‘Yes!’ Joe yelled, and punched the air in triumph.
‘Hooray! Hooray!’ shouted Norbert.
Below them, suspended by the seat of his pants in Margot’s talons, swung a rather red-faced Randalf.
‘I was about to weave a spell of feather-lightness,’ he said with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘But thank you anyway.’
‘Oh, don’t thank me, Fatso,’ said Margot, gaining height with every flap of her wings.‘Thank dear, sweet Norbert, here.’
‘Hmmph!’ said Randalf.
‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,’ said Margot, swinging Randalf lazily. There was an ominous sound of ripping.
‘Thank you, Norbert,’ said Randalf.
‘You’re welcome,’ smiled Norbert, and nodded at the torn pants. ‘You should get those mended when we get to the castle, before you catch your death of cold . . .’
‘Yes, thank you, Norbert,’ said Randalf, darkly.
As the dragon approached the castle walls, Joe saw the full extent of the chaos within. There were wardrobes – and bits of wardrobe – everywhere.
Some had crashed down on the tents and stalls, some had smashed to smithereens on the paving stones, losing their doors and splintering their sides, while others were still airborne, waiting to land. They were darting this way and that, banging into walls and each other. Most of them seemed remarkably poorly put together, with missing hinges, odd-length legs and, in some cases, doors that didn’t match.
‘Coo-ee!’ shouted Norbert, and waved.
Randalf, who was back in his place on the dragon’s tail, called to him. ‘What is it, Norbert?’
‘The Horned Baron,’ said Joe, pointing. ‘Look.’
Below, the Horned Baron was running about like a headless chicken and shouting at the top of his voice.
‘Run for your lives! We’re under attack! Take cover!’
‘What an inspiration to us all the Horned Baron is,’ muttered Veronica.
CRASH!
‘Blimey,’ Joe gasped. ‘That was close!’
One of the wardrobes had smashed down on to the ground, snapping the Keep off the Grass sign and missing the
Horned Baron by a hair’s breadth. The Horned Baron, now down on his knees and trembling, held his head in his hands as scores of hangers exploded from the broken wardrobe and swooped down on him like a flock of angry batbirds. Their hooks rained blows down on his horned helmet.
Plink! Plink! Plink!
‘Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!’ cried the Horned Baron.
Just then, an under-gardener with a bucket on his head dashed past. ‘The flowers!’ he shouted. ‘Mind the flowers!’
To a hanger, the flock wheeled away from the Horned Baron and gave chase.
‘Get off!’ he shouted, as the hangers hammered down against the bucket. ‘And keep off the grass!’
The same scene was being repeated everywhere Joe looked. Gardeners and under-gardeners, footmen in livery, butlers, servants and kitchen hands were all under attack – and it seemed there was nothing any of them could do to repel the fearsome invasion.
‘Oh, woe is me!’ the Horned Baron howled miserably. ‘We’re doomed. We’re all doomed. Will no one help me in my hour of need?’
‘For the right price,’ came a voice from above his head.
The Horned Baron looked up and gasped. Not only were they being bombarded by wardrobes and attacked by coat hangers, but now the dragon had returned. Frozen to the spot, he stared, horrified, at the vast hovering creature with its leathery wings, its slinky tail, its ferocious crested head and – he rubbed his eyes in disbelief – its passengers . . .
‘Randalf?’ he shouted up to the figure clutching on to the dragon’s tail. ‘Is that you?’
‘It certainly is,’ Randalf shouted back. ‘Wizard for hire, at your service. ‘Now about my terms . . .’
‘Anything,’ said the Horned Baron. ‘Anything at all! Just do something! Now!’
‘A hundred gold big ’uns,’ Randalf called.
The Horned Baron sucked in air noisily through his teeth. ‘Fifty,’ he said.
‘Ninety,’ Randalf responded.
‘Seventy-five, and that’s my final offer,’ said the Horned Baron.
‘WALTER!’ came a loud, piercing scream. It was Ingrid, and she was not happy.
‘Eighty,’ said Randalf.
‘Eighty, it is,’ said the Horned Baron. ‘But not a big ’un more. Watch out!’ he bellowed, as a decidedly lopsided wardrobe appeared out of nowhere, doors clapping and hangers jangling, and hurtled towards the hovering dragon.
