The Dragons 3

by Colin Thompson

  To fetch a pail of water.

  Jack fell down and got horrendous burns

  Because a dragon had changed the water

  for sulphuric acid.

  And when Jill saw how awful he looked

  She did not go tumbling after

  But ran off with someone completely

  different.

  These got him a lot of new fans among all the young dragons. Suddenly Bloat was Mr Cool. All the girl dragons swooned over him and burnt his name in tree trunks and on each other’s arms, but even with Bloat around to adore they were becoming more and more restless too.

  It was decided at a top-secret dragon meeting in a top-secret dark cave, which the humans didn’t know about, that the peace treaty had to end. It was agreed that killing and eating humans was one of the basic instincts, rights, hobbies and relaxations of dragons, and to suppress them was very, very bad and dangerous and could lead to all sorts of deep-seated, emotional scars from which a creature as sensitive as a dragon might very well never recover.

  ‘So we’ve agreed then,’ said Spikeweed, ‘and of course we’re only going to do this for health reasons, ending this peace treaty with the humans once and for all. Of course,’ he added with a big grin, ‘I mean for our health, not the humans.’

  ‘That’s exactly right,’ said Primrose. ‘What we’re saying is we don’t really want to hurt the humans –’ loud sniggers from everyone ‘– but we have to for our own psychological wellbeing because, if we don’t, we will end up really, really depressed with deep-seated feelings of inadequacy, low self-esteem and sadness.’

  ‘And we’ll probably get scale-rot too,’ Bloat added.

  ‘And claw-fester,’ said his sister, Depressyng.

  ‘Yes,’ everyone agreed.

  They all decided to sleep on it, which meant it was five days before anyone woke up because dragons are even lazier than whippets.

  ‘We have one thing in our favour,’ said Spikeweed, ‘and only one thing really, and that is the element of surprise. The humans will not be expecting us to attack them, so when we do we must make as big an impact as we can, because after that it will be war.’

  It was agreed to send a deputation to Italy to see if Primrose’s old boyfriend, Spotty Oregano, and his relations would be interested in forming an alliance.

  ‘If we could get the families from other countries,’ Primrose suggested, ‘we could surround Avalon with a ring of fire.’

  It was a cool autumn evening and everyone agreed to plan their attack for the shortest day of the year.

  In the meantime, there were preparations to be made. All the young dragons who had been born since the peace treaty had to be taught how to behave like dragons and burn things.

  ‘What we need,’ said Primrose, ‘is a human spy. Quite apart from the fact that it would be really useful to have someone on our side with thumbs, it would be great to have someone on the inside of Camelot.’

  ‘We could get a crow,’ Bloat suggested.

  ‘No thumbs,’ said Spikeweed.

  ‘Yes, I know, but how will we find someone inside the castle who would work for us and who we could be sure wouldn’t double-cross us?’

  ‘Why not get both?’ said Bloat. ‘And then not tell the crow about the human and not tell the human about the crow. Actually, no, we do tell the crow about the human and he could keep an eye on them.’

  ‘I’m impressed and rather proud of you, my boy,’ said Primrose, who put him in charge of finding the secret agents. ‘You are so devious you could almost be a human.’29

  Bloat glowed with pride in the bright-green way only a dragon can glow30 and had to rush off and write a poem about it.

  I wandered lonely as a spy

  Who trips you as you walk by

  So you fall face down in a pie

  And get some pastry in your eye

  Which makes me laugh and makes you cry.

  The crow was easy to find. Crows are even more devious than humans, who usually only sell their souls to the highest bidder. Crows will sell their souls to any bidder and all bidders, sometimes as many as fifty times a day. Crows have no scruples at all, as long as there’s something in it for them. They go way, way beyond double-crossing. Some crows have been known to quadruple-zillion-cross people. It gets so complicated that they often double-cross themselves.

  ‘Spy, you say?’ said the first crow Bloat spoke to. ‘Well, of course I would. Us crows live to spy. Especially us Night Crows.’

  ‘Night Crows?’

