The Grail of Sir Thomas

by Yury Nikitin

Chapter 36

  Trembling all over, Thomas said loudly a prayer to the Holy Virgin, the defender and patroness of bold warriors, entreating her to drive the dragon back into the hole; that beast was too huge even for Lancelot together with all the Knights of the Round Table to cope. Suddenly he stopped praying, swore angrily, with bad words of all the saints, their mothers, children, and relatives; the wonderer had climbed on the stone ledge, picked up the crumpled skin, and rushed to the beast!

  Thomas bellowed, calling to the foolish Pagan not to get into the mouth of his beastly god. The human sacrifice was cancelled by Christ who became the last sacrifice himself, so don’t be foolish, stop, wait… If I had a good horse and long lance, he thought angrily, I could gallop on the dragon. Whether kill him or not, but die with honor. Now I can only fall dead along with the Pagan.

  The dragon opened his mouth, which looked like a cellar, uttered a demanding roar. Oleg on his run flung the skin into it. The dragon’s jaws slammed with an earth-shaking thud, started to move, grinding the meat along with the skin, like giant millstones.

  Thomas climbed on the ledge near Oleg who breathed heavily. The wonderer turned, happy to see the knight. “Sir Thomas? Most welcome! Why no meat with you? Please bring it, as much as you can.”

  Thomas was out of breath, his eyes blazed with the courage of a martyr. “Sir wonderer…” he babbled, panting, “strange games… you play…”

  “Play?” Oleg got confused. “If you see fun in it, I’d change with you, Sir Thomas! I have stacks of work overhead. No time for games.”

  “And… er… dragon?”

  “Dragon?” Oleg got confused again. “Ah, serpent? That is the horse I told you of. Or I forgot to tell you?”

  Thomas lowered his hefty sword, feeling a bit ridiculous. “The… horse? No need… to fight?”

  “No more than with your warhorse, Sir Thomas. Only while teaching it with the bridle. While we feed him, he won’t devour us. But if he gets hungry…”

  “I see!” Thomas cried. He did not dare to drop his heavy sword, only sheathed it, rushed down the slope as fast as he could. Wild ideas collided in his mind, strange faces darted by. Thomas forced himself to think of nothing, lest he go mad like some men in that long exhausting journey from the northern lands to Jerusalem. All sorts of things happened to those who got into that strange new world with no winter, where people had faces as black as tar – at first crusaders mistook them for devils from hell – and everything went another way…

  He dragged the meat above, bathing in sweat, but did not dare to take off even the baldric with two-handed sword, not to mention the five-stone armor. Oleg hurled the meat into the mouth of dragon, who opened his jaws less and less willingly. At last he refused to open them. Oleg shoved a bleeding slice straight to his nostrils. The dragon looked at it with disgust in his lackluster eyes and turned away, as he had no eyelids and, as Thomas realized, could not close his eyes.

  “Enough?” Thomas asked, staggering. Turbid sweat was pouring over his eyes, his legs giving way, worn out by that constant climbing up and down. Thomas felt pity for monkeys who had to climb trees all the day long.

  “Are you kidding?” Oleg wondered. “It’s time to carry up all the rest of the meat! A saturated serpent won’t rush on it. While hungry, he wouldn’t have devoured all of it but flung it sideways, trampled on it… He’s a very stupid animal, after all. God created him long ago, when He was young and did not know a better way.”

  Thomas dragged himself back on feeble feet. He was glad he had time for sleep and rest before, though now one could wring him out and throw him down to wipe feet on, but while he had at least a drop of strength…

  He dragged the meat from the cleft up the slope, cursing through gritted teeth the stupid dragon who had too little brain to make his hole lower, where the ground was softer, cursing his stupid fate that drove him to the back of beyond, though his wise tutor said one can see God staying at home, cursing the heat. Meanwhile, the wonderer tied the bleeding slices into skins, put one of those bundles on his back, came to the dragon and went climbing up his huge green paw fearlessly. Clinging at bony plates, Oleg got up on the beast’s back covered with thick shell. To Thomas, he looked like a crow on a plough horse; the kind that is constantly ridden by both crows and rooks, which peck away horseflies and gadflies and even those white worms infesting the poor animals under their skin in the heat. Such horses walked carefully, in order not to frighten away the sharp-beaked strangers who eased their torments.

  The wonderer fidgeted, settling in, tied the bundle quickly to the broad bony spike, yelled to Thomas. “Sir, I see it all from here! Drag up the rest of the meat!”

