Muddle Earth

by Chris Riddell

  The dragon spun round, eyes blazing, talons glinting. Randalf tripped and sprawled on the floor of the cave like a stranded stiltmouse. The dragon’s eyes were fixed on him. Too terrified to move, he watched as the monstrous creature flapped its leathery wings, flexed its talons and lunged forwards, its great jaws gaping.

  ‘ROOOAAARRRGGGHHH!!!’

  ‘Ooh, I heard it that time,’ said Norbert, as the noise echoed all around them.

  ‘We must be getting close,’ said Joe.

  Norbert shuddered. ‘It sounds really cross.’

  ‘Either that,’ said Veronica, ‘or it’s hungry. Maybe we’re not too late, after all.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, Veronica,’ said Joe.

  ‘Good old Randalf,’ the budgerigar chuckled. ‘Giving that dragon a run for his money . . .’

  Abruptly Norbert sat back and skidded along on the seat of his pants. Veronica squawked. Joe cried out. Henry barked and leaped down on to the safety of solid ground.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Norbert breathlessly. ‘It’s the only way I know how to stop.’

  ‘But why have we stopped?’ Veronica demanded, smoothing down her ruffled feathers.

  ‘Because of that,’ said Norbert, and pointed.

  Joe and Veronica turned and followed the line of his grubby outstretched finger. It was the entrance to a cave.

  ‘Smoke,’ said Veronica softly.

  ‘Footprints,’ said Joe.

  Henry wagged his tail and barked, first at the cave, then up at Joe.

  ‘Is he in there, boy?’ said Joe. ‘Is Randalf there?’ He swallowed nervously. ‘With the dragon?’

  A roaring sound echoed through the air, and fresh smoke billowed from the cave entrance. Henry barked excitedly.

  ‘Angry or hungry, it still sounds dangerous,’ said Norbert in a quavery voice.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Joe?’ said Veronica. ‘No one would think any the worse of you if you didn’t.’

  Joe shook his head. ‘I would,’ he said. ‘Besides, without Randalf, I’ll never get home. I’ll be stuck here for ever.’

  ‘There are worse places to be stuck,’ said Veronica. ‘Like the inside of a dragon’s belly, for instance.’ She noticed the expression in Joe’s eyes. ‘Still, if you must, you must,’ she added. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘So will I,’ said Norbert, ‘if you undo my boots first.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Joe. Henry barked. ‘Thank you all.’

  ‘Victory or death!’ Veronica squawked.

  Joe groaned.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ he told himself, muttering under his breath. ‘I’ve taken on a giant ogre before now. And that wasn’t so bad. It’s what Randalf’s always saying, You just have to bluff, lad. Show them who’s boss.’ He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow.‘But a dragon,’ he gasped.‘A monstrous, great, fire-breathing dragon!’

  He looked ahead at the dark smoke billowing from the cave entrance. It was getting thicker and more pungent by the second. Eyes streaming and heart pounding, he marched bravely on. And as the entrance came closer, he could hear strange noises echoing down the tunnel – snorts and snuffles, gurgles and growls, and a small, high-pitched voice pleading for its life . . .

  ‘Please, please, pretty-please, put me down, there’s a nice dragon,’ Randalf was babbling.

  Upside down again, he was dangling from the dragon’s claws – his head inches away from the beast’s vast and odorous beaked mouth. A forked tongue shot out and flickered round his face. The eyes widened. The jaws cracked open . . .

  ‘No, no, no,’ Randalf started up again. ‘You don’t want to eat me. Ugh! Ugh!’ he said, screwing up his face. ‘Nasty! Chewy! Tough!’ He spat. ‘Horrible!’

  Staring at him curiously, the dragon opened its great mouth wider. Randalf found himself staring down into a long, blood-red tunnel. The stench was incredible; the heat, intolerable.

  ‘For pity’s sake,’ he gasped.‘You can’t eat me, I’m a wizard!’

  Behind them, the cutlery started up a low, mournful, clanking funeral march. The dragon narrowed its large yellow eyes.

  Suddenly, from outside, a clear, if slightly nervous voice could be heard.

  ‘It is I, Joe the Barbarian! Subduer of ogres, friend of wizards and champion to the Horned Baron himself! And I think you should know – eating people is wrong!’

  As soon as his brave words left his mouth, Joe regretted them. What had he been thinking? After all, a dragon was a dragon – and this one, he already knew, was a monster!