  ‘Yeah. We can see in the dark better than an owl,’ the Night Crow explained. ‘And what with being black we can creep up on anything without being seen.’

  ‘Except another Night Crow,’ said Bloat.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said the crow.

  Damn, I hadn’t thought of that, he thought and hoped his mother hadn’t been following him the previous Thursday when, um, er …

  ‘I want you to go to Camelot and see if you can get us a human spy,’ said Bloat.

  ‘What for?’ said the crow. ‘Are you planning to end your peace treaty and attack the humans while they are least expecting it, thus giving yourself a huge advantage?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Bloat lied. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno,’ said the crow. ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘Well, no, it’s nothing like that at all.’

  ‘Fair enough, so why do you want a human spy?’

  ‘It’s secret,’ said Bloat. ‘Something to do with cabbages.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said the crow. ‘You should’ve said so.’

  And before Bloat could stop him, the Night Crow flew off to try and recruit one of the kitchen staff who, of course, would be completely useless as a spy unless the dragons wanted to know what everyone was having for dinner.

  The kitchen staff were never allowed up into the castle itself, so they’d never get any useful information at all, except maybe the cook’s recipe for Gristle Knob au Gadoue, which is absolutely no use to anyone without thumbs unless you’re prepared to cook it without peeling off the gristle knobs first. The cook kept the recipe scratched into a sabre-toothed tiger’s jawbone that she wore on a chain round her neck.

  Bloat realised a kitchen spy would be useless, but there was no way he was ever going to admit he’d made a mistake, especially to his mother. He would just have to bluff his way through. Bloat would get the kitchen hand to tell him whatever it was that he or she found out and then he would make stuff up.

  As long as he managed to ignore the little voice in his head that kept saying, It will end in tears, he’d be all right. By the law of averages some of it would have to be true.

  Or not.

  No one knew, nor will they ever know, whether Mordred knew his parents were bankrupt or not. He acted as if he didn’t, but then lying was one of his greatest talents so either could have been true.

  Tracyvere and Culvert had their suspicions from the way both Mordred’s parents had kept coming over to borrow things, none of which they had ever actually returned unless they had got broken or offered to pay for. The list was very, very long. Here are just a few of the things:

  Buckets of sweat – fourteen (this included the buckets).

  Earth – nineteen thousand kilos.

  Jam – three thousand jars (assorted flavours, but mainly earwig).

  Trousers – eighteen pairs (seven with people still inside them).

  Homing pigeons – twelve (all but one came back).

  Germs – impossible to count as they kept multiplying.

  Penknives – three (returned blunt).

  Skateboards – none (they hadn’t been invented, but that didn’t stop Mordred’s mother from asking).

  Anything that caught their eye – thousands.

  ‘Of course they might not have been hard-up at all,’ said Culvert. ‘It’s not like they spent their money on anything.’

  ‘True, they could have been incredibly rich, just very mean,�
� Tracyvere agreed.

  ‘I think they were rich, hard-up and definitely mean,’ said their son, Mordred, the current Lord Laclustre. ‘They were certainly mean to me. Do you know what they gave me for breakfast every day?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Toast.’

  ‘That’s not so bad,’ said Captain Silver. ‘All I got was seaweed.’

  ‘Second-hand toast that they had already licked all the jam and butter off.’

  Tracyvere and Culvert had never been to Castle Laclustre. The Laclustres had never invited them. It was nothing personal, they had never invited anyone to visit, not even their own relations. So this day was unique. Mordred was taking the first visitors in living, dying or long-lost memory to Castle Laclustre, so no one had the faintest idea what to expect.

  When Mordred and his parents had been banished to the remote island, they had left their estate in the care of the old family retainer, Sergycal, the second cousin of a remote great-aunt of the Russian czar’s uncle’s butler. He was as honest as the day is long, which, considering it was approaching the shortest day of the year, was not much of a recommendation. Of course, like all so-called ‘honest’ people, he was only honest to some people. He was immensely loyal to the Laclustres, or at least, more loyal than he was to anyone else apart from himself.

