The Dreadful Dragon

by Kaye Umansky

  On the cliff itself, there was little to be seen apart from a clump of windblown trees growing right by the edge. One of them was much taller than the others. There was something at the top. It looked like – yes! A large, untidy nest.

  So. This, clearly, was the nest of the Wallaroon. But where were the crowds? The huge, excited crowds, armed with cameras and binoculars? The paper had said that the nest was a massive tourist attraction, but not a soul was to be seen. Weird. Come to think of it, where was the Wallaroon? It was supposed to be a big bird, but as far as he could see, the distant nest looked deserted. Perhaps it had gone for a bite to eat. Of course. That was it. It had flown off, taking the excited crowds with it. Leaving the solid gold egg alone and unprotected!

  Perfect timing. At last, luck was on his side. He wouldn’t even have to use his Finger Sparkles.

  Ronald brushed the last of the icicles off his Hat, shook a fish from his sleeve and set out for the trees.

  The tallest tree was, as might be expected, the one nearest the edge. It rose up, up, up. The lower branches shielded the nest from sight. But it was up there. Now all he had to do was climb.

  Ronald wasn’t bad at shinning up trees. When he was younger, he was regularly chased up them by bigger boys. The experience would come in handy.

  He removed his Cloak of Darkness, folded it and set it on the ground. It reeked of fish. He took off his battered Hat and placed it on top. Then he took a deep breath, spat on his hands, reached for the lowest branch – and began climbing.

  Back at the Clubhouse, Hattie had finished her last job of the afternoon, which was gluing back Mervyn’s nose, which had snapped off the statue on the landing. She was looking forward to putting her feet up with a mug of tea and a sandwich. First, though, she had to check on Denzil.

  She packed away her tools, slipped out the back door and made her way down to the bottom of the allotment.

  All was quiet in the woodshed.

  She opened the door. A terrible, terrible smell wafted out.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Hattie. ‘Oh, Denzil! You bad, bad boy!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Up a Tree

  Climbing was harder than Ronald remembered. The tree trunk was straight and smooth, with no useful forks where he could rest. The side branches were thin and bendy, with long gaps between them. He didn’t so much shin as stretch, haul, cling on trembling, then stretch, haul, cling and tremble again.

  He didn’t dare look down. He didn’t look up, either. He was afraid of seeing how much further he had to go. Out at sea, the sun dipped below the horizon.

  Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. Moss and little bits of tree bark rained on his shoulders and got into his eyes. His hands were full of splinters and all the strength was leaving his arms. The wind was getting stronger the higher he climbed. It felt like the swaying tree was about to keel over and plunge down the cliff on to black, jagged rocks at any minute.

  He climbed on. Stretch, haul, cling, tremble. Stretch, haul, cling, tremble. Would it never end?

  Well, yes. Most things do.

  He was nearly at the top now, where the trunk was really thin. Just above him, the tree forked – and in the fork, he could see the underside of the nest. With a dry mouth, he gripped the last bit of trunk, wrapped his knees around and pulled himself up. Stretch, heave – and he was there!

  Eagerly, he raised his chin over the edge of the nest and stared down.

  There was no golden egg. Instead, there was a sealed envelope. What was this?

  Carefully, Ronald reached over and picked it up. He hooked an arm around the trunk and opened it with shaking fingers. Inside was a single sheet of paper, with the Clubhouse masthead at the top. Right in the middle, in block capitals, were three words.

  HAPPY MERVYN DAY!

  He’d been tricked.

  Ronald let the sheet of paper go. It fluttered away on the wind.

  He couldn’t believe it. The whole thing was a set-up. There was no Gold Crested Wallaroon. There was no golden egg. The Wizards must have bribed the editor of Witchway World who, come to think of it, was Dave the Druid’s brother-in-law. It was all an elaborate prank – and he had fallen for it.

  Up close, the nest didn’t even look like a real bird’s nest. It was woven from plastic straws, which the Wizards had obviously filched from the kitchen. That meant that Butler and the kitchen staff were in on the joke.

  Ronald clung there, swaying. Now what? It was true that as a kid, he had been good at climbing up trees. But there was one thing he’d forgotten.