  From the cave came the sound of scratching, and the dragon’s huge, scaly head popped out. It looked around with blazing yellow eyes. Its gaze fell on a boy, a budgie, a not-very-big ogre and a rather scruffy looking dog.

  It snorted. A ring of black smoke coiled into the air and sailed away.

  Joe desperately tried to stop his teeth chattering. This was no time for his nerve to go.

  ‘Behold, mighty dragon!’ he cried. ‘I, Joe the Barbarian, stand before you with my fearless battle-hound, Henry . . . the Ferocious. And Norbert the Not-Very . . . errm . . . Easily-Calmed-Down-Once-You’ve-Got-Him-Started. You certainly wouldn’t want to make him angry, believe me.’ Joe nudged Norbert.

  ‘Grrrrr!’ said Norbert feebly.

  The dragon raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And he’s not alone!’ said Joe, urgently. ‘For he has come with a great big army of . . . really, really angry ogres.’

  The dragon frowned and inched forwards for a closer look. It peered round.

  ‘Of course, you can’t see them . . . they’re masters of camouflage!’ said Joe. ‘But they are there. Hiding behind rocks. Hundreds of them. And armed – armed to the teeth. Just waiting for my word to throw themselves into battle.’

  The dragon began drumming rhythmically on the ground with its talons.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ said Joe desperately. ‘I’ve got budgies.’

  ‘Unnh?’ grunted the dragon.

  ‘Yes, budgies,’ said Joe. ‘Attack budgies! This is my Wing Commodore. In charge of two dozen budgie squadrons.’

  ‘All trained in unarmed combat and at the peak of their physical condition,’ added Veronica quickly. ‘Vicious, ruthless and under strict instructions to take no prisoners.’ Her voice dropped to a low and, she hoped, menacing whisper. ‘You mess with one of my squadrons and . . . and . . . and they’ll mess on you!’

  ‘You have been warned,’ said Joe. ‘I and my mighty army have come,’ he said, sweeping his arm around in a circle, ‘to set the wizard free. Release him now, and no one will get hurt.’

  The dragon looked puzzled. ‘Get hurt?’ it said. ‘Why, darling, of course no one’s going to get hurt – unless I decide otherwise!’

  Joe gasped. ‘It can talk,’ he hissed.

  Veronica nodded. ‘Dragons are very good mimics, just like parrots – or lazybirds when they can be bothered. Who’s a pretty dragon? Who’s a pretty dragon?’

  ‘Shut up, Veronica,’ Joe hissed, and turned to the gigantic beast. ‘Where is Randalf?’ he asked in his biggest, deepest voice. He frowned. ‘We’re not too late, are we? I mean . . .’ He faltered. ‘You haven’t eaten him, have you?’

  The dragon threw back its head and trilled with laughter. ‘Randalf! So that’s his name, is it? No, darling, I wouldn’t dream of eating anyone called Randalf. I mean, what a perfectly dreadful name!’

  Joe breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Since you’re here, you’d better come inside,’ the dragon said. ‘I won’t have it said that Margot Dragonbreath kept guests standing outside in the cold. Come on! Come on!’ And with that, the head disappeared back inside.

  Joe looked at Veronica, who looked at Norbert, who looked at Henry – who dashed off into the cave, barking and wagging his tail. The others followed him in.

  ‘It’s so typical of you dragon-slayer types,’ the dragon was saying. ‘You see a magnificent creature like me and you just jump to conclusions.’

>   Behind her, the cutlery was clinking and clanking. Her voice rose above it.

  ‘You assume that I can’t wait to devour you whole. I mean, it’s so vulgar . . .’

  Clatter! Clatter! Clink! Clonk!

  ‘Whereas nine times out of ten . . .’ She was shouting now. ‘What I really fancy is a toasted teacake and a sponge finger . . .’

  Behind her, the cutlery had worked itself up into a frenzy of noise and activity. The dragon spun round furiously.

  ‘Oh, do settle down!’ she shouted. She tossed her head. ‘I feel one of my migraines coming on.’

  The cutlery obliged, bringing the noise down to a more soothing pianissimo. Joe stood open-mouthed, scarcely able to believe what he was seeing.

  He was in a huge cavern – hot, dark and incredibly messy. There was junk strewn all over the floor and rising up in the middle into a great unstable heap. Most of the objects were silent and still, but some – the knives, forks, spoons and other assorted bits of cutlery he had seen earlier at the garden party – were anything but.