  As they reached the edge of the great estate – the Laclustres’ lands spread for miles in all directions, including up and down – things began to look bad. The fields were unkempt and overgrown, the stone walls and fences were falling apart, gates were missing and various articles of shredded clothing hung from tree branches. With no secure boundaries, the livestock were wandering around all over the place. All the goats had climbed into trees and were browsing on the shredded clothing.

  And there was an eerie quietness that spread for about fifty metres on either side of the road. Birds fell silent as they entered the area and the air had a terrible icy chill.

  Mordred had been away from Laclustre for no more than seven months, but the change filled him with terrible unease. Could it be that the old retainer, Sergycal, had betrayed the family? He had always acted in the most loyal and devoted way. Sergycal’s father had served the Laclustre family for over eighty years with never a cross word, no matter what had been demanded of him, and Sergycal had been the same.

  ‘This feels bad,’ Mordred said as they rose up the long drive to the castle. He turned back to Culvert and asked him if he or any of his family had seen anything or heard any stories.

  ‘None that you would put any faith in,’ said Culvert. ‘They were vague and strange and too unbelievable to believe.’

  ‘What were, the stories or your relatives?’ Mordred asked.

  ‘Both actually.’

  ‘So what were the stories?’

  ‘Something to do with a dark, mysterious society that call themselves the Knights Intolerant,’ said Culvert. ‘They were supposed to come from a strange land far to the east, several countries beyond the Caucasus. It all seemed too far-fetched to believe.’

  ‘Yet your retainer’s ancestors and mine came from that area,’ said Mordred.

  ‘Oh well, that probably explains it,’ said Culvert. ‘Probably got some family members over for a holiday. You know what a superstitious lot peasants are. They see a few foreigners in funny hats and their imaginations run wild.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’

  ‘And yet,’ Captain Shortbread Silver added, ‘I have heard tales of these Knights Intolerant.’

  ‘Well yes,’ said Mordred, ‘but I’m sure they’re not here.’

  As they rounded the corner and got their first sight of Castle Laclustre, two enormous men in funny hats stood blocking their way.

  ‘Vot are ve vonting here?’ said the first man.

  ‘Ve are vonting to turn around and run away, aren’t ve?’ said the second.

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you are wanting,’ said Mordred, ‘but I am wanting to go down the hill to that castle for I am Lord Laclustre and that is my home.’

  ‘No, is not true,’ said the first man. ‘My second cousin, Sergycal, is telling us that the Lord was banishinged to a faraway place with his wife and naughty boy. He is telling us that they will most certainly be deads by now.’

  ‘Some of that is true,’ said Mordred. ‘My parents and I were banished to a remote island and, yes, they are dead, but I am not. Come close and I will whisper you a secret.’

  The huge man, whose head was almost as big as Mordred, looked down at the child and assumed, due to their size difference, he was in no danger. He leant down and put his ear very close to Mordred’s mouth.

  There was a flash of steel and Mordred stabbed him through the heart with his secret knife that was not secret anymore and said very softly as the giant collapsed in front of him, ‘I am the naughty boy.’

  The second huge man looked confused.

  ‘Vot you done to my brother?’ he said, too slow to have seen the streaking blade and unable to believe a skinny little boy could have killed his sibling.

  ‘He’s fallen asleep,’ said Mordred. ‘Did you not hear the wonderful secret that made him so tired?’

  The second huge man shook his head. Mordred beckoned him close and killed him too.

  ‘Huh, the Knights Intolerant indeed,’ he laughed. ‘The Knights Incontinent, more like!’

  Captain Shortbread Silver stood in awe. This was not the pathetic boy whining self-pityingly as he threw up into a stormy sea. This was the devil in disguise who took action without wasting time for conversation first. And he was still only a child.

  Culvert and Tracyvere stood in awe. They remembered the few times they had seen Mordred over the years and always thought of him as a weak, snivelling baby. They’d found it hard to accept when the Captain had told them the boy had killed both his parents, but now they could believe it.

