The Castle With Hiccups Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

 

A Dragon.

 

It was a long way from the Dungeons to the throne room, and Thomas was very much out of breath when he arrived. He burst through the doors, gasping like a bellows. King Oswald stared at him.

After several deep gulps, Thomas managed to speak.

“Sire… I beg to report… there is a dragon in the Dungeons.”

“Very good, Thom— WHAT?” King Oswald shot upright.

“A dragon, sire,” Thomas repeated.

“Are you sure?” the King demanded.

Thomas described exactly what he had seen.

“This is terrible!” wailed the King. “What am I going to do? It will destroy the Castle! It will destroy the kingdom! It might even eat me!” He slumped on the throne, moaning and wringing his hands.

Queen Jessamy, who had been quietly knitting, stood up and took charge, as she always did in an emergency.

“Send for the Captain of the Guard,” she said crisply. Then, in a lower voice to Thomas, “The Field Marshal is not going to be much use, I fear.”

Since there was no one else left to do it, Thomas had to run down into the town to fetch the Captain.

By the time he returned, King Oswald had recovered enough to sit upright.

“Ah, Captain Smirke,” he said. “There appears to be a dragon in the Dungeons. Call out your men and deal with it, there’s a good chap.”

“Yes, sire.” The Captain saluted smartly and half‑turned to go. Then he stopped. “Did you say dragon, sire?”

“Yes, I did,” snapped Oswald. “Now jump to it, or whatever it is you military men do.”

The Captain did not jump to it. He stood very still, lips moving slightly as if reading from an invisible document.

“Well, man? What is it?” Oswald barked.

“I am very sorry, sire,” said the Captain, “but my contract states that I am to defend the kingdom from invasion by enemy soldiers. There is no mention of dragons.”

“Are you refusing to fight the dragon?” Oswald demanded.

“I am afraid so, sire.”

“You are removed from your command!”

“Thank you!” said the ex‑Captain cheerfully, and left the room.

“Now what do we do?” Oswald asked plaintively.

“We issue a proclamation,” said the Queen.

“Saying what?”

“‘Whosoever rids the kingdom of the dragon shall be rewarded with half the kingdom.’”

“Hang on a minute,” protested Oswald. “The place isn’t that big without giving half of it away!”

“Then it must be the other one,” said the Queen calmly. “‘Whosoever rids the kingdom of the dragon shall be rewarded with the hand of Princess Jasmine in marriage.’”

“That’s better,” said the King.

He hobbled to his desk and wrote out the proclamation. Thomas was sent to take it to the printers, with orders for a hundred copies to be posted in all the neighbouring kingdoms.

Thomas, not being able to read, had no idea what the proclamation said. But when he returned to the Castle, he found Princess Jasmine coming out of the throne room in tears.

“I don’t want to marry someone just because they can swing a sword and kill a dragon,” she sniffed.

Thomas didn’t understand until she explained. Then he was upset too. He and the Princess had been friends for years. He didn’t want her forced to marry a stranger, especially one she didn’t choose.

He had little time to comfort her before he was called back to his duties.

The next morning there was a thunderous knocking on the Castle gates. Thomas, being the only one available, had to leave Princess Jasmine making the King’s breakfast and answer it.

He heaved open the heavy door.

In the doorway stood the biggest, broadest, strongest man Thomas had ever seen.

“Fear not!” boomed the giant. “Your troubles are at an end! I, Sir Roger, will defeat the dragon and save you from fiery destruction!”

Behind him stood a slight, elegant figure in brightly coloured clothes. He removed his feathered hat with a flourish and bowed low.

“Sir Cedric, at your service,” he said smoothly. “Be so good as to escort us to King Oswald.”

Thomas stepped aside to let them in. He was about to close the door when a third figure came puffing up the path, a rather chubby man, red‑faced and panting.

“The horses wouldn’t cross the Causeway,” he grumbled. “It’s a long way to walk.” He drew himself up. “Prince Bombo, at your service.”