  What is going on? Joe wondered.

  They were clinking and clanking. They were hopping and jumping about. A collection of knives to his left were clashing their blades and clacking their handles. To his right, a group of forks were twanging and banging. There was a trio of soup spoons; a ladle quartet. And all of them dancing to the same insistent beat which, once again, was building up . . .

  Clatter! Clatter! CLINK! CLONK!

  What a racket! Joe thought, and winced. What on earth was it up to?

  The dragon put a claw to her thin lips. ‘Sssshhh!’ she hissed. ‘I won’t tell you again.’

  For a second time, the cutlery became quieter. Not silent. But quiet enough for Joe to hear another noise – a curious muffled grunting and groaning which was coming from somewhere near the wall.

  ‘Grrrmmbll flammell-flan,’ the voice complained. ‘Pfleeem . . .’

  Joe peered into the shadows. There – not ten metres away from the entrance to the cave – was a portly figure, seated on the floor, struggling to remove a large metal bucket which was wedged firmly on to his head. Joe stared . . .

  ‘Randalf?’ he said. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Omm kmomf miff!’ the voice bellowed back.

  Joe strode across and seized the bucket. ‘Take hold of his legs, Norbert,’ he said. ‘And when I give the word, pull.’

  Norbert did as he was told. Veronica sat on his head, watching. Henry wagged his tail slowly.

  ‘All set?’ said Joe.

  The cutlery clanged and clattered behind them.

  Norbert tightened his grip on the wizard’s ankles. ‘All set,’ he said.

  ‘Pull!’ yelled Joe.

  At first – apart from a loud echoing scream from the bucket – nothing happened. Joe altered his grip.

  ‘Again!’ he cried.

  This time, as Norbert tugged the legs, Joe twisted the bucket. There was a loud pop! Norbert let go of the ankles and fell down. Joe staggered backwards, the bucket in his hand. And there between them – still seated on the ground with his legs stuck out in front of him – was Randalf. He blinked twice.

  ‘Waargh!’ he screamed as he saw the dragon. ‘She tried to eat me!’

  The dragon groaned. ‘Typical,’ she said. ‘Here we go again.’

  ‘She did!’ Randalf insisted indignantly. ‘She had hold of me and was getting ready to swallow me whole. If you hadn’t come along when you did . . .’

  ‘I was simply curious,’ the dragon told Joe. ‘He came with that lot,’ she added, pointing towards the noisy cutlery. ‘I thought he was a free gift.’

  ‘A free gift?’ Randalf spluttered, outraged.

  ‘The trouble was, he would wriggle so!’ the dragon went on. ‘He slipped out of my grip and dropped down, headfirst, and got wedged in that,’ she said, nodding at the bucket. ‘It was entirely his own fault.’ She leaned down and pulled Randalf to his feet. ‘Now, if you’ll just keep still, you funny little man, and allow me to introduce myself. I am Margot . . .’

  ‘A free gift!’ Randalf bellowed. ‘How dare you!’

  The cutlery was getting louder again, with one group of meat cleavers particularly rowdy. The dragon clasped her head.

  ‘I am,’ she moaned. ‘I’m getting one of my migraines.’

  Clatter! Clatter! Clink! Clonk!

  ‘A free gift indeed.’ Randalf shook his head. ‘I’ll have you know, madam, that I am a wizard. Randalf the Wise is my name; wizardry, my game. Indeed, I am the finest wizard currently in residence upon the Enchanted Lake.’

  ‘The only wizard, more like,’ Veronica cut in.

  ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ said Randalf.

  ‘Wizard, eh?’ said Margot, looking up. She nodded back at the cutlery wearily. ‘In that case, perhaps you could get that lot to quieten down a bit.’

  Randalf took a sharp intake of breath and shook his head. ‘It’s not as easy as that, madam,’ he said. ‘This cutlery is clearly enchanted. Dark forces are at work here, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Yes, and I bet I know whose dark forces!’ chirped Veronica.

  ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ Randalf snapped. ‘As I was saying, tricky thing, enchantment. Takes a lot of skill and know-how and years of training. But luckily for you, madam, enchantment is a bit of a speciality of mine.’

  ‘Lucky you!’ Veronica muttered sarcastically.

  ‘Veronica, I’m warning you!’ Randalf hissed. He turned to Margot. ‘Tell me everything you know about this cutlery.’