  The four of them sat down in a clump of bushes and looked down at the castle. There seemed to be no one about, the whole place had a deserted air to it.

  ‘Pity we couldn’t have got some information out of those two goons before you killed them,’ said the Captain.

  ‘That’s true,’ Mordred agreed, ‘but I’m not sure they were the chatting type. I suspect that speaking words was their second language and something they weren’t very good at.’

  ‘The main thing,’ said Culvert, ‘is how your man Sergycal is going to react when we arrive.’

  ‘Well, he was devoted to my parents,’ said Mordred. ‘Far more than I was. And he was always very kind to me. He taught me most of what I know, the things that have helped me to survive.’

  ‘What, like killing people?’ said Tracyvere.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mordred. ‘He was a wonderful teacher. On the other hand, he could have gone completely, insanely power-crazy and become a megalomaniac.’

  ‘Oh no, my lord,’ said a voice behind them. ‘Stick with the wonderful teacher bit.’

  It was Sergycal. He came forward with open hands and arms outstretched to show he was unarmed and threw himself at Mordred’s feet.

  ‘For I am seeing I taughted you well, young master,’ he said. ‘All those days we hunted the wild deer and teared them apart with our teeth were not in vain.’

  Mordred reached out to beckon Sergycal to rise and the two of them embraced.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I was knowing when they taked you and your parents away you would come returning back,’ said Sergycal, ‘and I was doing suspecting your parents would not being with you.’

  ‘Unfortunately I was forced to kill them,’ said Mordred.

  ‘Of course you were. It is being your destiny,’ said Sergycal. ‘And now I am doing swearing my allegiance to you, the sixteenth Lord Laclustre of Laclustre and the noble leader of the Knights Intolerant.’

  ‘The Knights Intolerant?’ said Mordred. ‘What are, no, hold on, I thought I was the fifteenth Lord?’

  ‘The ninth Lord is never spoke of, for he broug
ht terrible disgrace upon the House of Laclustre,’ said Sergycal.

  ‘How so?’ said pretty well everyone.

  ‘He married beneath him.’

  ‘What, you mean a commoner or worse still, a peasant?’ said Culvert.

  ‘Worse,’ said Sergycal. ‘It grieves me to tell you that his wife had more than two legs.’

  ‘You don’t mean he married a sheep or a horse, do you?’ said Mordred.

  ‘Worse. His wife had more than four legs,’ said Sergycal, ‘a lot more.’

  ‘You mean, he married a whole flock of sheep?’

  ‘No. The ninthly Lord of Laclustre did marrying a centipedes,’ Sergycal whispered. ‘Now may we please never talking of it again do. Just suffice it to say so, my lord, that you are being the sixteenth Lord of Laclustre.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Mordred. ‘So tell me, good Sergycal, who are The Knights Intolerant?’

  ‘They are being, my lord, an ancient and secretive order whose origins do stretching back in time go to well over a month ago,’ said Sergycal, ‘and you, my Lord, are being the Grand Inquisitor and Sacred Annihilator.’

  ‘Annihilator? What are we supposed to annihilate?’ said Mordred.

  Annihilate was a word he loved and the idea of being the Sacred Annihilator sounded very exciting. He was, after all, very good at it for someone so young.

  ‘The charter of the Knights Intolerant is doing stating that we exists to annihilate two things,’ Sergycal explained. ‘The first is being all our enemies and the second is being wizardy wizard peoples.’

  ‘Wizards?’ said Mordred. ‘But aren’t they useful?’

  ‘And who was sending you and your parents to the Rock of Death?’31

  ‘King Arthur.’

  ‘Yes, but who did the advising to him to?’

  ‘Merlin.’

  ‘Exactlys,’ said Sergycal, ‘and Merlin is therefore both of the things we are dedicated to annihilating being wrappered up in one. He is an enemys and he is a wizards.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Mordred. ‘You are a great and wise servant.’

  ‘Can anyone join?’ said Captain Shortbread Silver.

  ‘Membership is beings by invitation only,’ said Sergycal.