The Castle With Hiccups Chapter 5

Chapter Five.

 

Freedom.

 

After breakfast, Thomas watched Sir Cedric prepare himself. The lute was tuned, the throat was oiled, and Sir Cedric practised a few chords. His voice kept squeaking, and his fingers trembled on the strings. He looked rather pale, but declared himself ready.

Thomas led him down to the Dungeons.

Sir Cedric complained all the way, Thomas was walking too fast, the stairs were too steep, the smell of rotting seaweed was unbearable. When they reached the Dragon’s door, Thomas opened it and stepped aside.

Sir Cedric entered.

Thomas placed the Magician’s box just inside the doorway, opened the lid, closed the door, and fled.

Inside, Sir Cedric began to strum a soft, soothing lullaby. He clearly expected to be roasted and eaten at any moment. When nothing happened, he grew bolder. His playing improved. His singing steadied. He crept further into the room.

Over the music, he heard a deep, rumbling sound, like a very large cat purring.

He crept closer.

In the centre of the room lay a large red dragon head, eyes closed, snoring gently.

Sir Cedric stopped singing.

The dragon slept on.

He stopped playing.

Still no reaction.

Very carefully, Sir Cedric set down his lute and drew his dagger. He tiptoed forward, raised his arm, and prepared to plunge the blade into the sleeping beast.

A second red dragon head appeared over his shoulder and said, “Boo.”

Sir Cedric froze. Two enormous yellow eyes stared into his own. His gaze travelled down the long neck to where it joined the body of the first head.

A two‑headed dragon.

The last anyone saw of Sir Cedric was his back as he galloped away from the Castle. He did not stop to pack. He did not say goodbye. He did not even take his lute.

A few minutes later, the Castle hiccupped.

King Oswald sighed and turned to Prince Bombo.

“Your turn.”

Prince Bombo turned white. “Perhaps I should wait until after lunch.”

“No time like the present,” said King Oswald. “You can have a jolly good feast after you’ve killed the dragon.”

So, the Prince had to go.

He asked for a piece of meat, which Thomas fetched from the pantry. Thomas led him down to the Dungeons, opened the box, and fled.

Prince Bombo crept inside. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a large purple dragon sleeping peacefully. He sprinkled poison over the meat, pushed it under the dragon’s nose, and hid behind the door.

Messy eating sounds drifted out. Then silence. . He waited for the poison to work then he went back into the Dungeon. The dragon lay on its side seemingly dead. Bombo crept closer to make sure. He stood by its side. A purple scaly leg folded him in its grasp and the head turned towards him. Bombo gave a squeak and turned white.

“My dear boy, what a delightful surprise. How pleasant to see you,” drawled the dragon in a very posh voice.

“And what a tasty piece of meat that was. The sauce was quite, quite delicious. It had a certain something about it, a tongue tingling sharpness that I really enjoyed. A pity you did not serve a nice crisp green salad with it, but never mind. These Castles often have very poor kitchens, eh what?”

“Yes, er no er..” Prince Bombo did not know what to say.

“Quite,” went on the dragon. “Still, I must not detain you, I am sure you have other fish to fry.” It laughed at its own rather weak joke, sending two plumes of smoke billowing from its nostrils. “I wonder what I should have for seconds,” added the dragon thoughtfully.

Prince Bombo wriggled from its grasp and the last anyone saw of him was his back as he fled the Castle. He did not even stop for lunch.

Ten minutes later the Castle hiccupped. King Oswald spilt his tea.

Now it was Sir Roger's turn. “Fear not Sire, the dragon has not been born which can face the strength of my right arm.”

All went as before. This time it was an orange dragon which lay in the Dungeons. Sir Roger gripped his sword firmly and advanced. To his astonishment, the dragon burst into tears. Sir Roger stopped.

The dragon went on snivelling,“It's not fair,"it wept, while great orange tears dripped down its face. “Everyone picks on me just because I am a dragon. I mean I cannot help being what I am. I did not ask to be born a dragon. I did not ask to be born at all. “

"Come now,” said Sir Roger. “Bear up, take it like a man.”

“But I am not a man,” replied the dragon as the tears flowed faster. “I do not see why big bullies of knights should pick on little dragons like me, just because I got trapped in this deep, dark, horrid little dungeon. I have never done you any harm I have never done anyone any harm.

