One Big Wacky Family

by Jackie French

  They climbed the hill above the cottage in silence. Finally Snidge pointed. ‘See that mountain,’ he said. ‘My dad says he’s seen a dragon flying over there lots of times. It comes out of a cave in the cliffs.’

  ‘What does it look like?’ asked Horace cautiously. Maybe the dragon was only Dad and not a real dragon at all.

  ‘It was reddish, with great big wings and…’

  Horace sighed in relief. Dad had gold scales! This had to be a real dragon after all! He shaded his eyes and peered into the distance. ‘Exactly where is this cave then?’

  Grub fumbled in the pockets of her overalls. She handed him a small black thing with two circles pointing out. ‘Here, try this, big brother.’

  Horace looked at it suspiciously. ‘What do you do with it?’

  ‘If you look through the two circles they make things appear closer. I invented it last year when I had the measles and had to stay in bed for a month.’

  ‘Really?’ Horace blinked. ‘It might be useful!’

  ‘Huh,’ said Grub. ‘All my inventions are useful. It’s just that people haven’t caught up with them yet. Go on, try it.’

  Horace put the invention against his eyes. Immediately the far off mountain jumped in to view.

  ‘Gadzooks!’ he said, amazed. ‘The mountain looks like it’s right here! I can see the cave too! It’s a great, big black one!’

  ‘I told you my inventions were useful,’ said Grub smugly.

  ‘Right,’ said Snidge. ‘Let’s get organised. We’ll all meet at Horace and Grub’s place right after breakfast. Dad’s mending broadswords. I can borrow one for each of us! The wooden swords we use at school will be no use against a dragon.’

  ‘I’ll bring my dad’s shield,’ offered Bernard.

  ‘I’ll bring the nets we use for catching pigs,’ said Bran. He brightened. ‘Hey! How about I stand above the cave and when the dragon comes out I’ll throw a net over it to trap it?’

  ‘And the rest of us will rush it and Horace can…can…kill it,’ said Snidge. His face fell. ‘I wish we didn’t have to kill the dragon though,’ he added softly.

  Grub bit her lip. ‘Dragons—real dragons,’ she added, looking at Horace meaningfully, ‘steal pigs and sheep.’

  ‘They terrorise damsels,’ added Pol.

  ‘They burn the crops,’ said Bernard. He gulped. ‘I wish we didn’t have to kill it too,’ he whispered. ‘But we do! Otherwise Horace will be thrown out of school.’

  And Mum and Dad will be ashamed forever, thought Horace.

  ‘Alright!’ he said aloud. ‘We’ll meet tomorrow after breakfast. Um…’ he pretended to think for a moment. ‘How about we meet at lunch time instead? So we all get a good night’s sleep.’

  Grub looked at him suspiciously. ‘Are you planning anything, big brother?’

  ‘Me? Of course not,’ said Horace. He crossed his fingers behind his back.

  CHAPTER 13

  Horace Goes Out Alone

  Horace woke early and peered out the window. The morning star twinkled blue and silver on the horizon. Dawn was not far off.

  Horace dressed quickly: his toughest boots, his leather trews and his woollen cloak. None of which would be any help against dragon’s breath, but they were all he had.

  Dad’s snores echoed down the hall, as Horace crept out to the kitchen. For a moment he was tempted to wake his parents and ask for help. Maybe Mum could make him invincible, or Dad could help in the battle, dragon against dragon.

  Horace shook his head. Dad loved dragons too much to ever fight one. And the last time Mum had tried to make him invincible had been at the sword fights last term—she’d made him invisible instead. It had taken her three days to make him visible again, so he could go to school. She’d sent a note to school to say he’d been sick, which had been really embarrassing, because dear old Sir Bunny had made sure Horace sat by the fire for days in case he got chilled and brought him a warm posset at lunch time.

  Horace shivered, even though the cottage was warm. Sir Sneazle would never accept a note from his mum as an excuse for anything.

  It was still dark in the kitchen, the grey morning light hardly penetrating the curtains. Horace shuffled through the dimness, grabbing a crust of bread and hunk of cheese. He gazed around the kitchen and finally selected the dustbin lid, the carving knife and the broom.

  The dustbin lid would have to be his shield, and if he tied the carving knife onto the broom handle he could use it for a sword. They weren’t as good as a real sword and shield, but they were all he had.

