The Dragons 3 (3 page)

FAMOUS DRAGONS OF THE WORLD
SCOTLAND
HECTOR M
^c
PUDDING

Meanwhile, the runaways Brassica, Princess Floridian and Rampart had arrived at the Diabolical Islands and been greeted with the usual festivities, which consisted of being robbed of everything and being thrown into gaol.

‘Did they take the ruby?' Brassica whispered.

‘Not exactly,' said Princess Floridian. ‘It is hidden on the ship.'

‘How can you be sure they haven't found it?'

‘Well, you know how the lowest bit of the ship, below the bottom deck where all the disgusting rubbish sloshes about, is called the bowels of the ship?'

‘Yes.'

‘Those words are more accurate than you could ever imagine,' said the Princess.

‘But …'

‘Don't ask,' said the Princess. ‘It makes me sick just to think about it.'

Unlike the other two, who were used to living in castles and grand houses, Rampart's family lived in a hovel made of yak hair, seaweed and sticks.

‘Look at these walls,' he said admiringly.
‘Real stone. This must be some sort of smart inn to welcome travellers. I've never stayed in a room with stone walls before.'

‘It's a prison, idiot,' said Princess Floridian.

‘Don't be silly,' said Rampart. ‘I mean, look at the lovely straw on the floor and that wonderful bucket.'

‘That's our bed and our toilet,' said Brassica.

‘Wow. I never used a bucket before,' said Rampart. ‘I like this place.'

A slot in the door opened and an unseen hand threw three turnips into the room.

‘Oh my goodness,' Rampart squealed in delight. ‘Look at those magnificent turnips.'

‘What?' said the Princess and Brassica in unison.

‘Listen, if there's one thing I knows a lot about it's turnips and those are three of the finest I did ever see. They be Avalon Accolades if I'm not mistaken and there be none finer.'

He picked one up and held it to his nose with his eyes closed in pure pleasure. Its smell and texture sent him into a trance. Tears came into his eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he caressed the vegetable.

‘I so wish my father was here,' he said. ‘I has no
words to tell how wonderful this turnip is.'

He stroked the other two turnips with great reverence and pronounced them equally spectacular. The slot in the door opened and a voice said, ‘Who's doing all that turnip-talking?'

‘Me,' Rampart. ‘They be magnificent.'

A few minutes later the door was flung open and two guards took Rampart away.

Meanwhile, in another meanwhile, life in Camelot was very peaceful and calm and everyone was worried.

‘Something terrible is going to happen,' said Merlin. ‘I can feel it in my bones. Everything is just too peaceful and calm.'

‘But isn't that good?' said King Arthur. ‘Don't we want everyone to be happy?'

‘Yes, but it's not natural,' said Merlin. ‘I mean, did you not hear Sidney the Morning Herald at the break of day?'

‘Not actually, no. I tend to sleep a bit later than dawn.'

‘Well, this day as I leant out my window to greet the sunrise, Sidney came into the main courtyard as he does every day and read out the news,' said Merlin, ‘and a sorry sight it was indeed.'

‘Were his proclamations distressing?'

‘They were, sire.'

‘And can you remember them, good Merlin?'

‘I can indeed, sire. Every word.'

‘And what was the news of the day?'

‘Well, sire, Sidney, the Morning Herald, had no scroll to read from. He did not need one. He stood there facing the main door, raised his voice with no enthusiasm and said “
Hear ye, hear ye. Today is Thursday
”.'

‘Well, that was a good start. After all it is Thursday,' said the King. ‘What said he then?'

‘Nothing, my lord. He pulled his hood over his head and departed.'

‘Oh.'

‘Indeed, my lord,' said Merlin. ‘It was no better when his brother, the Late Edition Herald, arrived after lunch. He only said one
Hear Ye
and then added “
what my brother said earlier
” and left.'

‘But is it not good, my wise Merlin, that all my subjects are happy and can enjoy every day without having to look over their shoulders for dragons or invading armies or kidnappers?' Arthur asked.