When Sir Roger began to speak the dragon, help up a claw to stop him. “Oh, yes, I know there are some dragons which are supposed to have eaten humans. Well, maybe they have when there was nothing else left to eat, but why do ALL dragons have to suffer because of it? I mean, how many of your family have been eaten by a dragon?”

Sir Roger had to admit that no-one in his family had suffered that fate. “I have read about it in books.”

“Oh, yes BOOKS! I have read about evil knights who attack and kill innocent humans in books, but people do not go round trying to kill ALL knights because of what they have read in books, now do they?” The dragon sniffed.

“But that is different,” protested Sir Roger weakly.

“No, it isn't. How would you like it if you got locked in a dungeon and armoured dragons came to try and kill you?”

Sir Roger shook his head. “No, I suppose I would not like that at all.” He was beginning to feel sorry for the dragon.

The dragon sighed. “Ah, well! I suppose we had better get on with it. May I say my prayers first?”

“Yes, of course,” said Sir Roger. He was no longer looking forward to killing this dragon.

The dragon folded its wings in front of its face and mumbled a few quiet words, then it stretched out its neck. Sir Roger raised his sword. The dragon looked up at him with tearful eyes.

“One last request please?”

Sir Roger nodded. He could not bring himself to speak.

“Could you get a message to my poor old widowed mother and tell her that my last thoughts were of her?” A single tear trickled down the dragon's cheek.

Sir Roger raised his sword again but he could no longer see where to strike. His eyes were too misty and dim. A single tear ran down his cheek, soon followed by a whole stream of them.

He was still sobbing when he left the Castle vowing never to fight again.

Five minutes later the Castle hiccupped. King Oswald's bad leg slipped off the stool. He swore. Thomas, who was busy making sandwiches for lunch smiled. He took them up to the Throne room.

“Ah, Thomas. The Queen and I have decided that enough is enough. We are moving into the town this afternoon. Pack the bags please.” King Oswald sounded thoroughly fed up.

“Oh, there is no need for that, Sire. I will get rid of the dragon for you.”

“You?”

“Yes. Sire!”

“You have until teatime!”

He waited. Thomas hurried up to the Magician’s room. The spell was ready.

He carried it carefully down to the Dungeons. The Dragon told him, with great delight, everything that had happened with the three would‑be dragon‑killers. It had enjoyed the whole performance enormously.

Thomas painted the Castle wall with the spell, exactly as instructed.

The wall shimmered… vanished… and left a neat hole.

The Dragon slipped through in one smooth movement, and the wall reappeared behind it as if nothing had ever happened.

Thomas ran upstairs to the throne room and urged the King and Queen to come out onto the battlements.

They arrived just in time to see the Dragon cartwheel joyfully across the sky. It swooped low over Thomas’s head and called:

“Thank you, and goodbye!”

With a final flourish, it sped out across the bay toward the distant horizon.

King Oswald turned to Thomas. “Well, I suppose you’ll want to marry the Princess now.”

Thomas shook his head. “If Princess Jasmine doesn’t mind, your Highness, I’d rather not. Kitchen boys don’t marry Princesses, except in fairy stories.”

Princess Jasmine, who had left her room the moment Sir Roger fled, smiled. “I don’t mind at all.”

“You must have some reward,” said Queen Jessamy warmly.

Thomas took a deep breath. “Well… actually, your Majesties, there is something. I’d like to go to school. There’s one where you learn how to be a Butler. Then I could take over from Mr Henry in a few years.”

King Oswald nodded approvingly. “A very sensible request. It shall be done.”

“Besides,” Thomas added honestly, “it was really the Magician who got rid of the Dragon.”

“Then I suppose he will want to marry the Princess,” sighed the King.

The Magician leaned out of his tower window. “If Princess Jasmine doesn’t mind, I’d rather not. I think I’m a bit old for her, really.”

Princess Jasmine did not mind in the least.

“But you must have some reward,” insisted the King.

“Well,” said the Magician thoughtfully, “you could stop Nurse from trying to feed me those awful sweets.”

“Done!” said King Oswald.

And so, the Castle stopped hiccupping, the Dragon flew home across the shining bay, and peace returned to the kingdom. King Oswald stopped grumbling (mostly), Queen Jessamy finished her knitting, the Magician kept his own clothes at last, and Nurse was firmly forbidden from feeding anyone sweets ever again. As for Thomas, he packed his bags for Butler School with a happy heart, and Princess Jasmine waved him off from the battlements. Everything was just as it should be, and far better than anyone had expected when the Castle first went “Hoooooooo… Eeeeeeeee!