  Thomas glanced back at the dragon’s huge snout; he lay on his paws, eyes covered with the film of skin in sleep, his nostrils steamed. “Sir wonderer. Do you really want to ride him?”

  “Ride?” Oleg asked with concern. “Serpents are not very good at running. So they would hide in caves and only steal cattle at night for the first seven years. Till they have their wings.”

  “Wings?”

  “They are a bit better at flying than running,” the wonderer explained with a grimace.

  Thomas, dumbfounded with all that happened, was dragging the last bundles of meat tiredly, giving them to the wonderer who set them on dragon’s back; it had spikes, protuberances, slits between bony slabs, and the wonderer had made a real web of ropes with enough room for both men and meat. He walked on the dragon’s withers as though it were a shed roof. The dragon, drowsy after a hearty meal, paid him no more heed than a dog pays a fly. As Thomas served the meat, he kept glancing slantwise at the dark entrance to the cave from which the dragon leaned out. Huge, scary shapes could be seen in there, the depth smelled strongly of scum, stagnant water, and frogs.

  Suddenly the dragon stirred, opened his menacing eyes. He yawned, with his mouth opened wide, shut it with such a creepy thud that Thomas’s blood ran cold. Those jaws could flatten a man in steel armor into a thin metal plate, reduce his bones to gruel. “Sir Thomas,” Oleg cried anxiously, “get up here!”

  The dragon breathed steam out, started to creep slowly out of the cave. The stone ceiling screeched. The huge bony comb along the dragon’s back, which was pressed within the dark cave, was standing up. “Sir Thomas!” Oleg shouted. “The dragon’s about to fly!”

  On both sides of the dragon’s body, there were huge colorless logs of protruding bones, as long as ship masts, stretched with thick skin, while all the remaining skin was coiled in thick rings on the dragon’s long back, which seemed endless as the creature crept out. The wonderer sat only on his withers, and the dragon really was a giant long lizard…

  “Fast!” Oleg yelled fiercely. “He’s flying up!!!” He leaned his head down, holding with his feet, stretched his arm out. Feeling deathly cold in his stomach, Thomas clutched at the scaled log while it rushed by. He felt a jerk but held on while the log hit the ground, its claws, as large as knives, screeched on the stone. Thomas reached the wonderer’s hand, his face struck against the bony plate.

  Oleg dragged the knight up, threw a belt around his waist, secured the other end to the comb and also, to make it more reliable, among the bony spikes and protuberances. The crest on the dragon’s back remained unbending, as the dragon still crawled out of the cave; his sharp needles had made a cave in the ceiling. Thomas said loudly all the prayers he knew. As he knew only the first words of each one, he began them again and again. Finally, the crest got shorter, but the needles continued to the very tip. They were especially sharp and fresh there, as though the dragon’s tail was much younger than its owner.

  The dragon crept up to the end of the stone ledge, leaned his head on its flabby neck down, shook it sadly sideways. Oleg took out a dagger, stabbed it between the bony plates suddenly, leaned with all his weight on it. The dragon gave a piggish scream, fell from the cliff, with just a scratch of claws on the stone. Big boulders went rolling down to the foot.

  Thomas heard th
e air swish around. They were falling, amid howling wind and cries of frightened birds. Thomas felt cold, dead, he already saw the spot on the stones where he would plop down, like a frog dropped by a stupid flying heron, with only a clang of armor… But then, suddenly, he was pressed on the bony plate with such force that his eyes popped out, his body got heavy, his jaw dropped (suddenly he imagined himself at the age of seventy).

  He collapsed prone on the dragon’s back. The wind stopped swishing in his ears, and Thomas heard another sound; mighty, broad flaps in the air, as though a storm wind was blowing in a ship’s sail. Thomas closed his eyes and offered the Holy Virgin an ardent prayer for the sail enduring, as the loss of it is almost always fatal to sailors…

  He was sprawled on the bony plate, shabby and scratched, whitened by rains, wind, and snow. The flapping stopped abruptly, as though cut away. The heaviness was gone, he heard a soft voice near his ear. “Just look…”

  Blue sky was ahead, on the left and on the right, even behind them. Perplexed, Thomas looked at the white hill of wadding that floated half a mile on the left, then realized with fear that was no wadding but a cloud! He turned to the right; a whole scatter of clouds and sharp rocky mountains far below. He saw thin strips of road, tiny groves that looked like high grass – and the steppes beyond, scarily flat and deserted!