‘Furniture on the starboard side!’ Veronica squawked.
Margot nodded. With a flick of her tail, she ducked behind the tall gate towers.
The wardrobe smashed into the heavy studded doors and broke into a thousand pieces which tumbled down to the ground. From inside, another flock of coat hangers emerged. They soared up into the air and closed in on the dragon.
Margot smiled and sent out a roaring tongue of flame. The hangers were turned instantly to ash.
Down in the courtyard, the Horned Baron burst into applause. ‘Bravo!’ he shouted. ‘Now come and deal with the rest of them.’
‘For eighty gold big ’uns,’ said Randalf.
‘Yes, yes,’ said the Horned Baron impatiently, ducking down to avoid a wardrobe hurtling across the courtyard, totally out of control. ‘Just get on with it!’
Randalf nodded. ‘Land over by that wall, Margot,’ he said, pointing. ‘If that’s all right with you, Norbert,’ he added archly.
‘Oh, yes, perfectly all right, sir,’ said Norbert. ‘Excellent idea, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ said Randalf. ‘I . . . Whoooah!’ he gasped as the dragon swooped down over the courtyard, knocking wardrobes and hangers aside as she flew and – with a graceful twist – landed at the base of the high wall.
She turned and roared menacingly.
Joe leaped to the ground followed by Henry, wagging his tail and barking furiously. He drew his sword. Norbert jumped down beside him and, seizing a length of broken tent pole, swung it round his head. Randalf joined them, Veronica perched on his shoulder. He raised his arms.
‘Let battle commence!’ he roared, and turned.‘Norbert, you’d better go first, there’s a good fellow.’
Norbert stepped forward as a rickety looking wardrobe with mismatched door handles lurched past. With a blow from the tent pole, the wardrobe fell apart.
‘Shoddy workmanship,’ said Randalf, picking up a loose screw and examining it.
Margot took to the air and hovered protectively over Norbert, who wielded his makeshift club and lumbered to the aid of two footmen trapped beneath the birdbath. He beat off several waves of attacking coat hangers.
The footmen emerged from their hiding place and shook their fists at the retreating wardrobes. ‘And don’t come back, or you’ll get more of the same!’ the smaller of the two shouted defiantly.
Just then, Veronica squawked with alarm. ‘Watch out! More enemy furniture approaching – and not just wardrobes!’ she screeched.
‘Help!’ shrieked the footmen and scurried back beneath the birdbath.
‘Cowards!’ said Randalf from behind Norbert.
Norbert strode off towards the approaching furniture – a couple of badly constructed cupboards and a large dresser with wonky shelves.
‘Norbert!’ cried Randalf. ‘Come back!’
‘Three wardrobes and a chest of drawers incoming!’ Veronica’s voice rang out.
Randalf ran after Norbert. Joe followed close behind, waving his sword at a couple of singed coat hangers.
‘Let Margot take care of them,’ said Randalf as the dragon swooped overhead in hot pursuit of a fleeing battalion of bookends. ‘Norbert! Norbert! Come back here and protect me . . . Please!’
Above them, Margot’s voice resounded loudly. ‘Take that, you overgrown bundle of firewood!’
Her tail swished through the air, and dealt a shattering blow to a fa
t chest with crude teddy bear carvings. The chest split and spilled its contents of garish teddy bear-patterned quilts, which promptly flapped at the dragon.
‘Get off me!’ Margot’s muffled voice cried out as she clawed desperately at the vast quilt with orange and red teddy bears which had wrapped itself around her neck.
‘Aaaargh!’ she cried.
The quilt clung on all the more tenaciously.
‘Mothballs,’ she groaned.
A second teddy bear quilt fluttered in damply and tangled itself around the dragon’s head.
‘Ugh!’ she roared. ‘Someone still wets the bed!’
‘Three more wardrobes, twin bedside cupboards and a set of occasional tables!’ Veronica announced urgently from Randalf’s shoulder.
Just then, the air whistled as the first of the wardrobes sliced down through the air at a steep angle.
CRASH!!!
The doors flew open and out leaped a crowd of pugnacious pillows, spoiling for a fight.
‘Aargh! Oof! Ouch!’ Randalf shouted as the pillows attacked him, thudding into his stomach and thumping him around the head. ‘Help! Help! Norbert!’