‘Well, yes, it would seem that it should be so,' said the old wizard. ‘And on top of everything else, we are having the finest weather anyone can remember. It only rains at night when we are asleep. It is neither too cold nor too hot and the crops grow taller and fatter than ever before.'

‘So are not my subjects happier than they have ever been?'

‘It would seem so,' said Merlin. ‘Yet I have a terrible feeling of foreboding and of mighty disaster, but everyone will be so relaxed they will be taken completely off guard.'

Morgan le Fey had been looking out the window, wondering where her beloved Sir Lancelot had gone, and only half listening to what was going on.

I sent him down to the village to get me a bag of lollies three hours ago,
she thought.
He should have returned long since.

‘Could it not simply be that you are just a miserable old man who doesn't like the idea of everyone being happy?' she said, turning to Merlin.

‘Well yes, it could,' said Merlin. ‘I cannot deny that I am only truly happy when I am miserable and there's lots of trouble and turmoil to sort out.'

‘Maybe you just need to learn to relax,' said King Arthur, but he knew the old wizard was incapable of it.

‘Oh no, sire, I must forever be on guard to protect Avalon,' Merlin said. ‘I promised this to your father and his father before him and their fathers
back, over all the hundreds of generations who have ruled this great land.'

‘Well, how about a holiday?' Arthur suggested. ‘Just take a bit of time off.'

‘I did that this morning, sire, between eight o'clock and two minutes past eight. I did not enjoy it. It made me restless and bored.'

‘So what is your suggestion, good wizard?' said Arthur.

‘Indeed, old man, what are you planning?' said Morgan Le Fey. ‘For as sure as night turns into day I'll bet you have something afoot.'

‘I fear, my lady, that I will not need to do anything to break this tranquillity,' said Merlin. ‘My spies tell me things are indeed, as you say, afoot, but they are not on my feet.'

He was about to tell them that Arthur's evil cousin, Mordred, had murdered his own parents and was now back on the mainland with two accomplices and that one of them was the legendary Culvert, Prince of Clapshamshire, who had been thrown off his own ship by the deposed false King Arthur, the runaway Princess Floridian and a large lout who
resembled a turnip, and that these three runaways had arrived at the Diabolical Islands and Mordred and his cronies were planning to join them and raise an army to invade Avalon, and on top of all that, it looked like the dragons might be looking for a fight, but Merlin thought better of it and said they were probably right and everything was just wonderful.

Meanwhile, back at one of the other meanwhiles, Mordred, the fifteenth Lord Laclustre of Laclustre, and Captain Shortbread Silver followed Culvert, Prince of Clapshamshire,
²¹
across the Prince's seaweed, up his beach, over his small round rocks, past his prickly thistles, over his fence and into his field where his three fine horses, Beryl, Feryl and Blodwyg greeted them with delighted whinnies and very bad breath from eating nothing but grass and the occasional prickly thistle.

‘Hello, my fine beauties!' said Culvert. ‘Come stand by this convenient rock so that we three may climb onto your three backs and be carried home to Castle Culvert.'

These horses were just horses. They were not magic horses that could fly or speak or run like the wind. They could, however, understand every single word their master said and they could think, and what Beryl thought was,
Sod off. We are very happy here in
this field of lovely, tasty grass and don't actually want to go to the castle.

On the other hand, Feryl thought,
Yeah, you want to go to the castle, then go. We're staying here.

Yes, with the thistles,
Blodwyg added.

Blodwyg was not very bright.

So the three horses refused to go anywhere near the convenient rock and as they were very big horses and the three humans all had rather short legs, there was no way to get onto their backs.

‘You know what?' said Culvert, as the rain began to crash down as it usually does in the bleak highlands. ‘It's a lovely day, why don't we walk? 'Tis but a short three-hour stroll.'

The short three-hour stroll was actually a muddy scramble up jagged ravines, across racing torrents of freezing water and through a forest of giant blood-sucking thistles which, strangely, were the national emblem of the area, and the three hours actually took all day. As night fell, so did the three travellers. Luckily they found a cave to crawl into for the night, for that night was so dark they could not have travelled any further. It was so dark that you couldn't see your hand
in front of your face and Mordred had a panic attack.

