Horace looked down at his fingers. There were tiny webs between them, he realised. He also wondered if his hair gleamed in the sunlight.
But he couldn’t be half dragon! He couldn’t! Dad just pretended to be a dragon! Didn’t he?
Aunty Fluffy was still beaming at him. ‘Oh, Horace dear, I remember when your dad met your mum. It was so romantic! Just another case of damsel meets dragon. Your mum was collecting toad droppings in the forest for one of her spells and your dad and I were chasing gryphons. Your dad took one look at your mum and zoot!’
‘Z…zoot?’ queried Horace hesitantly.
Aunty Fluffy nodded, her knitting needles clicking. ‘He stared at her and I stared at him and I thought, my big brother’s fallen in love!’ Aunty Fluffy wiped away a sentimental tear.
‘And Mum?’ asked Horace warily.
‘Oh, she shrieked and ran in the opposite direction.
You know how it is with humans. No offence,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Some of my best friends used to be humans.’ (Horace decided not to ask about the ‘used to be’.) ‘That was in the bad old days of course,’ continued Aunty Fluffy, ‘before dragons were protected.’
‘What was that?’ demanded Great Uncle Toaster.
‘I said it was before humans and dragons stopped fighting each other!’ roared Aunty Fluffy.
‘I used to like a bit of human for dinner,’ boomed Great Uncle Toaster reminiscently.
‘Shh!’ said Aunty Fluffy. ‘Of course no dragon would ever eat a human now,’ she assured Horace. ‘Well, not often. Hardly ever really. Just as a special treat sometimes if one turns up at the cave…’ She casually brushed a skull back under the pile of coins. ‘Where was I?’
‘Dad had just fallen in love with Mum,’ said Horace. He took another nibble of his muffin. It had bits of strawberry in it and was delicious, even if it was enormous.
‘Well, your dad flew after her and saw where she lived. So he started sending her presents.’
‘Bunches of flowers and boxes of chocolates?’ suggested Horace.
‘Oak trees and dead gryphons actually,’ said Aunty Fluffy. ‘And he found her some toad droppings too. Your mum got crosser and crosser about the mess on her doorstep every morning. Then one day she got so cross she threatened to make a spell to send him away forever.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Horace. ‘It went wrong.’
‘How did you know?’ asked Aunty Fluffy, surprised.
‘Mum’s spells often go wrong,’ explained Horace.
Aunty Fluffy took up another ball of wool. ‘Well, instead of making him disappear she accidentally turned him into a human. And she fell in love with him at first sight—well, first sight as a human, she’d seen him every day as a dragon. And they got married and…’
Aunty Fluffy shook her head sadly. ‘And your parents decided you and your sister should be brought up totally human. It would just be too confusing for you to know your dragon relatives as well. But now you’re here!’ Aunty Fluffy smiled. ‘I am so glad they changed their minds!’
Horace tried to think. Dad was really a dragon! He was a dragon who changed into a human, not a human who sometimes changed into a dragon! And Mum knew! And these…these were his relatives! And…and he’d been prepared to kill a dragon, just so he wouldn’t be expelled from school.
Suddenly Horace knew he had to tell the truth. These dragons had invited him into their cave. They hadn’t eaten him, even though he’d been prepared to kill one just to do his homework. Instead they’d fed him strawberry muffin and made him welcome, and Horace knew that he would be ashamed for the rest of his life if he didn’t come clean.
Horace took a deep breath, then choked on a muffin crumb. Sparkie patted him on the back helpfully, sending him flying into a pile of tiaras and gold crowns.
‘Sorry about that!’ boomed Sparkie.
‘I’m sorry too,’ gulped Horace. ‘I haven’t told you the truth!’
Aunty Fluffy stopped knitting. ‘You haven’t?’ she queried.
‘I didn’t come here to meet my relatives. I didn’t even know about you! I came here,’ Horace gulped, ‘because my teacher said I had to bring a dead dragon to school for my homework!’
‘Speak up! What did he say?’ roared Great Uncle Toaster.