  On both the dragon’s sides, huge leathery sails were spread, the thick skin on the bridges stretched as tight as on battle drums. The flying dragon looked like an old, giant lizard with a bat’s wings. Thomas had once seen such a creature in his far journeys; that lizard leapt between trees, spreading its leathery wings, but it was the size of a pigeon while the dragon resembled the flying granary of a rich seignior.

  Oleg prodded anxiously with the dagger, searching for a weak spot. “Sparrows flap their wings often,” he said reluctantly, “and the bigger a bird, the more time it spends soaring. Eagles flap seldom.”

  Eagles to this dragon, Thomas thought uneasily, are flies to a swallow. With his weight and colossal wings, he should ascend in several flaps and then soar for half a day with his wings spread out! “Will we fly where we need?” he asked in a shaky voice. “Or where the dragon likes to?”

  Oleg shrugged. He was inspecting closely the gaps between bony slabs on the dragon’s neck and withers. The wind ruffled the wonderer’s hair but his green eyes looked intently and seriously. “Once men raced on dragons. And fought on them! Till new gods came…”

  Suddenly he gave a terrible scream. His face turned white as chalk, he fell on his back, twitching in convulsion, shaking, his eyes went mad. With a shout, he jumped off the dragon but ropes kept him on. The wonderer wheezed, his teeth bared in a beastly way. He started to untie himself hastily.

  Thomas seized him by hand. “Sir wonderer! Sir wonderer!” Oleg flung him aside, growling. He had undone two knots, only the last one remained. Thomas gripped his friend with both hands, pressed to his own breast. “Sir wonderer!” he shouted in despair. “What happened? What’s the matter with you?”

  With no word, the wonderer struggled away, growled, his lips foaming, his eyes mad. He tried to jump down again but the knot kept him, then he started to pull the ends, snarling. Thomas, seeing the death of them both, seized him across his body, brought him down, pressed on the bony plates, shouting in his face, “Sir wonderer! What’s wrong with you? Tell me what to do!”

  There was a brief glimpse of the human mind in his mad eyes, a quiver of lips. Thomas heard his whisper. “The Seven…” Then Oleg growled again, wriggled, pushed Thomas aside with a force that all but dislocated his shoulder. Thomas recoiled, the wonderer’s fingers dug into the last knot. Clenching his teeth, Thomas pulled out his sword, brandished it overhead, brought the flat side down on the back of the wonderer’s head. Oleg collapsed silently, face first, into the slit in the bony plates. Thomas tied his friend up quickly, hands behind, lest Oleg reach them with his teeth, tied his feet tightly to the comb and protruding spikes on the dragon’s back.

  The wonderer came back to himself, started to flutter. Thomas moved away with a sigh of relief. The dragon flapped twice, Thomas collapsed prone, but the leathery sails stretched out at once, crashing and rustling, and the world got still again. Thomas felt his stomach in his throat, his feet icy with terror. He glanced back timidly at the wonderer; Oleg roared and twitched in his bindings. The comb cracked menacingly, threatening to rub the rope through. Thomas reached the wonderer, tied him with one more belt along his back, lest he take a firmer stand. He has monstrous strength. It will do to tear any rope. And those possessed are given strength by the Devil himself!

  Suddenly he felt the sun on his right cheek, though it had been on his left one before. The dragon seemed to have turned. Why not? He’s not longing for Krizhina, just soaring in search of a herd of fat cows to come down on them with a roar, to gobble those he snatches, to burn down the shepherd if that muddler fails to run away. “Sir wonderer,’ Thomas called in a shaky voice. “Oleg! Dear friend!”

  The wonderer dripped saliva, his body contorted and writhing. He gnashed his teeth creepily, beat himself against the dragon back. Thomas clenched his teeth, trying not to look down; under the dragon’s belly, as white as a frog’s, there was a terrific abyss and the flat steppes floated two or three miles below!

  He drew his sword out, put it clumsily into the slit between plates, held his breath. The dragon made a full circle, with no move of wings, just rocking slightly in the warm rising flows of air. Thomas pressed cautiously on the hilt, ready to pull it out and recoil at every moment. Dragon kept soaring in the same idle way, in the warm summer air, clean of dust and annoying flies, even the clouds under his belly as white as it was.