‘Mffll blffll,’ Margot thudded to the ground next to Joe.
She tried desperately to disentangle herself from the quilts. ‘Helmmpff!’
Joe’s head spun with it all. There were cries of pain and terror coming from every corner of the courtyard as more badly constructed wardrobes and flimsy cupboards came crashing down. A chest of drawers fell particularly awkwardly, smashing to bits and spilling its contents. Knickers, corsets and balled-up socks tumbled out and joined the battle.
‘Two wardrobes and a piano stool to your left!’ Veronica announced.
With his heart in his mouth, Joe gripped his sword and, with a swish and a swoosh, sliced through the quilt around Margot’s head.
The dragon looked round. ‘Thank you, my dear boy,’ she said gratefully. ‘Those dreadful quilts smelt worse than the Potty of Thrynn!’
‘Warrior-hero at your service,’ smiled Joe.
‘You’re an angel!’ Margot shouted as she launched herself up off the ground and soared back into the air. The incoming piano stool never stood a chance.
‘Four more wardrobes and . . . Aaargh!’ Veronica squawked as a volley of cups, saucers and plates whistled past her and smashed on the paving stones below. ‘Margot!’ she screeched. ‘See to that Welsh dresser at once!’
Joe turned and joined Norbert, who was hurrying to help Randalf. The wizard was losing a fight with a pair of pink satin pillows shaped like love-hearts.
‘Help me!’ he cried as the pillows boxed his ears.
‘Take that!’ Joe roared as he raised his sword and lunged at the first pillow. There was an explosion of feathers. ‘And that! And that! And that!’ he cried as he stabbed and slashed at the second.
A snowstorm of feathers filled the air, so thick he could barely see his hands before his face. Suddenly, a huge bolster swung round and landed a crunching blow on Joe’s helmet, jamming it down hard over his eyes.
He was blind!
All around him, the noise was building up to a mighty crescendo. Banging and crashing, splintering and smashing. Roars of triumph and howls of defeat. Clattering, shattering, screaming and shouting. And above it all, the sound of the dragon’s mighty roar as she swooped this way and that.
Which way is the battle going? Joe wondered as he fought to prise the helmet off his head.
He couldn’t see a thing. His arms were aching, his head was throbbing – and the swirling feathers were making him sneeze. Lunging and parrying as best he could, he stumbled blindly over the thick mattress of fluffy down, scraps of quilt and splinters of shattered hangers which covered the ground.
‘Randalf!’ he called out. ‘Norbert! Veronica! Where are you?’
He paused and listened, but no one replied. He lowered his sword thoughtfully. Unless it was his imagination, the noise finally seemed to be abating. From his right, there came a grinding crunch; from his left, a muffled thud.
Then nothing. Nothing at all.
Joe trembled. It was quiet now. Almost too quiet. With a final despairing effort, Joe seized his helmet by its ornate wings and tugged with all his might.
Pop!
The battered helmet finally came off. Blinking through the slowly settling blizzard of feathers, Joe looked round.
‘Woof!’
‘Henry!’ shouted Joe. ‘Over here, boy.’ The next second, Henry came bounding out of the storm of feathers, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Joe crouched down and ruffled his fur. ‘Good dog,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you’re safe. But where’s everyone else? Eh? Where are they all?’
‘Well, I can’t speak for the others,’ came Randalf’s voice. ‘But I’m here.’
‘And I’m here, sir,’ said Norbert.
‘Where?’ said Randalf.
‘I don’t know,’ said Norbert thoughtfully. ‘But I am. And Veronica’s here with me to prove it.’
‘For my sins,’ the budgie muttered.
Soon, the whole courtyard was buzzing with conversation.
Joe turned his head, first this way, then that, following the different voices. And as the feathers settled, he began to make out the bodies that went with those voices.
There was Norbert, sitting on a pile of splintered timber, with Veronica perched on his shoulder.
There were Benson and the under-gardener, who’d had the bucket stuck on his head, emerging from behind an upturned table, looking at some broken flower pots and tutting loudly.
And there was Randalf. He was holding up what looked to be a pair of frilly lace pantaloons and examining them closely. When he caught Joe staring at him, his face turned bright crimson.
‘I . . . I need a new pair,’ he stammered. ‘Margot ruined mine.’