Aunty Fluffy blinked. ‘He said his teacher said he had to bring a dead dragon to school. But Horace dear, if you had to take a dead dragon to school why on earth didn’t you ask your father?’
‘Dad? But…but…’
Aunty Fluffy smiled reminiscently. ‘Your dad could play dead better than any other dragon I’ve ever known. I remember once he was playing dead in the forest and this knight came along and your dad jumped up and the knight just poo…Well, I don’t think that knight ever did get his armour clean again.’
‘You mean ask Dad to pretend to be dead?’ cried Horace.
‘Of course!’ Aunty Fluffy raised her eyebrows. ‘What did you think I meant? Now how about some caramel milkshake to wash down that muffin? They’re made with gryphon milk!’
CHAPTER 17
Back Home
It was fun riding home on a dragon’s back. Horace stared down at the tiny cottage by the hill as cousin Sparkie soared slowly down and landed in the clearing.
Horace slid off her back. ‘Thanks!’ he said. ‘That was great!’
Cousin Sparkie winked at him. ‘I still think you’re cute,’ she said. ‘Any time you want to hang out by a waterfall or go gryphon hunting, just give me a call.’ She winked again. ‘I have excellent hearing.’
She crouched down, then launched herself back into the sky. Her giant wings flapped once, twice, three times, then she was above the hill and gliding homewards.
Horace turned and walked down the path between the guinea pig bushes.
‘Well,’ inquired Doorknocker. ‘How did it go?’
Horace stared at him. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ he demanded. ‘You know that Dad is really a dragon! You knew I was going to find out the other dragons were my relatives.’
‘Either that or be eaten,’ agreed Doorknocker.
‘But why didn’t you warn me?’ cried Horace.
‘Me? I’m just a doorknocker,’ said Doorknocker. ‘Not my job to go warning people that they’re about to meet their dragon relatives.’ It twinkled. ‘Sweet little dragon that brought you home, isn’t she?’
‘Sweet! She weighs twenty tonnes and is five times as tall as I am!’ protested Horace.
‘Just the right size for a dragon,’ leered Doorknocker. ‘Now if you want my advice…’
‘I thought you didn’t give advice!’
The doorknocker ignored him. ‘If you want my advice I’d give her a call next weekend and…’
‘Is that you Horace?’ The door opened. It was Dad, in human form.
CHAPTER 18
Dad Explains
Dad looked—older, decided Horace. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.
‘Come inside,’ he said quietly, opening the door wider.
Horace stepped inside without saying anything. Dad closed the door behind him.
Horace looked around the kitchen. ‘Where’s Mum?’ he asked.
‘In the cave,’ said Dad expressionlessly. ‘We agreed, well, that this is a father and son thing. Mum is going to explain it to Grub too.’
‘Would you ever have told us if I hadn’t found out?’ demanded Horace bitterly.
Dad shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘It isn’t easy, telling someone a secret like that.’
‘But why keep it a secret?’ cried Horace. ‘Why not just tell us straight away!’
‘Tell you what? That your dad is a dragon? I wanted you and Grub to have a normal life,’ said Dad earnestly. ‘How can you have a normal life with a dragon for a dad? What do you think your friends would say if they knew you were half dragon? Do you think the King’s school would ever have accepted a dragon’s son?’
‘No,’ said Horace quie
tly.
‘You see?’ cried Dad passionately. ‘I wanted you to have a future! A human future! Is that so bad?’
Horace was silent for a moment. Then he whispered, ‘No Dad.’
Dad held out his arms. Horace ran into them and Dad held him tight.
CHAPTER 19
The Set Up
‘So,’ said Dad. It was half an hour later, and Dad was a dragon again, leaning back happily on the giant treasure chest he’d dragged out of the cave behind the cottage. There was treasure in the other caves too, Horace had discovered, as well as a dragon-sized bed and an underground lake, just perfect for a dragon to swim in, and kilometres of tunnels that Horace couldn’t wait to explore.
Mum sat on the other side of the table. She was still a bit teary—she’d longed to get the whole dragon business out in the open for years, she’d explained. Grub sat beside her. Grub didn’t seem very excited at being part dragon at all.
