Thorfinn and the Dreadful Dragon

by David MacPhail

  “This is the saddest feast ever,” whined Grimm the Grim, casting his eyes up to the rafters. A weak flicker of a smile crossed his face. “I am SOOO happy.”

  Everyone was miserable, apart from Thorfinn of course, who was never sad. He sat next to his father, his knife, fork and spoon arranged in front of him, nibbling on a scone with jam and cream. He was humming and whistling cheerfully. “Dum-de-dum-dum…”

  Percy perched on the table beside him, happily pecking up a few leftover crumbs.

  “It’s a lost cause, boss,” grumbled Erik the Ear-Masher. “Not just because of Thorfinn’s rubbish costumes. We can’t afford a thousand pieces of silver. We’ll lose the entire village to Magnus.”

  “Father’s right,” moaned Olaf. “How can we top a golden-prowed ship being set ablaze?”

  “Oh, but I haven’t told you about my secret plan for the big show!” said Harald, thumping the table.

  “Would this secret plan involve us doing a Viking war dance?” muttered Velda.

  “How did you guess?” barked Harald.

  “Because it’s what you always do when you don’t have an actual plan. Surprise visit from the King? Do a Viking war dance. Forgot to get your wife a birthday present? Do a Viking war dance.” Velda tutted. “You’re lucky she didn’t do her own war dance all over your face. Plus, we’re rubbish at Viking war dances!”

  Harald held his hands up. “Fine, I might have forgotten about the putting-on-a-show part, but if Magnus wins… How in the name of Thor’s trousers can we raise a thousand pieces?”

  “I know,” said Olaf, brightening. “We could put Thorfinn in the village stocks and charge people to throw vegetables at him.”

  “NO!” yelled the chief.

  “We could sell Thorfinn to those traders who passed by last week,” chipped in Erik. “He’d make a fine slave, somewhere very exotic and very far away.”

  “NOOO!” boomed Harald. He sank his head into his hands and sighed. “If we’re going to stand any chance of keeping the village we need something big, something explosive, something that will blow Magnus and his stupid boat and silly costumes out of the water.”

  Harek sat nearby, lighting his pipe with a long taper. He blew it out, but a tiny cinder swirled in the air and landed on his thick bushy beard, which then burst into flames. “AAARGH!” he cried, trying to bat the flames down with his hand. “I’m on fire! HELP!”

  Gertrude reached for a flagon of ale then tossed it over him, dousing the flames. “Sees?” she said smugly. “I is not just a pretty face, I is good in an emergency too!”

  Watching the smoke drift up, Thorfinn took a thoughtful sip from his cup of pinecone tea. “Well, if we’re going to the Shetland Islands anyway, we could always seek out the Great Dragon.”

  “What? What dragon?” asked Harald.

  “If you’re looking for something spectacular and fiery, then she might be able to help. My dear friend Oswald told me about her.”

  All eyes turned to Oswald, but unfortunately the old man was fast asleep, his head resting on Torsten the Ship-Sinker’s shoulder. A trail of drool ran down his beard, and his mouth flapped open and shut with every whistling snore. “ZZZZZZZZ-weeeeeeee. ZZZZZZZZ-weeeeeeee.”

  “Wake him!” bellowed Harald.

  Velda nudged Oswald with her axe but the old man didn’t wake up.

  “Hmm,” said Thorfinn. “This may call for my delightfully strong tea.” He flipped open a pouch on his belt and plucked out a small package wrapped in parchment.

  “Your what?” asked Olaf.

  “It’s only for use in emergencies, but it seems to do the trick.” Thorfinn peeled open the paper wrapping and popped a pinch of tea leaves into a beaker of hot water. Then, very gently, he poured some of the tea into Oswald’s open mouth.

  Exactly two seconds later, Oswald’s eyes shot open. The old man sprang into the air with a look of shock on his face and started doing star jumps, his bad back forgotten. “AAAARGH!” he cried, unable to stop himself.

  “Nothing perks you up like a nice cup of tea,” said Thorfinn, tucking the packet back into his belt.

  Once Oswald had calmed down, Harald demanded he tell them everything he knew about the Great Dragon of Shetland.