  The sword got stuck, whether in gristles or small bones, so Thomas struggled to take it a scale closer to the neck, to the place where the wonderer had stabbed with his dagger. He had to redo the ropes. At times, the dragon started to his flap wings, all of a sudden, jumped swiftly up into the sky, the cold wind made Thomas’s fingers numb and his eyes water.

  When he put the sword blade into the narrow slit between bony blocks, shabby, with broken edges, the dragon turned his head suddenly to give Thomas a close look. The knight’s hands got cold, fingers unclenched. Fortunately, he had the sword hilt tied to his hand, otherwise he’d have lost it. The dragon’s eyes were slowly becoming bloodshot, his breath puffed out of his nostrils more often. In terror, Thomas realized the flying dragon could reach his own back, as well as the tip of tail, with those awful jaws. No place to hide!

  The dragon looked back again. With open jaws, he reached for Thomas, his neck bent creepily, bony scales screeching. Thomas backed away in panic, the ropes stretched, keeping him in place. He felt a puff of stinky heat, as though fat carcasses were burnt in a huge stove.

  He touched his sword helplessly, his fingers found some hairy thing. He pulled it, tore the rope off, flung the bundle into the mouth that had covered half the sky. The skin, with slices of meat rolled inside, plopped straight on the dragon’s tongue. The beast shut his jaws, moved them heavily to the right, then to the left, stretched reluctantly into the likeness of flying duck, soaring lazily, spreading his enormous wings that would do to cover any peasant’s field.

  Thomas sobbed. His fingers trembled, his heart pounded like a sheep’s tail. He sat like a mite on the back of most huge dragon… if even he swears it, no one would believe! Flying over the clouds, his possessed friend rattling and wriggling in ties behind… What’s next? If the dragon wanted to gobble him, he would throw meat instead; that is what the wonderer prepared it for, but how long would that suffice? What if the dragon wouldn’t land?

  Thomas shrugged with a shiver; the constant head wind was really cool. Should he make the dragon land?

  Trembling all over, with a dagger in hand, he peered into the slits between bony plates. In the middle of the back they were colossal; the dagger was too short to reach the vulnerable places with its point. He redid the knots, feeling like a na
nny-goat on a tie, crawled on all fours to the neck, clinging at bony protuberances and holding his dagger in no knightly way at all – clenched in his teeth. Fortunately, no noble sir here to see him in such a humiliating pose. Though he was on a dragon, not on a cow!

  The dragon’s back went down abruptly, all of a sudden. Thomas clutched at the edge of the slab in a panic. His body lost weight, all around the dragon went milky white at once, then the whiteness remained above; they were falling down like rocks. His heart stopped, being wrung as if it belonged to the most fearful hare frightened even by frogs.

  Thomas clutched with all his might, feeling torn away from the solid surface, though that surface was also falling, falling, falling… A sudden resonant flap, and his chin hit against the surface that suddenly jumped up to meet him, with such a force that his fingers clanged like swords in battle. His mouth felt hot and salty, his head filled with lead, as well as his whole body. He was heavy, sprawled like a squashed frog, even his thoughts could barely stir, heavy and desperate. What were all these torments for?

  The wings flapped mightily for a long time. The dragon ascended in jerks. Thomas was now released, now pressed with force on the solid, his bones crushed, his body filled with heavy blood. The dragon must have been descending to the very ground, fascinated by some cow but scared away by either shepherd or errant knights. And now he must have decided to crush his riders flat against the firmament!

  As Thomas recalled his helpless friend, he glanced back, crossed him hastily. Oleg’s head hung helplessly, his chin rested on his chest, ropes had dug deeply into his mighty body. He was pale, flinching at times, groaning through gritted teeth.

  “Be patient a while,” Thomas said, choking with pity. “Once this winged frog stops turning head over heels… I’ll say a prayer for the exorcism of the devil. Or at least of demons. If only I remember it…”

  One can hardly recall what one never knew. In terror, Thomas thought of a priest whom he needed to find as soon as possible; a priest to sprinkle the possessed with holy water, say a prayer, wave a censer of labdanum and incense, which Christ replaced the human sacrifice with. Well, I’ll see the church from a distance. But how to make the dragon land before the priest’s house? He will definitely object to it. He belongs to the impious pre-Christian world and can bear no sight of the Cross!