  He was rubbish at getting back down.

  It was morning in the Clubhouse. Hattie was doing her first job of the day, which was walking around with a sack, emptying the bins. She hadn’t slept well the night before.

  The problem, as usual, was Denzil. He had consumed an entire shed full of logs. Every last one. The result was catastrophic.

  The eating orgy had brought on another major growth spurt. He was no longer the size of a coffee table. He was more like a small pony. So large, he’d have trouble squeezing out of the door. Stretched out, the tips of his wings now touched the walls on both sides. And then, of course, there was the digestive process. All that churning and gassy stomach explosions. Right now he was slumped in the empty shed, looking sad because he’d been told off and had a tummyache. Well, it served him right.

  Hattie paused at the statue of Mervyn by the front door. His lightning bolt was glued back on. The lobby was deserted. No sign of Brenda. Hattie glanced around, fished the paper from her pocket and straightened it out. She’d been working really hard over the last few days. No one would begrudge her two minutes, surely? She leaned against Mervyn and began to read.

  BIRD ABOUT TO LAY EGG!

  Crowds have gathered at the site of the tallest tree on the cliffs at Sludgehaven, where the legendary Gold Crested Wallaroon . . .

  She read to the end. Well, almost the end. She had to stop because the Wizards were coming downstairs in a noisy group, on their way to breakfast.

  Hastily, Hattie folded the paper and slid behind Mervyn.

  The Wizards seemed to be in a particularly jolly mood, laughing and chattering. She caught snatches of their conversation as they strolled by.

  ‘Took long enough for him to take the bait, but he got there in the end . . .’

  ‘Did you see him running for the fish van, though? Thought I’d die laughing . . .’

  ‘Reckon he’s up the tree yet?’

  ‘Let’s break out the crystal balls after breakfast. I’d love to see him right now . . .’

  They passed on down the corridor, following the smell of frying fish. Well, it was Mervyn Day, when merry pranks were played, Mervyn’s song was sung and fish and chips were eaten at every meal.

  Hattie waited until they were gone, then stepped out from her hiding place.

  ‘Oh, Ron,’ she sighed. ‘You idiot.’

  Then she sprang into action.

  In the woodshed, Denzil’s ears pricked up at the sound of fast approaching footsteps. He knew he was in disgrace. He shouldn’t have done what he did, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Locking a Dragon in a woodshed is like putting a vampire in charge of a blood bank.

  The door opened and sunlight streamed in. It was her! It was Hattie, come to forgive him! Denzil lumbered to his feet and put on his most piteous expression, hoping for a cuddle. What he got instead was a face full of Ronald’s filthy old Robe of Mystery, which we last saw in the corner of his room.

  ‘Smell, Denzil!’ said Hattie urgently. ‘It’s Ronald!’

  Denzil’s nose wrinkled distastefully. He knew that. Dragons’ noses are highly sensitive, although not many people know that.

  ‘Out you come,’ said Hattie. ‘Hurry up!’

  She grabbed him by the ears and tugged. Desperate to oblige, Denzil sucked in his tummy and pushed. Between them, they got him through the doorway – but only just. It was like trying to squeeze a sponge through a slotted spoon. One thi
ng was certain. He wouldn’t be going back in.

  He wondered whether to roll over and paddle his feet or offer a claw. Rolling over was getting more difficult these days, so he went for the claw.

  ‘Not now!’ said Hattie. ‘No time for games. Hold still, I’m getting on.’

  To Denzil’s surprise, she gripped his frill and hauled herself astride his back. She felt as light as a feather. He lowered the frill to make her more comfortable. This was new! What now?

  ‘Right,’ said Hattie into his ear. ‘This is where you earn your keep. Don’t let me down.’ She dangled Ronald’s robe in front of his nose again. ‘Up you go, Denzil! Find! Find Ronald!’

  Denzil crouched down – unfurled his wings – and sprang into the air!

  At the top of the tree in Sludgehaven, Ronald perched rigidly in the fake straw nest. He had been there all night.

  It had taken the last of his strength to clamber in. It was just big enough to take him, providing he kept his knees bent. He had sat down carefully – very, very carefully, making sure the balance was right – and there he had stayed, white-knuckled hands clutching the sides, trying not to wobble or think of what lay below.