  “A-ha,” droned Oswald. “She was one of the last mighty sea dragons, ranging far and wide across the ocean. The Great Dragon lived on the remote clifftops on the northernmost tip of the Shetland Islands.”

  “Do you think she might help, old friend?” asked Thorfinn.

  “She hasn’t been sighted for ten years,” he whined. “And neither has the great dragonslayer, Hel, who was her mortal enemy, and one of the fiercest Vikings ever to have lived. Hel used to battle the dragon across the length and breadth of the island chain. Stories of their terrific duels are told far and wide.”

  “What happened to them?” barked Harald.

  “Many fear they both perished in the treacherous waters around the islands. There are fierce whirlpools and strange-smelling blackened seas where most Viking ships fear to go.”

  Harald leaned forward. “Yet the dragon might still be alive?”

  Oswald nodded.

  Harald stroked his beard. “Hmm. It’s a long shot.”

  “Long shot? It’s the most ridiculous idea I ever heard!” Olaf cried.

  “Even if we did somehow track down this dragon,” added Erik, “why in Thor’s name would it help us? And what’s to stop it from burning us to a crisp?!”

  Velda tossed aside the chicken leg she’d been munching on, wiped her mouth and belched before leaping to her roll-o-booted feet. “An impossible mission, with almost zero chance of success. Ha! What are we waiting for?”

  Thorfinn dabbed his mouth politely, folded his napkin and stood up, before tucking his stool neatly under the table. Percy fluttered up to perch on his shoulder. “Father, I’d be delighted to help. Or rather, my wonderful crew and I would. We’ll set off at once.”

  Harald sighed and nodded. He had no other option. “Thorfinn, this is a truly desperate mission. But you are the cleverest of us all. If anyone can do it, you can.”

  Erik snorted. “Oh, come on! Surely you’re not staking the future of our village on this crackpot scheme?!”

  “And on Thorfinn?!” Olaf sneered.

  “It seems no one has any better ideas,” growled Harald, his eye twitching. He grasped his son by the shoulders. “Find the dragon. Persuade her to help us. Then meet us at the Fire Festival in Lerwick in three days’ time.”

  CHAPTER 6

  At the hastily mended pier, Thorfinn patted the figurehead on his longship’s prow, a green dragon. “Let’s go, old girl – a dragon in search of a dragon.”

  Before Thorfinn could leap aboard, Harald arrived to wave his son off. “Now, Thorfinn, remember that the entire village is relying on you. If you fail, we lose everything.”

  Thorfinn smiled up at him. “Of course, dear Dad. Don’t worry, I shall do my very best. I won’t let you down.”

  “And try not to get yourself barbequed by the blasted dragon,” said Harald. “Your mother will kill me.”

  “Good luck!” cried Erik the Ear-Masher as Thorfinn hopped aboard to join the rest of his crew. “You’ll need it, because it’s a hopeless mission!” Then he pushed his son Olaf onto the boat just as they were about to cast off. “Sorry, son, but you’re going too.”

  “What! You’re sending me with these losers?!” complained Olaf.

  “I need a real Viking on board to keep an eye on them,” replied Erik.

  Olaf stomped off to the back of the boat to sulk.

  Meanwhile, Grut the Goat-Gobbler’s stomach was rumbling. “I’m starving already. Any chance of something to eat?”

  “I’m cookesin a nice beetle pie if yours interested,” shrieked Gertrude. Grut, and indeed everyone else on the boat, quickly found something to keep them busy.

  Everyone except Thorfinn, who smiled politely. “I’m afraid I don’t eat insects, old friend.”

  �
��No,” Gertrude said, grinning. “You is odd, but I forgives you.”

  Torsten the Ship-Sinker was scratching his head, staring at a map spread out in front of him. “Now, which way’s the sea?”

  Velda snatched the map, turned it the right way up, then pointed behind his shoulder. “See that big blue wet thing over there? That’s the sea. Now get on with it!” She skated around the deck in her roll-o-boots, hoisting the sails and manning the steering tiller. “Out of my way, cretins!” she yelled, nudging Harek. But she underestimated her speed and Harek crashed overboard.