‘HELP!' he cried. ‘My hands have fallen off.'
²²

If you are lost in a cold, deserted place, a cave is usually a good place to seek shelter. This was not one of those caves. There was more water dripping from the roof than there was rain falling outside. Luckily because it was so dark, the travellers couldn't see the colour of the water until the next morning when they had all been stained a sort of been-dead-for-a-week-zombie-green colour. In the back of the cave there was a family of hedgehogs hibernating. Their seven hundred and fourteen fleas, however, were not hibernating and decided humans were much nicer to eat than hedgehogs.

Apart from the slime hanging from the walls, which was not only nourishing but tasted just like bacon, it was not a good night. They set off at daybreak, then, realising how early it was, returned to the cave and set off again two hours later, by which time the day had broken so badly that they wished they had stayed
on the beach. The rain was now filled with hailstones. Not nice round ones that just cover you with bruises, but sharp pointy ones, like shards of glass, that actually drew blood.

‘I have never seen or heard of weather such as this,' said Captain Shortbread Silver and the others agreed.

What none of them realised was that the fleas, the skin-staining water and the razor hail were all created by Merlin, whose sole purpose was to make the three of them as miserable as possible.

They were and they did. Their tempers grew shorter and shorter until, as they crested the last hill and began to walk down towards Castle Culvert, they were all too bad-tempered to talk to each other or even to themselves.

As the three soaked-through travellers, their clothes ripped to shreds by the hail, came within sight of the castle, Urngristle, Culvert's squire and Number One Personal Persecutor of the estate's peasants, looked out of the window and called the guards.

‘Three disgusting tramps are approaching,' he said. ‘Go down and clamp them in chains and throw
them into the dungeons, and on your way out tell the dungeon master to put fresh goose grease on the torture equipment. We don't want a repeat of that time we stretched those Vikings on the rack and their heads fell off. I've never been so embarrassed.'

‘Good Urngristle,' said Lady Tracyvere, Prince Culvert's wife, ‘have you no word of my beloved husband?'

‘I have not, my lady,' Urngristle replied. ‘Maybe these three tramps have attacked him and he lies wounded or dead on some deserted hillside.'

‘Oh, say it is not so.'

‘My lady, I shall personally give the three of them a seriously good torturing,' said Urngristle. ‘And I will keep on torturing them until we find the truth.'

‘Shall you use the thumbscrews?' Tracyvere asked, a naughty sparkle coming into her eyes.

‘Thumbscrews, nosescrews and elbowscrews, my lady.'

‘And the bottomscrews, shall you use them too?'

‘Oh indeed.'

‘Well then, good Urngristle, please wait while I change into my torturing dress so none of their flying
bits and pieces may leave any stains,' said Tracyvere. ‘It  would seem that using your full range of screws may take some time, so I shall bring some sandwiches and a flask of warm mead too.'

‘I will see you in the dungeons in thirty minutes, my lady,' said Urngristle.

His eyes lit up at the thought. His fingers twitched in anticipation and he began to dribble, which had nothing to do with the thought of torture, but because he had been born with his tongue upside down and actually dribbled most of the time.
²³

Three soldiers left the castle, waving their swords and pikestaffs
²⁴
at the three travellers walking towards them. Normally this would involve the visitors turning tail and trying to run away, which would then prompt the soldiers to catch them, hit them a lot and drag them back to the castle.

However, the opposite happened. The three arrivals threw themselves at the soldiers, who were so surprised they tried to run away but tripped over
each other's pikestaffs and fell in a heap on the ground, where they were hit a lot with their own pikestaffs before being tied up in a big bundle with their own tabards.
²⁵

‘Guards! Guards! Guards!' Urngristle shouted. ‘Go to the aid of your fellows.'

Five more guards ran out, only to be flattened and tied up with the first three.

Culvert walked towards the castle, looked up at the window and began to curse.

‘Urngristle, this is your lord and master and if you send one more of my own soldiers out to attack me, you shall die in the slowest, most painful way you could ever imagine,' he shouted.

