for Percy, Thorfinn scaled the cliff with the rope wound round his shoulder, then rigged up his pulley at the very top. Percy watched as Thorfinn cleverly heaved the cauldron up the sheer rock face, the thick oil slopping over the sides. Whistling, he plonked the cauldron down outside Hazel’s cave and called inside. “Pardon me, dear Hazel?”

  A pair of yellow eyes opened in the darkness, and the outline of a scaly body uncurled around a great mound of treasure. “Thhh-orfinn, I did not expect to see you again so sssoon,” said the dragon.