  “AAAAARGH!”

  “I have a very bad feeling about this trip,” moaned Grimm the Grim as he lassoed his crewmate with a rope and hauled him back onboard.

  “Huh! You’re not the only one,” grumbled Olaf.

  Oswald blew the dust off a thick brown book he had pulled from his cloak. “Here, Thorfinn, you’ll need this if we’re to find the Great Dragon.”

  “You want to track down a dragon using a silly old book?” said Olaf.

  “You’ll find that books are useful tools in any situation,” replied Oswald.

  “Rubbish! Can you win battles with them? Can you crush the skulls of your enemies with them?”

  Oswald calmly leaned over and clobbered Olaf over the head with the heavy tome. “Sometimes, if needed,” he whined.

  Olaf was very quiet after that.

  Thorfinn took the leather-bound book from Oswald and turned it over in his hands, gazing at it in wonder. “The Book of Dreki,” he said, reading the rune writing on the cover.

  “The Book of Dragons,” translated Oswald. “It was written by the great Oslo the Dragon-Feeder. It contains everything we Vikings know about dragonkind – information about the different species, where they live, what they eat, what to do if one chomps off your head – you know, all the need-to-know stuff.”

  Despite Torsten setting off in the wrong direction then reversing into some moored longships, they eventually managed to make their way out of the fjord. They were soon headed towards the west and the setting sun.

  “Next stop, the Shetland Islands,” called Thorfinn.

  “HUZZAH!” cried the crew.

  CHAPTER 7

  Over the next two days they forged through rough seas and icy winds. On the third morning the weather grew even colder. Thorfinn wrapped a scarf around his neck and Percy huddled on his shoulder for warmth. He opened up The Book of Dreki. “According to the book’s map, we should be nearing the northernmost tip of the Shetland Islands. It says, ‘Here ranges the great sea dragon and her kind.’”

  “What’s that?” cried Velda, pointing out a dark stretch of water filling the horizon on their right.

  “Aha!” said Thorfinn. “That is what they call the Blackened Sea. It’s here on the map.”

  “The water there is strange and black,” explained Oswald. “Vikings believe it is cursed, for many ships have been lost there, disappearing or suddenly bursting into flames for no reason.”

  The crew’s faces were pale as they stared at the mysterious patch of water.

  “Hmm. We’d best steer clear of it,” said Thorfinn, and the crew sighed with relief.

  “Wait!” called Harek. “Up ahead, look!”

  They heard a roaring noise, like a great storm. A vast, swirling mass of water lay directly in their path. It was a giant whirlpool, with white foam frothing from the centre.

  “They call it the Corrydreki,” croaked Oswald. “It will tear our ship apart!”

  “Oh! That’s on my map too,” called Thorfinn, cheered to see his map was entirely accurate.

  “There’s no way past it!” shouted Velda.

  “We’re DOOOOOOMED!” wailed Grimm.

  “Any chance of a final meal before we die?” asked Grut, licking his lips.

  “How abouts a lovely dung beetle omelette?” said Gertrude.

  Grut flung his arm over Grimm’s shoulder and joined in the wailing. “We’re DOOOOOOMED!”

  Thorfinn paused in thought for a second, the whirlpool looming closer and closer. He licked his finger and held it up in the air. Then he calmly stepped up onto a barrel and coughed politely. “My dear friends,” he said, “would you be so good as to man the oars?”

  “Are we going back?” Olaf asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid not, and the wind’s too strong for us to cut to the left. We’ll have to take our chances on the Blackened Sea.”

  Olaf gulped. “What?! Are you mad? It’s cursed, didn’t you hear?”

  “Shuddup and get rowing, spud features!” yelled Velda.

  Everyone grabbed an oar and started rowing to the right. Except Torsten, who pulled to the left. “Oh, sorry, my bad!” he said, before pulling the same way as everybody else.

  The boat turned, slowly but surely, away from the thrashing waves of the whirlpool and towards the dreaded waters of the Blackened Sea.

  CHAPTER 8

  The crew of the Green Dragon leaned over the side of the ship, gazing fearfully at the water’s dark surface.