  The dragon glanced back for a moment, then flew straight for a while, paying no heed to his riders. When he glanced back again, Thomas had crawled back and was undoing in hurry, breaking his nails, the knot on the closest sack of aurochs skin. “What an eater!” he said with loathing when the open mouth reached for him. “Too much food ruins your guts, as the wonderer says! I’d like you as a hermit.”

  He flung three big slices in, one after another, and when he reached for the fourth one, the dragon turned away, screwing up his eyes with content. His jaws ground the juicy boneless meat with a crunch, his lips foamed with blood, the wind tore it away and threw it at the knight. Thomas wiped the sticky saliva off with disgust, moved away, closer to the wonderer. As he got tired of doing and undoing his ropes, he left only the thickest one around his waist. “Sir wonderer!” he called sadly. “Oh, sir wonderer…”

  He hunched to save the last of his warmth, glanced at the wonderer with a heavy sigh, and went crawling, dagger in hand that time, from the dragon’s withers to the neck. The long blade slid in between the scales, as thick as a fist, touched the stout skin. Thomas thrust it with more force, the skin tensed, the blade was thrown up. He recalled the wonderer, clenched his teeth, and leaned on the dagger with all his weight. The skin caved in a bit but endured. Thomas called the Virgin for help, cursed, hit the hilt with his iron fist.

  The dagger went in palm-deep, the dragon gave a shudder, his wings stirred a bit. Thomas clutched at the bony protuberances, ready for a fall, a dance in the air, but the dragon kept soaring in the same sleepy way, his broad wings spread wide. He warmed himself, catching sunrays with those huge dark sails. Even closed his eyes with joy, the brute.

  Thomas clenched his jaws, banged the dagger hilt with all his force. There was a jerk beneath, Thomas would have flown off and down if not the rope. The dragon gave a hoarse cry, beat his wings frequently, turned around in a slanting arch, flapped his wings again. “That is it,” Thomas said exhaustedly, through gritted teeth. His breath was fast and sobbing, his teeth clanged, his hands shook like a hen thief’s. “They raced on dragons! And jousted, you see…”

  The sun warmed his left cheek, but the dragon rocked in the flows of air more often, making Thomas clutch convulsively at bony ledges. He turned his eyes away in fright from the brim but could not forget the terrific void, which was straight under the dragon’s belly. He tried not to take his hands off. At every stir, he would clench his fingers and press his cheek on the crackling bony slab – one of those moving under him, rubbing, sliding apart. Once the dragon scratched himself as he flew; Thomas’s blood turned ice when, quite near him, the claws as large as Saracen swords scratched its side noisily, shaving the bony armor on it.

  Thomas pulled out his sword in fear, started to prickle the dragon. The loathsome beast screwed up sweetly, stretched his neck. In fact, the knight was scratching him like a fat pampered boar. The sword blade made a tin screech on the hard scales, each the size of a palm,

  When the dragon flapped his wings suddenly – and he always did that all of a sudden – his body sank abruptly into the abyss, Thomas dropped his sword, gladly it was tied to his hand, and clutched at the bony back, like a mite, His heart and stomach climbed up to his throat, his eyes got covered with mortal agony, then a forceful flap of wings made him sprawl on the dragon’s back, like a frog filled with lead. He could not move even his smallest finger, his eyes all but burst with the rush of heavy blood.

  Gradually, the dragon bore right. Cursing, Thomas made himself crawl up to the neck, drive the dagger in with force. The dragon gave a caw and turned, flapping his leather sails fussily.

  Thomas crept back, keeping his eyes on the widening bone plates; the dragon’s neck was no thicker than a hundred-year-old oak, the fathomless void on both sides. Sitting on the broad withers, Thomas took a breath, tried to tame the shiver in his limbs.

  Suddenly the dragon started moving his wings frequently, for no ascent but a rush forward, so swift that Thomas was all but blown off by the head wind, the ropes stretched and trembled. Pounding the air with dark sails, the dragon was coming upon a flock of white swans that flapped evenly their wings, huge and snow white. The last swan had no time to look over before the dragon opened his jaws and the swans were pulled into them, one by one, no less than two score in total. Only the leader flying at the head of his flock managed to duck down, breaking away from the teeth, dropped a couple of tail feathers.

  The dragon stretched his wings, soared happily, and followed the fleeing swan with hardly a glance; a lion pays that much heed to stupid goats when they literally step on the drowsy king of beasts after he had a hearty dinner. Thomas estimated the total weight of the flock. Obviously, the dragon had overeaten in hunting excitement, even his breath got heavy. No feeding him for at least an hour.

