by Tad Williams
The thing of it is, dear Diary, that if I go far enough away to hide from this frightening Montedraco creature, I will not be able to take all my possessions, including all the previous volumes of you, my beloved journal. If I settle close enough that multiple trips are feasible, that ghastly galloping Greg will track me down. He has a nose for dragons like a bloodhound, curse him.
I cannot leave today, I suppose. But as soon as I solve this one problem, I will be gone.
Dear Diary
Not gone yet, but I soon will be. The terrible, terrible princess seems to be in a very good mood today. Perhaps ruining my life has been her goal all along. If so, she has succeeded brilliantly.
I demanded to know why she was smiling. “Old Greggie isn’t quite such an idiot as I took him for,” she replied. “In fact, he’s rather nice…in a kind of boyishly overeager way.”
I should have eaten her when I had the chance. I should have. But now she would only taste of bitter ashes in my mouth. Bitter ashes and oil paint.
Dear Diary
The Montedraco creature is arriving tomorrow, and I still have not decided what to do. Princess Lillian, with the help of the always-annoying Sir Greg, has taken it upon herself to disrupt my life even further by cleaning the cave, top to bottom. “You’ll want it to be nice for your guest,” she explained, one of the most senseless pronouncements I have ever heard.
But she can’t stay here in my cave, I said. It is completely impossible!
“I’ll be here as a chaperone,” the princess told me. “So it will be all right.”
I am positive that I once had a life that made sense. But I find I cannot remember it any more.
Dear Diary
I will say this for Ophidia—I mean, Ms. Montedraco. She is not a pushy person. She is very polite and well-spoken, as befits one of our superior species. And she brought me a Crusader helmet for my collection—a Maltese Grand Master, one of the few I did not have! She said its wearer was suprisingly fatty and toothsome, and she suspects that he did not do much actual fighting.
Here is the picture of Ophidia that Princess Lillian made. I am not certain that it entirely does her justice—the shapeliness of her haunch and the really charming iridescence of her scales somehow do not translate to stretched sheepskin.
I told her firmly, of course, that while I was pleased to make her acquaintance, as long as she was my guest, she must respect my long-established bachelor traditions.
Dear Diary
Someone has put new up new curtains. They are a truly disturbing sunshine-yellow.
I told Ophidia that I understood that she and Princess Lillian might wish to make some alterations in things around the place, but that under no circumstances could I allow my life to be disrupted. After all, this domestic botheration was in danger of distracting me from my high and noble purpose.
Dear Diary
Apparently, dear Diary, I am getting married tomorrow. I am not exactly certain how it happened. Princess Lillian tells me I am deliriously happy about it. I am not exactly certain about that either, but I must admit that the prospect of Ophidia ending her visit and going back to her distant mountain made me sad.
Still, might there not have been some less drastic method of solving that problem?
You are cordially invited to the Nuptial Feast
of
Flammiferus Vermistorix, Esq., and Ms. Ophidia Montedraco
On the First Wednesday of April
in a Large Field Outside the Gates of Castle Respectable
In Deference to the Finer Feelings (and Stomachs) of some of the Guests (some of Whom are Humans), no Animals More Learned than Sheep will be Consumed.
Dear Diary
We decided to make it a double wedding. Princess Lillian even sang a song. Sir Greg and the guests took it very bravely, I thought.
Ophidia and I plan to honeymoon in the South Seas, where there are apparently some hot lava pools that Ophidia says will “make old bones feel like new again.” We shall see. It’s a long way to fly, but I am actually looking forward to it. Perhaps I have indeed been a bit too much of a stay-at-home the last few centuries, as some have suggested. Not that I will lose all dignity and start behaving like a two-hundred-year-old youngster. I am a mature dragon, after all, with a certain gravity and a high and noble purpose.
Princess Lillian left us a copy of this to remember her by. She is moving back to the castle with Sir Greg. I regret to say that she has not reformed at all, and still says the most startling things without even a blush. She told us she looks forward to hearing “the pitter-patter of scaly little feet” before too long, and demanded to be allowed to paint the official portraits of “the dear sweet things”. I can hardly even bear to guess what she is talking about.
Pre-Nuptial Agreement between Princess Lillian of Castle Respectable and Sir Greg of Le Chateau du Beau Ideal.
1. No One or No Thing Shall Order the Princess Around or Seek to Make her Stop Drawing.
2. Sir Greg May Continue Questing Around and Fighting Dragons as Long as He Obtains Permission from Same (and No Dragons Are Injured During Combat.)
3. See Item number (1) One.
signed: (princess, and Greg’s “X”.)
Table of Contents
Diary of a Dragon