The Dragon Kepeer and Other Stories

by Lynne Roberts

it’s only fair to warn you that if you try to kill me I will fight back and I haven’t lost a fight yet.’

  ‘What happens after you shed your skin?’

  ‘I generally fly to a warmer climate for a few hundred years. So you see, it’s not as if I would still be around to arouse suspicion.’

  John was silent while he thought about this. It was, as the dragon had said, a very good offer.

  ‘When will you be shedding your skin?’ he asked.

  The dragon licked its lips hungrily. ‘Oh, about five sheep should do it, I would think,’ it smiled.

  John looked around nervously but the remaining sheep were huddled contentedly in a patch of sunshine and showed no fear of the dreadful fate in store for them.

  ‘I can’t bear to watch,’ thought John, and wandered through the forest until he thought he had given the dragon enough time to eat all the sheep. The forest was very dull. Apart from two small children asleep under a pile of leaves, and a golden haired child closely pursued by three bears, John saw no-one.

  He returned to find the clearing empty of all except a very full dragon. It gently peeled a line of scales from its throat down to its tail. Twisting and wriggling, the dragon shrugged off its skin to reveal rippling scales of shimmering turquoise.

  ‘That’s much better,’ it said in satisfaction, opening delicate silver wings and flapping them a few times. ‘You can have the old skin in return for the sheep. The dragon gestured graciously. ‘It’s a fair trade.’

  ‘Thanks,’ mumbled John. He watched in awe as the dragon took to the skies. It circled the forest twice then flew off towards the east. The discarded skin lay on the ground. It still looked very life-like and smelt strongly of smoke. John stood there with one foot on its neck, wondering what to do next. The skin was far too heavy to lift and too tough to cut. As he stood there, a thunder of hoof beats echoed around the forest and a troop of soldiers in full armour galloped into the clearing.

  The next few minutes were rather confused. The soldiers were expecting to have to rescue John from the dragon and did a lot of thrusting and parrying with their shining swords before they discovered the dragon was dead. Before John could explain what had happened, they swept him off to proclaim his bravery and present him to the king.

  The king was playing chess, which he played very badly, against one of his advisors. They were both delighted at the interruption; the king, because he thought he was going to lose again and look foolish, and the advisor because he knew he was going to win and was worried about the king’s reaction.

  The king greeted the news of the dragon’s death with Joy. She had been sitting quietly embroidering one of her husband’s royal handkerchiefs, which he had a tendency to mislay.

  ‘At last we are rid of that foul dragon,’ cried the king. ‘I suppose you have come to claim my daughter’s hand in marriage?’

  ‘Yes please,’ beamed John. Things were looking up at last. Here was the promised fame and glory and any minute now he would get his princess.

  ‘Call Arabella,’ the king told his advisor, as the queen frowned and looked dubious.

  The advisor rushed out the door and soon returned with a sulky raven-haired young woman of extraordinary beauty.

  ‘Here is your future husband, my dear,’ the king said grandly.

  This was a mistake. The princess flew into a fury. She wept, she screamed and she stamped her feet in their glass slippers. She overturned the chess table and threw an ornate goblet at a marble statue. She bit the advisor’s hand when he tried to calm her down and she glared at the king.

  ‘I won’t marry him,’ she shouted. ‘I don’t like him.’

  ‘But you don’t even know the young man, dear,’ the king said reasonably.

  ‘I don’t care. He’s ugly and he smells of sheep. I’d rather sleep with a frog.’

  The Princess Arabella ran shrieking back to her room with the queen hurrying after her to give comfort. The king looked apologetically at John.

  ‘Sorry about that, but I can’t force her, you know. Perhaps I could offer you some gold coins instead as way of compensation?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ agreed John.

  By sunset he had left the palace with a sturdy bag of gold coins. He had been well fed and had agreed to leave the dragon skin to be mounted on the palace wall. He was musing on his experiences when he reached the forest. Walking along the winding path he stopped suddenly as a small flock of sheep blocked his way. Herding the sheep was a freckle faced young lady in sensible shoes and a plain red cape with a hood. Instantly John saw that here was the princess of his dreams. What the young lady thought of John was never known, but the gold coins almost certainly helped.

  After a small but natural misunderstanding, involving a very large axe and an irate woodcutter, John and his dream girl were married.