  He took a breath and, for the first time, dared to take his eyes off the scary horned snout. On both sides of the flying dragon dense clouds slipped past. When sometimes the winged beast got higher, Thomas watched in astonishment the white field below, which looked like snow. Sometimes the glutton of a dragon forgot to flap its wings, descended slowly, the wisps of mist went up his sides. At times the mist was thick enough to hide the wings completely. Once Thomas glanced back and could not see the tail. The mist concealed even the dragon’s head, which was dangerously close; Thomas hurried to take a slice of meat out and held it in his outstretched arm. If the dragon snapped, he’d have his fingers, not all of him.

  The dragon fell down from the clouds. Thomas could see valleys, sparse woods, silvery snakes of meandering rivers below. He felt vague surprise at the Lord’s having set hills and dales and drawn
rivers in such a fanciful way. Soon good mapping will cease, he thought anxiously. Dragons die out, stop breeding, and how’s a precise map to be made if not from dragonback?

  At times the dragon forgot to flap his wings at all. The ground came closer, Thomas crawled onto his neck and stabbed the dagger. Then the dragon would give a start, as though awaking, and flap his leathery wings in panic, like a hen flying from one fence to another.

  The ground went down swiftly, Thomas was sprawled. He was not trembling anymore, the seeds of admiration sprouted in his terror-stricken soul. A Christian, he got into the Pagan world, which was only to be cleaned with sword and fire of witches, magic, dragons, brownies, trolls. Now this horned evil creature was likely to hit on the firmament, flatten the warrior of Christ into a wet spot on it. Thomas glanced above apprehensively, afraid of catching on the nails that keep the vault of heaven; their silver heads could only be seen at night…

  Screwing up all of his courage, he risked taking his hand off the protruding bony platen, patted caringly the bag on his belt, with the prominent side of the precious cup within. God and Christ’s blood is with us! If even the dragon was created by the Devil, he now serves the good. The utmost power of Christ is that foes should not always be destroyed, all priests say that. The highest valor of the Crusader is to make the enemy serve. And if killing a Saracen is not obligatory, killing a dragon is even less so. A beast is no human, it’s always innocent. Even the fiercest ones know not what they do. Even sharks are innocent, it was God who created them that way…

  Thomas made a pinch of his fingers, about to cross furtively the back he sat on, but then hesitated. What if the creature of the Devil blazes up with Hell’s fire and falls down like a torch? Angels may not catch the loyal warrior of Christ, as they are busy or fail to notice, Our Lady has a babe in arms, so he’ll plop down a mile or two and the cup rolls under something again…

  He undid the knots hastily, decided not to take out the cup but put his hand into the bag. His fingertips felt a ticklish quiver, as though the prominent side recognized him, its true knight, and got warmer at his touch.

  Thomas sighed, tied the rope up tighter, hunched and put his hands into his armpits. The wind was chilling to the marrow, though his armor sheltered him like in a doghouse, but the wind came in through the slits and his skin was not as thick as dragon’s.

  All the breadth of the sky was blue, on the right and left, ahead and behind. Far to the left, a line of geese flew past but the dragon was either oblivious of them or full up. On the right there also emerged a strange spot. Thomas was too chilled to watch it closely, but the spot approached and he saw a long carpet, painted with all colors, very hairy. In the middle of it, there sat a stooped man in turban. He was definitely cold too, hunched, wrapping himself in his colored robe. The carpet, twitching like a fat hairy caterpillar, crept almost in the same direction, but the dragon was much faster. Thomas caught a glimpse of the tired swarthy face, as the man followed them with envious hopeless eyes. For a moment Thomas had a wish to show a rope end to him, as rude seaman did when outstripping another ship, but his natural knightly nobility was against vulgar gestures. What’s more, his fingers were too frozen even to cock a snook at him, and could hardly hold a rope.

  The man on the carpet was flying too low; several crows, cawing with malice, went chasing him, but the man only hunched up and stooped, pulling his robe over his cold ears. After the crows saw him off their territory, they left him, started to fly in circles, like proud eagles.

  The dragon kept flying on and on. Thomas got tired, cold, and hungry as a hunter. The wonderer dropped his head, his chin rested on his chest, and hung there still. He was as deathly pale as before. Thomas turned away with a sigh again. Clutching at protuberances and falling sprawled under his own weight was already habitual.