  He had seen the stars come out above. He had watched the distant pier lights wink out far, far below. He had felt the night breeze blowing in from the sea. He had heard the owls hooting. Bats came and went. A passing squirrel sat on his head and ate a nut, just for a laugh. At one point, a flock of migrating geese had paused overhead to examine him before flying on, honking with helpless mirth.

  The long dark night crawled by and still he sat, face pale and head swimming, staring straight ahead into black space, ignoring the whirling stars, not daring to move a muscle. He couldn’t even think. There was only one thought occupying his brain. It chased out all others.

  Must. Not. Move.

  It hadn’t got any better when the stars finally went in and the sun rose. Now he could see again – and he didn’t want to. He knew without looking that the climb down would be impossible. His limbs were too numb.

  Imagine how he felt when he saw the tiny dot flying towards him! The dot that wasn’t an owl, bat, goose or seagull. The dot that was, in fact, a large green Dragon with a determined-looking girl on his back!

  Just when all seemed lost, the cavalry had arrived!

  Ignoring his frozen limbs, Ronald sprang to his feet, waving wildly and shouting.

  ‘Hattie! Denzil! Over here, boy!’

  What happened next was a real shame. What happened was, he wobbled – lost his balance –

  And fell like a stone!

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hero Returns

  Back in the Clubhouse, the Wizards were in the Dining Hall, waiting for lunch. It was Mervyn Day, so that meant more fish and chips. There had been fish and chips for breakfast too. The Wizards hadn’t even got up from the table. On Mervyn Day, meals flowed smoothly into each other, with the occasional break for Magical tricks, which were performed between courses.

  ‘A toast to Mervyn, our glorious founder!’ shouted Frank the Foreteller.

  ‘To Mervyn!’ roared the Wizards, clinking their mugs of tea.

  ‘Shall we shing the shong now?’ That was Harold the Hoodwinker, who mistakenly believed that he had a pleasant singing voice.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Gerald the Just. ‘This would seem to be a good time – good grief!’ He jaw dropped open as he stared through the window. ‘Are my eyes deceiving me? There appears to be a – Dragon coming in to land! And isn’t that – yes, I do believe it is – it’s got young Ronald on its back!’

  Out in the courtyard, Denzil’s talons skidded on the flagstones, raising sparks. Using his wings as brakes, he came to an emergency stop just before crashing into the ornamental fountain. He gave a snort, folded his wings and stood panting, tongue hanging out and steam rising from his heaving sides.

  ‘Good boy,’ said Hattie, giving him a pat. ‘You did really well.’ She slid off his back. ‘Come on, Ron. Down you get.’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ said Ronald. ‘Just a minute.’

  He needed to sit for a moment. Try to collect his thoughts. Try to forget that heart-stopping moment when he fell out of the nest and focus instead on the bit when Denzil came swooping to the rescue, inserting himself between Ronald and the sharp rocks at the very last possible second! Oh, that agonising pain when he thumped on to the broad green back! He would have toppled off again if Hattie hadn’t grabbed him. It would be a long time before he forgot about that.

  Flying home had been no picnic either. Hattie was at the front and had Denzil’s ears to cling on to. Ronald had nothing to hold but Hattie. He had wrapped his arms around her waist, shut his eyes and tried not to scream as the wind buffeted his cheeks and the countryside flashed by hundreds of metres below.

  It had been cold too. He wasn’t dressed for Dragon riding. His Cloak and Hat were long gone, abandoned at the foot of the tree. He had lost his shoes in the fall. His Other Robe, not that great at the best of times, was torn in a million places. Yes, the flight had been truly horrible.

  But he was home. Home and in one piece. He wanted to savour the moment. Pick the flies out of his teeth. Get his nerves under control. Try to come up with an explanation about why he had arrived home on a Dragon. There would be questions asked about that. And there would be endless teasing, of course. The Wizards would never let him forget that he had been fool enough to fall for their latest, elaborate prank.

  ‘Come on!’ insisted Hattie. ‘You can’t stay there all day. Anyway, it looks like we’ve got company.’