  ‘Well, they just showed up outside my cave,’ she said. ‘Wakened me, they did, with their enchanting music – and then led me a fine song and dance until I finally caught up with them. I wanted them for my hoard, you see. What dragon wouldn’t?’ She shook her head. ‘But now I’m beginning to wish I’d left well alone.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ Randalf murmured as he rubbed his bruised and battered body.

  The cavern throbbed with noise. The dragon rolled her eyes. ‘They’re so loud,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to get back to sleep.’

  ‘Sleep?’ said Joe. ‘I thought you’d only just woken up.’

  ‘That’s dragons for you,’ said Veronica. ‘They spend ninety-nine per cent of their lives asleep and the rest of the time drooling over treasure . . .’ She sniffed. ‘If you can call this heap of junk treasure.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Margot, affronted.

  ‘Well, just look at this place,’ said Veronica, with a sweep of her wing. ‘I’ve never seen such a tip.’

  Margot’s nostrils began smoking. ‘How dare you!’ she roared. ‘That’s my hoard you’re talking about. Precious heirlooms. Priceless treasures . . .’

  ‘Like the bucket, eh?’ said Veronica.

  ‘Bucket? Bucket!’ said Margot fiercely. She picked it up from the floor, pulled herself up as high as the cavern would allow and glared at them furiously. ‘This is no bucket! Have you no taste? No eye for beauty?’ she roared. ‘Why, this is the sacred Potty of Thrynn, emptied only once every thousand years.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Randalf cried, spitting, snorting and checking his beard for bits.

  ‘Ugh?’ said Margot. ‘It’s a work of art.’

  ‘It’s a potty!’ said Randalf. ‘And it was on my head!’

  ‘And not quite empty, from the look of it,’ said Veronica.

  ‘It’s very beautiful,’ said Joe, trying to smooth things over. He looked round the cavern. ‘You have so many lovely things.’

  The dragon’s eyes softened. ‘I do, don’t I?’ she cooed.

  ‘And you clearly have an eye for such things, young man. I can tell.’ She beamed. ‘It’s taken me years to build up my collection. A silver shield here, a jewel-encrusted coronet there . . .’ She looked round, smiling proudly – until her gaze fell on the loud and disobedient cutlery. ‘Leave that breastplate alone!’ she shouted at a set of skewers. ‘And you ladles, there. Stop that at once!’

  Cl
atter! Clatter! Clink! Clonk!

  She turned back to Joe and rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, darling,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

  Joe nodded sympathetically. ‘Do you have any more priceless treasures in your hoard?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course, darling!’ said Margot. ‘Enchanted mirrors, magic swords, impregnable warrior armour – you know, all the usual.’ She scanned the great hoard of treasure. ‘But they’re nothing compared with my most precious items . . .’ She broke off, and began rooting through the great pile of valuables. ‘They’re here somewhere,’ she muttered, and sighed. ‘I must admit, it is all just a teensy bit disorganized.’

  ‘What are they?’ asked Joe, joining in the search.

  ‘Oh, they’re special. You need a real collector’s eye to appreciate them,’ said Margot. ‘They’re absolutely to die for.’

  Randalf tutted impatiently. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sure they’re very nice, but we really should be going . . .’

  ‘Are these them?’ said Norbert. He picked up two rather battered tin cans.

  Margot spun round. ‘Yes, yes, they are!’ She beamed at Norbert. ‘Well done, you! I can see that you have a real collector’s eye!’ she said, and laughed.‘Three of them, in fact!’

  Norbert beamed happily.

  Clatter! Clatter! Clink! Clonk!

  ‘Look at the workmanship,’ Margot shouted above the sound of the rowdy cutlery. ‘So subtle, so expressive. And to think these were created to hold . . . baked beans! It takes one’s breath away!’

  ‘They’re really beautiful,’ said Joe uncertainly.

  ‘They are,’ Norbert agreed. ‘Far too beautiful to be left lying around. You need to display them to their maximum advantage,’ he told the dragon. ‘On a plinth, maybe. Or in a showcase.’ He turned and frowned. ‘In fact, if you ask me, the whole place could do with a really good tidy-up!’

  ‘You think so?’ said Margot.

  ‘Oh, definitely,’ said Norbert. ‘It always works in my kitchen at home. You see, you have to have a system. I keep all my saucepans on hooks and my frying pans above the pantry door. They’re handy for hitting elves over the head,’ said Norbert. ‘But here, I’d suggest piles.’