  Horace shook his head. How could he possibly risk the lives of his friends—or Grub—to help him fight the dragon? It was his homework, not theirs, in all its horror and danger.

  Horace opened the front door and slipped outside.

  ‘Good luck,’ whispered Doorknocker.

  Horace turned in surprise. ‘How come you’re not complaining at me as usual?’ he demanded quietly.

  Doorknocker gazed at him sombrely. ‘Not this morning’, he said softly. ‘This isn’t the time for grumbling now, is it, boy? Not when you’re going to fight a dragon.’

  ‘No,’ admitted Horace. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You can’t hide much from a doorknocker. Good luck,’ said Doorknocker again.

  ‘Thanks,’ whispered Horace. He grasped the dustbin lid and broom more firmly and trotted down the path.

  CHAPTER 14

  Horace Meets a Dragon

  The light grew stronger as he walked. The world smelt of dew and sunlight. Birds screeched from the branches. A deer twitched its nose at him, then bent its head to pull at the lush grass.

  It was all so peaceful Horace found it hard to believe that in half an hour he might be fighting a dragon. How could violence exist in this fresh and lovely land? Yet not long ago, before King Arthur brought peace to the country, no one could have walked in safety as he was doing now.

  Horace bit his lip. It was worth anything to become one of King Arthur’s knights, he told himself. Even fighting a dragon!

  Horace strode on.

  He was glad now he’d brought the bread and cheese. He nibbled the food as he walked, then stooped to drink at a small stream, snow cold and tasting of ice.

  The dragon mountain was growing closer.

  Horace could see the cave now, looming blacker than the dark cliffs at the bottom of the mountain. Once, he supposed, the cave’s mouth would have been hidden by bushes—in the days when dragons were still hunted. But now the scrub had been cleared away. He could even smell the cave, cold air and colder soil and the faint scent of…

  Dragon.

  Horace gulped. The cave smelt like Dad, a hint of fire and sulphur and hot rock. There was a thread of heat in the cold air too, as though something that breathed fire lived inside.

  But maybe this dragon wouldn’t look like Dad, thought Horace hopefully. Perhaps this dragon was a ruthless killer and deserved to die!

  Horace began to shiver. Did he really want to face a ruthless killer of a dragon? And surely someone would have noticed if a ruthless killer dragon was around? Damsels missing, crops destroyed…

  Horace raised his chin. It was either kill a dragon or be expelled! He stomped closer to the cave and took a deep breath for the traditional dragon challenge. ‘Avaunt, Ye Dragon!’ he squeaked.

  A pigeon gazed down at him, interested. Horace tried again. ‘Avaunt, Ye Dragon!’

  This time the yell was louder. The pigeon blinked, then flew away.

  Horace waited.

  Maybe there wasn’t a dragon here at all, he thought hopefully. Horace shook his head. Even if there wasn’t a dragon here he’d still have to find one somewhere by tomorrow morning and…

  ‘Who’s making all that racket on a Sunday morning?’ Two golden eyes peered out at Horace from the cave.

  ‘Um, me,’ said Horace. ‘Avaunt, Ye Dragon.’

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ grumbled the dragon, waddling out of the cave. ‘There’s no need to
yell.’

  The dragon was as high as the school roof and its scales were a reddish gold. Its wide wings drooped and its massive tail dragged behind, sending up a cloud of dust that smelt of bat droppings.

  Horace gulped. The dragon might be another colour, but it still looked too much like Dad.

  But Dad’s not really a dragon, Horace reminded himself. If Dad liked turning into an apple tree I’d still be able to eat apple pies, Horace justified. But if Dad liked being a sheep, he wondered, would he still enjoy roast lamb?

  It was difficult, he decided. Life just wasn’t simple.

  ‘Look,’ interrupted the dragon impatiently. ‘Are you challenging me or not?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Horace. ‘I mean yes, I am challenging you. I was just trying to think a few things through.’

  The dragon blinked at him. ‘Are you sure you want to challenge me?’ it asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Horace more firmly.

  ‘Even though I’m six metres tall and you’re…’ the dragon calculated, ‘…one and a half metres tall?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Horace. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry you’re an endangered species but I have to fight you!’

  ‘No need to apologise,’ said the dragon kindly. ‘I’m the one who’s six metres high with fangs like daggers and fiery breath that can cook a cow a thousand paces away.’