‘You’re worse than Roger the Wrinkled,’ Veronica commented darkly.
Joe looked round. Splintered smouldering wood lay everywhere. There were doors off their hinges, drawers in pieces, broken hangers, bookends, crockery and everything shrouded in the blanket of feathers from the pillows and quilts.
‘We did it,’ he said proudly. ‘We won the battle!’
‘Indeed we did,’ said Randalf, hurriedly screwing the silk underwear up into a ball and thrusting it into his pocket. ‘Thanks to my inspired generalship.’
‘Yes, inspired by terror,’ said Veronica. ‘“Norbert! Help! Help!”’ she mimicked.
‘Shut up, Veronica,’ said Randalf.
‘Margot?’ said Norbert. ‘Has anyone seen Margot?’
‘I’m up here, dear,’ came a voice from the top of the castle gates.
They looked up to see the dragon perched comfortably, examining her talons.
‘Margot, you were magnificent!’ said Norbert. ‘We’d never have managed without you.’
‘One good turn deserves another, Norbert, dear heart,’ said Margot. ‘Without you, my cave would still look like a Broken, Missing or Useless stall. Speaking of which,’ she said, ‘I really should be getting back.’ She sighed. ‘A hoard of treasure can be such a burden.’
‘Speaking of treasure,’ Randalf muttered. ‘Eighty gold big ’uns is not to be sniffed at.’ He looked round the courtyard for the Horned Baron.
The dragon reared up on her hind legs, flapped her wings and launched herself off into the first pink blush of morning.
‘Farewell!’ she cried. ‘It has been charming getting to know you all. Joe, Henry, Veronica and particularly you, Norbert, of course. You know, I think I’ll even miss old Fatso! Remember, Norbert, darling – keep in touch!’
‘I will,’ Norbert called back.
The dragon flapped off into the night. ‘See you all in twenty years or so,’ she called, her voice getting fainter.
Norbert wiped a tear from the corner of each of his three eyes. ‘Bye-bye, Margot,’ he whispered.
Joe waved.
Randalf chuckled. ‘Did you all hear that? She said she’d miss me!�
�� he said softly. He stared after the departing dragon. ‘Randalf the Wise. Dragon-tamer . . .’
‘I think her words were, old Fatso,’ said Veronica.
‘Shut up, Veronica!’ said Randalf. ‘Oh, look, there he is!’ He cupped his hand to his mouth. ‘Oh, Horned Baron!’ he called. ‘Horned Baron!’
Joe turned to see a short, stooped figure scuttling along the castle wall. His helmet was even more dented than Joe’s own, with the horns sticking out at crazy angles.
‘HORNED BARON!’ Randalf bellowed. ‘SIR!’
The Horned Baron stopped and looked round innocently. ‘Did somebody call me?’ he said.
Randalf strode towards him, cutting a swathe through the piles of feathers and splinters of wood. ‘It is I, sir,’ he said. ‘Randalf the Wise. Supplier of warrior-heroes and dragons in emergencies.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Eighty gold big ’uns, I believe we agreed.’
‘Quite, quite,’ said the Horned Baron. ‘Send me a bill. You’ll take a cheque, won’t you?’
‘I’m strictly a cash wizard,’ said Randalf firmly. He held out his hand. ‘Eighty gold big ’uns, if you please.’
‘I don’t carry that much on me,’ said the Horned Baron, patting his pockets and shrugging. ‘Sorry.’
‘But . . . but . . .’ Randalf blustered.
The Horned Baron smiled and laid a hand on the wizard’s shoulder. ‘But enough of this. After all, we shouldn’t be talking about money now. This is a time for celebration! Three cheers for Randalf the Wise!’
Benson and a couple of footmen cheered weakly.
‘Well done!’ said the baron. ‘Now, what’s everyone waiting for?’
Several under-gardeners and the herald looked at each other, then back at the baron.
‘Well?’ he said. He paused and threw an angry look round the courtyard. ‘Start clearing up this mess!’ he snapped. ‘What on earth is Ingrid going to say?’
Just then, a loud clapping noise erupted from the other side of the castle. Everyone looked up to see one single, solitary wardrobe flying over the towers and castellations back in the direction of Elfwood.
As the wardrobe flapped away into the distance, glinting in the low, early morning sunlight, a muffled voice was heard crying out.
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