‘Oh … [
insert a lot of delicious swearwords here
],' cried Urngristle. ‘My lord, I did not recognise thee. I thought thou was three tramps.'

Urngristle shivered in terror. He knew what thousands of the slowest most painful ways he could ever imagine were because he had imagined them. It was something he thought about every night before
dropping off to sleep. He had a book full of terrifying ways to kill your enemies and it now appeared his master had read it.

‘Indeed,' Culvert called out, ‘page three hundred and seventy-six. We have enough rusty nails, though I am not sure where we shall get one thousand jellyfish or a very big funnel.'

Urngristle raced out of the castle and threw himself at his master's feet.

Oh … [insert a lot of delicious swearwords here]
, he thought,
maybe I should have run out of the back door and escaped.

‘Oh master, I thought you were three brigands who had captured and maybe even killed you,' Urngristle grovelled, for he was genuinely devoted to Culvert. ‘I was about to torture them.'

‘Indeed?'

‘Yes, master,' said Urngristle, ‘you know that I would lay down my life for you as my father did for your father when they were cast away on a desert island with nothing to eat.'

‘I think that was a dessert island,' said Culvert. ‘Well, good squire. None of us are reprobates, nor
shall we need to eat you. Though we have all been sorely mistreated one way or another and are in need of sustenance, a bath, clean clothes and enormous amounts of bacon.'

And that was what the three of them got, though not necessarily in that order.

Four hours later, when they were sitting back in warm, sheepskin dressing gowns
²⁶
each with a mug of mulled ale, in front of a roaring log fire in the main hall of the castle, Culvert realised he hadn't actually seen his beloved Lady Tracyvere since he had arrived. This was not like her. His wife was usually the first to greet him when he got back from a bit of pillaging or a peasant shoot. He sent for a maidservant to send for his wife's handmaiden, who sent for his wife's wholepersonmaiden, who said the last time she had seen Traceyvere she was on her way down to the dungeons to enjoy a bit of torture Urngristle was about to perform on three ferocious pirate-tramp-type bandits that the guards had just brought in.

After an hour sitting in the dungeon waiting for Urngristle to arrive with his prisoners, Tracyvere had finished her gristle sandwiches, drunk all of her flask of mead and fallen asleep. When her shouldermaiden tapped Traceyvere on her shoulder and woke her up, Tracyvere was in a very bad mood. The gristle had given her a stomachache and the mead a headache.

‘Why did no one wake me when the torture started?' she snapped.

‘There was no torture, my lady,' her shouldermaiden replied.

‘Were the tramps killed before they could be captured?'

‘There were no tramps, my lady.'

‘Yes there were. I saw them from the window.'

‘They were not tramps, my lady. They were your husband and two companions: one Prince Mordred, the son of your neighbours, and the other, the famous sea captain, Shortbread Silver.'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Tracyvere snapped. ‘I know what my husband looks like. They were three tramps. You are a very wicked girl to say such things and I've half a mind to have you tortured to make up for me sleeping through the first session. I shall have your hair turned red and your whole body covered with ginger freckles, each one put there with a burning-hot knitting needle.'

The girl collapsed on the floor weeping, but before Lady Tracyvere could do anything Urngristle arrived and explained what had happened.

Tracyvere didn't say sorry to her shouldermaiden. She was too cross at the torture being cancelled.

Most of the things that had happened since Mordred and the Captain had been washed up on the beach had been stage managed by Merlin. His army of spies – crows genetically engineered to fly very, very fast yet be small enough to go unnoticed – had kept him informed of events. It had been Merlin who had put
the rebellious thoughts into the three horses' brains so they would refuse to carry their master and his friends. The rain he hadn't made happen. That had just been a bonus, but he had added the vicious hailstones. He had also moved Culvert's castle fifteen miles further inland and moved the footpaths so that Mordred, the Prince and the Captain traversed rougher terrain and turned into dead ends or went back on themselves. He was particularly pleased with the nastiness of the cave and very proud of his attention to detail, which had given the fleas much sharper bites than normal.

His only disappointment had been the lack of torture. Urngristle's devotion to his master had been too strong to overcome.