  The main door had opened. Wizards were hurrying down the steps led by Frank the Foreteller. They were closely followed by Butler, the kitchen staff, Brenda, Mrs Swipe and the laundry girls, and even Old Crabbit. Miss Stickler was there too, hovering at the back. The entire Clubhouse had turned out to gawp at him.

  Ronald slithered down from Denzil’s back. This was it, then. Time to face the music.

  ‘Flaming Fireballs!’ puffed Frank, who was the first to arrive. His face was purple with the effort of running. ‘What in the world is that, young Ronald?’

  ‘My Dragon,’ said Ronald. He was too tired to come up with any more lies.

  ‘What a magnificent beast!’ That was Alf the Invisible’s voice, coming from Denzil’s front end. Denzil stared at the air in puzzlement, then backed away, hissing.

  ‘Sssh,’ said Hattie, giving him a soothing pat. ‘Calm down, there’s a good boy.’

  Obediently, Denzil stood still.

  ‘By the powers, I do believe it’s trained!’ gasped Gerald.

  ‘Did you shummon it yourshelf, boy?’ enquired Harold. Everyone was clustering around Denzil, poking at his scales, lifting his ears and peering up his nose. To his credit, he was taking it quite well.

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Ronald. ‘I did it in the lab a few days ago.’

  ‘In the lab?’ said Frank the Foreteller sharply. ‘I hope you didn’t disturb my experiment.’

  ‘I might have, actually,’ admitted Ronald. ‘A complete accident, of course.’

  ‘Give the lad some credit,’ said Gerald. ‘A Dragon Summoning. That’s serious Magic. Most Dragons resent being summoned. Usually turn on you. Well, the one I got did. Couldn’t do a thing with it, had to send it back.’

  ‘Didn’t know you had it in you, boy,’ agreed Fred, knocking out his pipe on Denzil’s side. Denzil extended his tongue, scooped up the burning ashes and stood munching them with pleasure.

  ‘Where have you been keeping it?’ Dave wanted to know.

  ‘In my room. Until it got too big.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asked Fred.

  ‘Well – there’s a No Pets rule, isn’t there?’ There fell an uncomfortable silence. Ronald stared at them. ‘Well – isn’t there?’

  The Wizards shuffled their feet and avoided each other’s eyes. None of them would admit it, but each had a secret pet that he kept in his room. Between them, they had a gold-plated
rhino (Rex), a sequinned aardvark (Archie), a flashing tiger (Timmy), a sparkling guinea pig (George), an invisible canary who sang show tunes (Carol) and a duck called Dick who quacked in Latin. All very interesting in their own way, of course. But nothing like as impressive as a living, breathing, almost full-scale, perfectly trained Dragon.

  ‘Does it breathe fire?’ enquired Alf, to change the subject.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ronald. ‘But I don’t encourage it.’

  ‘Well, young Ronald, you are to be congratulated,’ said Gerald. ‘I rather think that we have underestimated you. Gentlemen, we are in the presence of a Dragon Master.’

  Ronald found himself surrounded. Wizards were slapping him on the back. Queuing up to shake his hand. Telling him how clever he was. Butler was leading the kitchen staff in a round of polite applause. Even Mrs Swipe was staring at him with something like admiration. He felt a bit of a fraud. After all, Hattie had done most of the work.

  ‘Sorry about the prank, by the way,’ said Frank. ‘The business with the Wallaroon and the golden egg and so on. Just our little joke for Mervyn Day. Traditional to pick on the youngest. No hard feelings, eh? Go on, Gerald. Give it to him.’

  ‘Here, lad,’ said Gerald. ‘Just a little something for being a good sport.’ He thrust a fat leather purse into Ronald’s hand. ‘We had a whip-round. Get yourself some new togs from that Catalogue you’re so fond of. You’re looking a bit threadbare these days.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Ronald. ‘OK. Thanks.’

  ‘Talking of Mervyn, ishn’t it time we shang the shong?’ said Harold.

  ‘Indeed it is,’ agreed Gerald. ‘Stand to attention, everyone.’

  And the Wizards removed their hats, placed one arm across their chests, and burst into song.

  ‘Mervyn! Mervyn!

  No one more deservin’,