Sir Roger snorted. “Fat oaf.”

Prince Bombo ignored him. “I thought I saw your horses on the road,” he said to Cedric.

Cedric bowed. “Good day to you, Prince Bombo. How pleasant to see you again. Just a flying visit, one hopes?”

“I have come to rid the Castle of the dragon and marry the Princess,” announced the Prince grandly.

“Ha!” snorted Sir Roger, who clearly had a low opinion of him.

Thomas led the three men to the throne room, announced them, and hurried back to the kitchen. King Oswald was forced to be polite, and was not enjoying it. Thomas brought in a tray of breakfast and was immediately sent for more so the visitors could join the King.

Once they were settled, Thomas remembered the Magician and went to see if he could rescue him from Nurse.

In the Magician’s room he found some clothes, made a neat bundle, and carried them to the old Nursery. Nurse was away looking for a cuddly toy. The poor Magician was lying in a cot, curled up like a pretzel, wearing a frilly nightie and a blue nightcap.

Thomas had to bite his lip to stop laughing.

He handed over the clothes. The moment the Magician was dressed, they fled to the tower room and leaned, panting, against the locked door.

“That woman is impossible!” gasped the Magician. “You have no idea. Now, what can I do for you?”

“What do you know about dragons?” Thomas asked. He quickly explained everything, including the three adventurers in the throne room.

“Let me see… I’m sure I had a book about dragons somewhere.” The Magician scanned a shelf and pulled down a volume titled Dragons: Truths and Myths. He opened it and read aloud:

“There are three types of dragon: Royal Dragons, which are the rarest; Mountain Dragons, which are the most commonly met; and Sea Dragons, which rarely come ashore. There are many myths—”

His voice trailed off. “I’ll have to read this properly. But which kind do you think we have?”

Thomas shook his head. “I only saw one leg, and it was big.”

“Any smell of smoke?” asked the Magician.

“The only smell down there was dead fish and rotting seaweed.”

The Magician scratched his head. “Well, until we know for certain, we must assume the worst. And in any case, all dragons are very hard to kill. Only Saints, very brave knights, or the occasional lucky squire ever manage it.”

“Can’t you use magic?” Thomas asked hopefully.

“Sorry. No. Dragons are immune to magic. They are magic, you see, so spells don’t work on them. It usually takes a very sharp sword.”

Thomas left the Magician’s room feeling very low. He wandered down the stairs toward the Dungeons. He didn’t really know what he was going to do, but he knew one thing for certain: Princess Jasmine would not be happy married to any of those three pompous dragon‑slayers upstairs.

The smell of rotting fish was even stronger now.

The little door at the end of the passage was partly open.

Thomas crept forward and peered round it.

He found himself staring straight into a huge, pale‑yellow eye.

It stared back without blinking.

Thomas swallowed hard and tried to run, but his legs refused to move.

The Dragon spoke.

“Good morning. Or at least, I assume it is morning. It is difficult to tell down here.”

“Er… good morning,” Thomas stammered. He had expected the Dragon to eat him, or breathe fire at him, not greet him politely.

“I saw you yesterday,” the Dragon continued. “But you left before I could speak. I was hoping you would return. You look like a sensible boy, and I need your help.”

Thomas blinked. Dragons did not ask kitchen boys for help, not in any story he had ever heard.

“You… you won’t eat me, will you?” he asked nervously.

The great yellow eye widened, and Thomas could have sworn it looked hurt.

“What an awful thing to accuse anybody of doing,” said the Dragon, sounding genuinely offended. The smell of rotting fish grew stronger.

“Well, some dragons are supposed to eat people,” Thomas muttered.

“I know they do,” said the Dragon. “Some people kill other people, but one does not go around accusing all people of being murderers, does one?”

“No… I suppose not,” Thomas admitted.

The Dragon sniffed loudly. “And anyway, it is only rogue Royal Dragons who occasionally eat people, and usually only when they are too old to hunt properly.”