  ‘Oh. I see your point,’ said Horace.

  Something rumbled loudly. The dragon pressed its stomach. ‘Excuse me,’ it apologised. ‘I haven’t had breakfast yet. Do you mind if we get on with this? Mum doesn’t like it if I’m late for breakfast.’

  ‘Er…dragons have mothers?’ inquired Horace.

  The dragon stared. ‘Hasn’t anyone explained the facts of life to you yet, kid? You need a mummy and a daddy and then you get baby dragons.’ The dragon yawned. ‘Come on then. You better attack me first.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Horace.

  The dragon sighed. ‘Because I’m six metres tall et cetera and so forth, and it’s bad manners to attack someone smaller than you, especially if they don’t have wings or fangs or fiery breath, and they’re only armed with a broomstick, a carving knife and a dustbin lid. Get it?’

  Horace nodded miserably. ‘I get it,’ he said. He tried to think of some good last words. A message to his parents, maybe, or his friends. Something like, At least I tried to do my homework.

  Somehow they didn’t sound like good last words.

  ‘What the heck,’ muttered Horace. He raised his carving knife and broomstick, and charged.

  CHAPTER 15

  Horace the Dragon Slayer

  The dragon scratched under its wing, one eye on Horace, then casually bent down and grabbed Horace’s broomstick with its teeth.

  Crunch, crunch!

  Horace watched as the broomstick and carving knife disappeared down the dragon’s gullet.

  The dragon burped. ‘Delicious,’ it said happily. ‘Now, are you going to get your dagger out and try and stab me? Then I’ll swallow you in one gulp and go and have my breakfast.’

  ‘I don’t have a dagger,’ admitted Horace.

  The dragon sighed. ‘Then you’d better try something else,’ it advised him.

  Horace gulped. ‘Like what?’ he asked.

  ‘How do I know?’ said the dragon. ‘You’re the dragon slayer. I’m just a dragon.’

  Horace tried to think. But how could he think properly with a six-metre, fire-breathing dragon standing over him? And what would Mum and Dad really want? A son who didn’t do his homework and was expelled, or a son who’d been digested into a pile of dragon droppings?

  Maybe, thought Horace hopefully, this whole dragon hunt was a really bad idea! There had to be some other way to satisfy Sir Sneazle!

  ‘Well actually, Sir Dragon,’ began Horace nervously.

  The dragon stared. ‘What did you call me?’ it demanded.

  ‘Er, Sir Dragon,’ said Horace politely.

  The dragon gave a howl of rage. ‘How dare you?’ it screamed. The burst of fire whizzed past Horace’s ear. A bush behind him burst into flames.

  ‘What? What’s wrong?’ cried Horace. ‘I was only trying to be courteous!’

  ‘I’m a girl!’ yelled the dragon. She waddled closer and picked Horace up between her claws. ‘You dopey knight!’ she roared. ‘Can’t you tell the difference between a girl dragon—a pretty gorgeous girl dragon some people think—and a boy dragon?’

  ‘Er,’ said Horace, dangling helplessly. ‘Now that I see you closer, I mean I’ve never met a dragon before so how could I…? What I’m trying to say is, I didn’t mean to be insulting!’

  ‘Sparkie darling, what do you think you’re doing? Haven’t I told you a thousand times not to play with your food?’

  Another dragon’s head poked out of the cave. This dragon was reddish silver, rather than reddish gold, and had a suspiciously mum-like look in its eye.

  Sparkie lifted her long wrinkled nose. ‘He insulted me, Mum!’

  ‘That’s no excuse for playing with him!’ declared the mother dragon. ‘Now be a good girl and swallow him up quickly. Your strawberry muffins are getting cold.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Sparkie turned to Horace again.

  ‘And don’t lick your fingers afterwards!’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  Sparkie’s mouth opened wider. Horace gazed down at the pointed teeth and black forked tongue and…

  ‘Stop!’

  Sparkie stopped. ‘But Mum, I’m eating him politely,’ Sparkie protested.

  The ground reverberated as the large dragon thundered towards them. ‘But it’s Horace!’ she cried. ‘Sparkie darling! Don’t you recognise your cousin? It’s little Horace!’

  CHAPTER 16

  Did You Say I’m Your…

  ‘C—cousin?’ exclaimed Horace.