‘It’d be different if we had really interesting relatives,’ she explained. ‘Like engineers or alchemists. But dragons,’ she shrugged. ‘They’re so last millennium.’
‘So,’ said Dad again. ‘That’s all settled, is it?’
Mum nodded. ‘I’ll tell Horace’s friends that I’ve enchanted you so you look like a dead dragon.’ She looked a bit guilty. ‘It’s almost the truth anyway,’ she added.
‘I’ll borrow Badger’s Bottom’s wagon,’ added Horace, ‘so we can carry Dad to school.’
‘And I’ll lie on the wagon and pretend to be dead,’ said Dad.
‘And I’m going too,’ said Grub gleefully. ‘Because I’m the damsel in distress. My first day at school!’
‘I don’t want to break up this happy family party!’ called out Doorknocker. ‘But there are humans approaching! Four of them, all males. One has a sword, one has a net, another has a shield and one has knock-knees.’
Bunnnggg! Violins sparkled and sparklers played.
Suddenly Dad was human again—in human form, corrected Horace.
Grub ran to the window. ‘Snidge may have knock-knees, but he has really nice eyes,’ she said approvingly.
Grub did a little dance about the kitchen. ‘Gadzooks! This is going to be so cool!’
CHAPTER 20
A Procession to School
Dad lay on the wagon, with his giant wings outstretched, his tail dragging on the ground, his mouth gaping open so all his fangs gleamed in the sunlight, and his eyes staring sightlessly at the sky. He looked very, very convincing. Bran, Snidge, Bernard and Pol had been almost speechless at the sight of him. ‘I never knew dragons were so big,’ breathed Bran.
‘Or had scales so bright!’ whispered Pol.
‘Gadzooks! Just look at those fangs!’ murmured Snidge.
Horace beamed proudly. It was true! Dad was the best looking dragon he’d ever seen—even if he was pretending to be dead.
And Aunty Fluffy was right. Dad was brilliant at playing dead!
‘Are you sure the spell will hold and keep him looking like a dragon all day?’ worried Bran.
Horace nodded. ‘Dad can stay looking like a dragon for ages!’ he said truthfully.
The procession set out.
First came Bernard, carrying the hundred-page manuscript of Ye Historie of Ye Broadsword, with no blots whatsoever, thanks to Grub’s invention, and no spelling mistakes either. At least Horace hoped there were no spelling mistakes.
Next came Snidge, Pol and Bran, leading a white horse, with Grub dressed in her damsel-best sitting side-saddle. The white horse was really one of the guinea pig. Mum had turned it into a white horse that morning. It still looked a bit like a guinea pig, Horace acknowledged, especially its round guinea pig ears and plump furry bum instead of a horse’s tail. Hopefully Grub looked so good that no one would look too closely at her horse.
Grub really did look pretty good, Horace decided, with her long hair brushed down her back, the oil smudges cleaned off her face, and a flowing green silk gown instead of her grubby overalls. Only her fingernails were still black, from greasing her invention before breakfast. Horace peered closer. Yes, Grub had tiny webs between her fingers too, and her hair shone like dragon scales in the sunlight!
Next came Mum, riding Grub’s new invention, the one with the two big wheels. The invention really worked quite well, Horace had to admit, once Mum had hitched up her skirts so they didn’t get tangled in the pedals.
Horace walked behind the cart, in case Dad’s tail got caught in the bushes. High above them all, golden-red scales flashed in the sunlight. Another dragon was watching the fun, almost out of sight of puny human eyes. Sparkie wondered Horace. Or Aunty Fluffy?
The road to Camelot wound through the fields, the flowers bright among the grass. Cows watched the procession of characters curiously. Past the water mill, and its hot smell of grinding wheat, along the river, where swans ducked their heads looking for a late breakfast, the fields of barley and rye beyond the sparkling water stretching to the horizon. Yokels stared at the procession too, their reaping hooks in their hands.