Thomas asked cautiously, “Well… what kind of dragon are you? And what do you eat?”

“I am a Sea Dragon,” said the creature proudly. “And we eat seaweed. Luscious, lovely green seaweed with just a little red on the side… Oh, but please don’t talk about food. I haven’t eaten for a hundred years and I am starving.”

It heaved a great sigh. The smell of rotting seaweed washed over Thomas like a wave. At least now he knew where the smell came from.

“Why haven’t you eaten for a hundred years?” Thomas asked, beginning to lose some of his fear.

“Well, you see, we dragons tend to sleep for a hundred years at a time,” explained the Dragon. “And I may have overslept a little. When I woke up, I found some careless person had built a Castle around me.”

“Why didn’t they see you when they built it?”

“When I am asleep, I look just like rocks. Clever, really, and much safer. Usually.”

The Dragon sighed again. “Now I am stuck. I cannot get down to the seashore to eat. As you can see, I am starting to go blue. When I am blue all over, I shall die.”

A large tear rolled down its cheek and splashed on the floor. It smelled strongly of rotting seaweed. Thomas leapt back.

“Sorry!” said the Dragon. “I really mustn’t feel sorry for myself. Now, can you help?”

“I’ll try,” said Thomas. “But what can I do?”

“Get me out of here,” said the Dragon simply.

“Why not just knock the wall down? Surely you’re strong enough.”

“Yes, I am strong enough,” said the Dragon. “But when they built the Castle, they built the wall right across the end of my tail. It is stuck. I can wriggle it a bit, but every time I do, I hear the most awful crashing noises. I shout ‘Excuse me!’ before I do it and ‘Sorry!’ afterwards, but I feel dreadful breaking people’s houses.”

“I suppose so,” said Thomas.

Another sniff. Another smelly tear.

“I wish I had never left home,” the Dragon said miserably.

“The Magician said Sea Dragons are only ever seen at sea. Why did you leave?” Thomas asked.

“It is Grandfather’s fault, really,” said the Dragon. “He snores. And when he snores, nobody sleeps. The Royal Dragons on the next islands used to get terribly upset and threatened to burn us out. So, as the youngest and best flier, I was sent to see the Witch of the Dark Forest for a cure.”

“Bad, is it?” Thomas asked.

“Have you ever stood on the battlements and heard a thunderstorm far away, seen lightning flashes, and wondered why the storm never reaches the shore?”

Thomas nodded.

“That is Grandfather snoring,” said the Dragon, “and the Royal Dragons getting upset and breathing flames into the air.”

“Did the Witch give you anything?”

“Oh yes. It’s here in this pouch.” The Dragon lifted a wing to reveal a small leather bag. “A bottle of stuff she guaranteed would work.”

“I didn’t think the Witch helped anyone,” said Thomas.

“When she gets a dragon scale and a piece of dragon claw in return, she helps,” said the Dragon.

“Well, I hope it works.”

“Oh, it does. I tried some before I fell asleep here. I never woke myself up once, which I used to do all the time. We all snore, you see. Family problem.”

Then a thought struck Thomas.

“Oh dear.”

Upstairs were three men who had come to kill the Dragon. Thomas felt rather sorry for the creature. After all, it wasn’t its fault the Castle had been built on its tail.

He explained everything.

“Oh dear,” said the Dragon. “Well, I won’t fight. I refuse to fight anybody. It is not in my nature. I am against violence.”

“Couldn’t you make an exception this once?” Thomas asked. He rather liked the idea of seeing those three run for their lives.

“No. Positively not. Never. You will have to protect me.”

“Thank you very much,” said Thomas.

“My pleasure!” said the Dragon graciously.

“That’s not what— oh, never mind. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You… I hesitate to ask… couldn’t manage a little seaweed, could you? Even a small handful? No, no, silly of me. Never mind. It isn’t important.”

The Dragon sounded heartbreakingly sad.

“I’ll try,” promised Thomas.