  They were in the cave, a giant chamber way down beneath the mountain. Cold drips splashed every so often from the ceiling. It was the biggest room Horace had ever seen. It was also the most crammed!

  Piles of gold coins, suits of armour, ropes of diamonds, emeralds and rubies, silver chalices and some really tacky-looking glass beads towered around him, barely leaving room for a giant table, covered with a red-and-white tablecloth, and vast plates of muffins, fruit cake and bowls of apples.

  The dragons perched on the smaller piles of treasure. Lots of dragons, thought Horace dazedly, from his seat on what seemed to be a golden throne. Well, three dragons anyway, but they were big enough to make even the giant cave look small.

  The mother dragon smiled at him, showing her long white fangs. ‘Now, you’ve met your little cousin Sparkie, haven’t you?’ she asked.

  Horace blinked. Little Sparkie must weigh at least twenty tonnes, he thought. ‘Sort of,’ said Horace.

  Sparkie glared at him. She obviously still hadn’t forgiven him for not realising she was a girl.

  ‘And this is your Great Uncle Toaster.’

  ‘What’s that!’ demanded the older dragon. ‘Speak up, can’t you?’

  ‘This is Horace, Uncle Toaster!’ roared the mother dragon. The echoes boomed around the cave, sending down a shower of dust.

  ‘No need to yell!’ Great Uncle Toaster held out a wrinkly claw, ‘Good to meet you, son!’

  The mother dragon beamed. ‘And I’m your Aunty Fluffy!’

  Horace cradled his bruised hand. ‘Er…Fluffy?’ he muttered.

  Aunty Fluffy Dragon picked up a pile of knitting from the mound of gold coins, dislodging a small skull so it skittered down the heap. ‘Because I love knitting,’ she explained. ‘Now this,’ she held up her knitting, ‘is going to be a scarf for your great uncle. He does feel the cold so!’

  ‘Erp!’ said Great Uncle Toaster, sending a small jet of flame across the cave, just missing Horace’s eyebrows.

  ‘He gets indigestion too,’ added Aunty Fluffy.

  ‘What was that?’ rumbled Great Uncle Toaster.

  ‘I said you get indigestion!’ yelled Aunty Fluf
fy.

  ‘It was that gryphon I ate for dinner,’ apologised Great Uncle Toaster. ‘They don’t make gryphons like they used to.’ Another flame shot out of his rear end. ‘Excuse me,’ he apologised again.

  ‘Um, er, of course,’ stammered Horace. He wanted to ask how the dragons could possibly think he was their cousin or nephew or great nephew? But how could you ask a question like that with giant creatures all beaming at you, showing their fangs and burping or farting flames? Though being a dragon’s cousin seemed a much better idea than being eaten by one.

  ‘It’s good to finally meet you!’ smiled Aunty Fluffy. ‘So sad when families lose contact, isn’t it?’

  ‘Er…um,’ began Horace.

  ‘Have a muffin,’ urged Aunty Fluffy, picking up the giant plate. She shook her head. ‘They’ve all gone cold!’ Suddenly a burst of flame shot out of her mouth and over the muffins.

  ‘There you are!’ she said to Horace. ‘All nice and hot again! Or would you like a baked apple?’ She picked up the bowl of apples in her other claw. ‘It would only take me three huffs to cook them for you!’

  ‘Er, a muffin would be fine,’ said Horace nervously. He picked one up cautiously. It was hot! It was also the biggest muffin he had ever seen and so heavy he needed two hands to hold it. He took a cautious nibble as Aunty Fluffy looked at him in approval.

  ‘So nice you finally decided to visit us,’ said Aunty Fluffy, picking up her knitting again. ‘Sparkie, eat up your muffins. You won’t grow up to have a big strong flame if you don’t eat your muffins.’

  The smallest dragon was looking at Horace critically. ‘I think he’s cute,’ she decided at last. ‘Even if he is a human. He can’t help being dumb.’

  ‘Half human,’ corrected her mother, looking at Horace intently as her claws clicked busily on the knitting needles. ‘After all, his mother is human, too. You can always tell if a human is half dragon. They have webs at the base of their fingers and their hair shines with a touch of gold like dragon’s scales in the sunlight, even if it’s brown or black or red. And when they’re angry their eyes turn red, of course.’