  Velda sniffed the air, which had a strange and stinky whiff. “Phew! What’s that awful smell?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s put me right off my food,” said Grut, rubbing his stomach.

  “Who fancies a snail baguette?” said Gertrude.

  “That’s also put me off my food,” added Grut.

  “Dear pals, I’m sure there’s nothing to fear. Perhaps a little bit of research is in order,” said Thorfinn thoughtfully. He snatched a cup and turned to Harek.

  “Pardon me, dear friend, but would you mind swinging me over the side?”

  Velda turned to Harek, holding her axe up to his face. “Don’t you dare drop him, you butter-fingered oaf!”

  Harek shrugged and did as he was told, dangling Thorfinn just above the sea’s surface. Reaching out, Thorfinn scooped up a cup of the strange black water.

  “Would you mind terribly pulling me up now, please?” he called, and Harek hoisted him back on board.

  Once upright, Thorfinn dabbed his finger in the liquid, sniffed it, then tasted it with his tongue. He nodded. “Yes, it’s a kind of oil. Thick, black oil.”

  “Of course! It seeps up from the sea bed,” said Oswald. “It’s highly flammable. No wonder ships burst into flames.”

  “As long as we don’t light any fires then it shouldn’t trouble us,” said Thorfinn.

  They turned to find Gertrude lighting a fire in the brazier.

  “NOOOO!”

  Velda sped over on her roll-o-boots and emptied a bucket of water over it.

  “Whats did you do that for?!” shrieked Gertrude. “I was just abouts to cook.”

  “In that case, I just saved the crew’s life twice over,” said Velda.

  They soon spotted lighter-coloured sea on the horizon, and everyone on board held their breath until they crossed into it.

  Grimm stared up at the skies, his eyes wet with tears. “I’m alive! I promise I’ll never moan again!” At that exact moment, a giant seagull poo splattered across his helmet and down his shoulder. “Oh, why does everything ALWAYS happen to me?!” he wailed.

  Slowly, a coastline appeared on the horizon. They sailed round a headland into a sheltered bay, fringed by a ramshackle village with a jetty jutting out into the water. The village was dwarfed on either side by humungous jagged cliffs.

  Thorfinn flipped open The Book of Dreki. “Hmm, it says here that the tall sea cliffs in this region are the great sea dragon’s favourite habitat, but there do seem to be an awful lot of them round here… Perhaps the locals can point us in the right direction.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The crew tied the Green Dragon up at the jetty. Thorfinn went ashore with Olaf, Velda, Harek and Grimm. Oswald insisted on coming too, but as his ‘bad back’ had mysteriously returned he demanded to be carried. Grimm and Olaf heaved the old man onto Harek’s back as Oswald whined, “Hurry up, you dung merchants!”

  They made a strange sight as they crossed the village, with
Percy perched on Thorfinn’s shoulder, Harek carrying Oswald, Velda on her roll-o-boots and Grimm moping along behind. Olaf heaved a long painful sigh, and shook his head. “What do we look like?!”

  Oswald replied by snatching the dragon book out of Thorfinn’s hands and whacking Olaf over the head with it.

  “OUCH!”

  Leading the way, Thorfinn came to a stop outside the village inn. “Shall we start our enquiries here, old friends?”

  He strolled inside with his crew following behind him and ambled up to the bar, tipping his helmet to the barman. “Good day, my dear sir!”

  The barman, a great barrel-chested man, took in the smiling, freckly boy with a pigeon on his shoulder. Then the rag-tag group of misfits behind. His mouth fell open.

  “Yeah, I know,” said Velda. “Just roll with it.”

  Thorfinn continued: “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any dragons in these parts?”

  The man laughed, a great booming guffaw that rattled the flagons on the shelf behind him. “Ha! Well, if it’s dragons you’re after, why don’t you try that bloke sitting in the corner there.” He pointed at a sad-looking man slumped at a table. He had a drooping moustache, and stared down glumly into his flagon of mead.

  Thorfinn approached, flanked by his crew. “Good day. I understand that you might be the person to speak to about dragons?”

  The big man sniffed. “I was once. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “We’re looking for the one they call the Great Dragon?”