It was a peaceful and productive land. You’d never have thought, reflected Horace, that only ten years before the land had been wracked by war, the crops burnt, the men dragged away as slaves or soldiers, and the women weeping as the Saxon invaders tried to take the land.
There were other travellers on the road to Camelot. Merchants in velvet and fur robes, with their wagons of wool or linen; men traipsing along the dusty roads hoping to get work in the palace or the stables, and cartloads of hay stretching back almost to the horizon.
‘I’ve never seen so much hay!’ announced Pol, staring at the hay carts. ‘Surely all the horses in Camelot can’t eat as much as that!’
‘The King knows what he’s doing,’ said Mum, untangling her veil from the wheels of Grub’s invention again. ‘If he’s ordered so much hay the city must need it!’
Camelot was before them now, the high city walls to keep out enemies, the thatched rooves beyond and, above it all, the castle on its hill, with towers reaching to the sky. No enemy could ever take Camelot, thought Horace proudly. Even if the Saxons tried to invade again everyone could shelter safely behind its walls.
‘Gadzooks!’ A fat merchant gazed at Grub on her horse, Mum on the invention and the dragon sprawled on the wagon, his fangs gleaming in the sunlight. ‘What in the King’s name is going on?’
‘Just taking our homework to school,’ said Bran airily, as the guards at the city gates stared too.
The King’s school was just outside the town. The King had wanted the school in the palace itself, but old Sir Bunny had disagreed.
‘Children need fresh air, not stale old palace smells!’ Sir Bunny had insisted. ‘They need room to play and run around.’
So the King had ordered the school built to be beside a tiny stream, edged with willow trees, that ran along the base of Camelot Hill, with a flat grassy area where the students could practise swordsmanship or learn how to get a stone out of the hooves of their warhorses.
The school itself was a squat low building, with a thatched roof and overhanging eaves where sparrows built their nests in summer and ravens tried to steal the thatch to make their nests.
‘Sir Sneazle is going to be astounded!’ announced Bran happily, as the procession drew up in front of the school.
‘It’s still too early for him to be here,’ said Horace, glancing up at the sun to check the time.
‘It’s twenty-four and a half minutes and three seconds past eight o’clock,’ said Grub.
Horace stared. ‘How do you know?’ he demanded.
Grub held up a band, with a small circle in the middle of it, on her wrist. ‘See? I invented it before breakfast. It tells you what time it is.’
‘I didn’t hear it say anything,’ protested Bran.
‘No, silly,’ said Grub. ‘You look at the big hand and the little hand and…’
‘Look,’ said Horace hurriedly. ‘We’ve no time for that now! We have to get ourse
lves ready for Sir Sneazle!’
‘I bet he gives us all ten out of ten and tells the King we’re his best students ever!’ agreed Pol.
‘I don’t know,’ said Horace worriedly. ‘I’ve been thinking. There’s something funny about Sir Sneazle. There’s something even weirder about his giving us such impossible homework!’
‘He just wanted to really test us,’ said Bernard with all the confidence of the heir to Badger’s Bottom.
‘I wonder,’ said Horace.
CHAPTER 21
It’s a Trap!
There was no way Dad and the wagon were going to fit inside the school room, not to mention Grub the damsel, on her white horse with its furry round bottom.
The boys lined up against the whitewashed wall, Bernard first with his manuscript, then the three boys with Grub, and finally Horace with Dad and the wagon. Mum was trying to look inconspicuous with the invention under the willow trees.
Horace glanced up as something gleamed again in the sky. Was it Sparkie, come to see the fun? he wondered. Horace felt proud suddenly that Sparkie would see him at the King’s own school.
Grub straightened her skirt. ‘This is so exciting!’ she said. ‘I’m going to meet the King!’
‘Gadzooks!’ said Bran suddenly. ‘Look! All the hay carts are coming this way!’
‘I wonder why they aren’t going in the city gates and round to the stables?’ wondered Horace. The hay cart drivers didn’t seem to be getting off or tending to their horses either. They just sat on their carts, leaning against the high-piled hay, as though they were waiting.
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