  So what happened then? Well, the wise woman became rich, as she had predicted, when John gratefully gave her a goodly portion of the gold coins.

  ‘For if you hadn’t told my fortune, none of this would have happened,’ he said.

  The wise woman was delighted with this and also with the group of keen students who arrived to live with her, anxious to learn the trade. John’s mother fell unexpectedly in love with the dark-haired father of one of these students and went off to live with him in a far village. This enhanced the wise woman’s credibility and she soon had even more students. They all drank an extraordinary lot of tea, both the normal variety and also a few herbal types which gave rise to some very peculiar predictions.

  So they all lived reasonably happily ever after, and John was able to eat porridge twice a day for the rest of his life. Which wasn’t very long as it happened, as the dragon flew back and ate him after a brief but futile struggle.

  Which just goes to show that you can never trust a dragon.

  Mrs Ainsworth Says

  It was a warm spring day and the market was crowded. Claire was sick of traipsing around the stalls looking at things she could afford but didn’t want, or things she would have loved to buy but couldn’t afford. She had finally exchanged her pocket money for a bundle of second-hand books and, naturally, then discovered a stall with the sort of T-shirt she had always wanted.

  ‘If I hadn’t bought the books I could have got that,’ she thought crossly. ‘I know it’s no use asking Mum to get it for me because she was going on about how many clothes I had only yesterday.’

  Claire scowled and caught up with her mother beside a cosmetic stall, where an enthusiastic young man was trying to sell her some goat’s milk soap. Her twin brother Marcus had spent his money in the first five minutes on a barbecued sausage and a bag of fudge, and was making it clear to his mother that he wanted to leave.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he muttered.

  ‘But I’m not ready to go yet,’ protested Mrs Pierce. ‘Mrs Ainsworth says I should inspect all the stalls before I buy anything, Mrs Ainsworth says…’ she faltered to a stop as her children groaned.

  ‘I’m sick of hearing what Mrs Ainsworth says.’

  ‘I’m sick of Mrs Ainsworth, full stop!’

  ‘Now children, that’s not very nice. You know she’s been very kind to me since your father left. It’s very good of her,’ Mrs Pierce pointed out.

  ‘I wish she’d do good somewhere else,’ Claire sniffed.

  Mrs Ainsworth was one of those people who always try to improve other people’s lives, whether they wanted it or not. She had found a willing victim in Mrs Pierce. Shattered by a marriage break-up, she had eagerly followed her new friend’s suggestions for improving her life. A collection of wobbly, odd shaped pots bore testament to a night class in pottery, while Marcus was still trying to live down her attempts to cut and style his hair. ‘Mrs Ainsworth says it’s much cheaper than going to a barber.’

  Now Mrs Ainsworth had suggested that the children’s mother take up gardening as a hobby.

  ‘It is so therapeutic, dear,’ she’d enthused.

  This had led to a le
cture on the best place to pick up plants, which was why they were all trailing around the market for the third time.

  ‘Do hurry up, Mum,’ nagged Claire. ‘I’m supposed to be at Brianna’s house for lunch.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m with Claire on this one. I promised to meet Andy at the park later this morning.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time,’ Mrs Pierce frowned.

  ‘But we’ve been here for ages!’ Claire sighed loudly.

  ‘I thought you liked the market,’ her mother said in hurt tones.

  ‘Well yes, I do. But not if it means missing Brianna’s party. I need time to get dressed.’

  ‘You’re already dressed,’ Marcus pointed out.

  Claire gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not going to a party like this!’ She turned imploring eyes on her mother. ‘Please can we go now?’ she wailed.

  Mrs Pierce gave her children a resigned look. ‘I’ll only be a few more minutes. I am going to buy some plants for my new garden and some of Mrs Seddon’s plum jam.’

  ‘I’ll get the plants for you while Marcus goes with you to get the jam and we’ll meet back at the car. That will save time. What sort of plants do you want?’

  ‘Oh dear. I’m not sure. I can’t remember what Mrs Ainsworth said, now. Just get anything that will flower nicely,’ Mrs Pierce said hurriedly, as she handed over a five dollar note and allowed herself to be hustled in the direction of the preserves stall.

  Claire ran to the area where the plant stalls were. By this time most of the stallholders had packed up and gone and only