by Scott Meyer
Phillip smiled. “Okay. What else do sheep want? More to the point, what do they want badly enough to run to get it?”
“I dunno, what?”
Phillip sat a little taller, proud of the insight he was about to share. “They want to not get eaten.”
“You’re saying that sheep will run to not get eaten.”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“Yes you would. You would and you did. You put it exactly that way. What will sheep run to get? To get not eaten!”
“Okay, fine, but you see what I mean?”
“Yes,” Martin said, “Once I deciphered your sentence structure.”
“The point is, if we can trigger the sheep-like fear instincts in the dragons—”
“The point,” Martin interrupted, “is that you are an Englishman. Your people invented English! And here you are, being corrected by an American. A less-educated American! How will you ever face your fellow Englishmen again?”
“The same way we always face each other, with a hint of embarrassment.”
Martin said, “Okay. So what do we do?”
“We put something in here with them. Something that will cause them to flee at great speed out into the tunnel, where a goal is waiting in the dark for them.”
Phillip walked out into the tunnel and put up an opaque force field to keep light out, and to keep Kneath from accidentally entering the cave and walking into the goal, which he placed a bit deeper into the cave. Phillip returned to the cave’s main chamber. He found Martin, still sitting on the I beam, fiddling with his smartphone.
Martin said, “It’s just about ready.” He placed his phone back into the silver-painted, wooden box he carried it in. “The animation’s going to be pretty rough, and the sound is just what I could find on short notice, but if the dragons have the intelligence of sheep, it should do the job. You ready?”
“Very much so,” Phillip said.
Martin pressed a finger to the screen of his phone. In the distance, behind the dragons, beyond the stacks of solid gold tiles, shingles, planks, and I beams, at the very back of the chamber, opposite the entrance, a giant wolf materialized.
The wolf stood thirty feet tall at the shoulder, with matted gray fur and beady gray eyes. It snarled, revealing fearsome gray teeth.
Martin said, “I didn’t have time to paint it.”
The wolf looked hunkered down, as if ready to pounce. At first it didn’t move. After several seconds, it still hadn’t moved.
Phillip asked, “Is it going to move?”
“Yeah. I hoped the sight of it would freak the dragons out, but they haven’t noticed it yet. I guess we’ll have to get their attention.”
“Yes,” Phillip agreed.
“But before we do, I want to remind you, I didn’t have a lot of time.”
Phillip nodded impatiently. “Yes, I understand. Just do it.”
Martin poked at his smartphone again. At the far side of the chamber, the wolf’s mouth opened. It didn’t hinge down from the back, like a real wolf’s jaw would. Instead, the entire lower mandible slid straight down in one piece, like the chin of an old-fashioned ventriloquist’s dummy. The jaw lurched up and down in time with a loud, regular, rhythmic barking sound that seemed more appropriate to a small terrier than an immense wolf.
As pathetic as the animation and sound were, they succeeded in drawing the attention of the dragons. All four of them jumped, startled from their slumber by the ridiculous barking. They turned and saw the artificial wolf. For a moment, save for the barking and the badly animated jaw movements, the world was all silence and stillness. Then for quite some time, the opposite was true.
Four full-sized dragons panicking in an enclosed space, flying at top speed in a tight, tangled mess while roaring at the top of their lungs and breathing fire at the same time, would have been quite chaotic enough on its own. Adding in tons of solid-gold building materials flying in every direction, the sounds of Martin and Phillip shouting in surprise and alarm, and the rhythmic barking of the fake wolf resulted in a feast for the senses that left said senses feeling overstuffed, and fearing they may soon be sick.
Martin and Phillip dove to the ground behind the I beam they had earlier used as a bench. Martin hastily threw up a force field just in time to deflect a shower of glittering gold doorknobs, knocked their way accidentally by some passing dragon’s tail.
Phillip huddled in a fetal position with his arms covering his head and his eyes squeezed shut. He lay that way for a moment, his only information from the outside world coming in through his ears. He listened, then asked, “Martin, is that ‘Jingle Bells’?”
“What?” Martin shouted, trying to be heard over the roaring, and the crackling of fire, and the crash of precious metal being thrown against the walls.
Phillip crawled closer to Martin, and as loud as he could, asked, “Is that wolf singing ‘Jingle Bells’?”
Martin smiled and shouted, “Yes. I thought you’d find it amusing.”
“I might,” Phillip admitted, “if I weren’t terrified.”
“Yeah. Timing is everything.”
Martin and Phillip carefully peered over the edge of the I beam. The force field would protect them from flying gold, and from the dragons’ fire, but the dragons themselves would sail right through it. Besides, just like some movies are scary enough that they’re best viewed through a protective screen of fingers, the sight Martin and Phillip were witnessing was best viewed while peeking out from behind something heavy.
One of the dragons started at the far end of the cavern and flew directly at the wolf in as menacing a manner as it could muster, blowing a huge ball of fire before it. As large as the cave was, the dragon could only get in three good flaps before it came very close to the wolf and lost all of its nerve. The dragon turned, swooping away, putting as much distance as it could between itself and the wolf without actually leaving the chamber. The dragon stopped short of striking the wall. Its wing clipped a shelf, sending several thousand solid-gold plumbing elbows flying. The dragon turned away from the wall, looked at its surroundings, saw the wolf at the far end of the cavern, and decided to attack, starting the whole cycle over again. All this happened while the three other dragons went through the exact same series of steps at their own differing paces, from different angles, while the wolf stood motionless and barked the tune of “Jingle Bells.”
Phillip said, “I thought they’d want to escape.”
“I think they do,” Martin said, straining to be heard.
“What?” Phillip said, straining to hear.
“I said, I think they do want to escape.”
“Then why don’t they? The tunnel out is right there.”
Martin said, “I think it’s like a fish trap. Fish swim in through a hole, find themselves in an enclosed space, freak out, and can’t find the hole to swim out again. Fish aren’t very smart.”
“So how do we stop this?”
“Show ’em the exit.”
Martin activated the voice amplification spell, flew over to hover next to the tunnel opening, motioned toward it like a magician displaying the spot where his assistant had just been, and said, “Ahem!”
All four dragons took notice, altered their course, and within seconds had settled into a new cycle of attacking the wolf, then flying across the cavern to breathe fire at Martin before repeating the process again.
22.
The fight left both Scotsmen exhausted. Kyle’s burly frame heaved with each breath. His flaming red hair was matted with sweat. Leslie seemed to be in as bad or worse shape. His slightly smaller frame heaved every bit as violently as Kyle’s, and his slightly less red hair was just as matted.
The fight was over, but the hostility was not. The two men stood, grasping each other’s shoulders, supporti
ng one another, but whenever one of them managed to regain some strength, they would use it to shove, insult, or, on one occasion, pinch the other.
“Enough,” Jock, their leader, an imposing mass of blond hair, thick muscle, and woolen clothing shouted. “This was good fun at first, but it’s gone on far too long. After you volunteered so bravely, and fought side by side so valiantly, it makes me sick to see the way you’ve embarrassed yourselves and your families by not only fighting each other in front of these ladies who have saved us, but by doing it so badly!”
Kyle and Leslie turned to face Brit and Gwen but still kept an arm around each other’s shoulders for support.
“He’s right,” Kyle said. “We’ve behaved shamefully. I hope you can forgive us.”
“Agreed,” Leslie said. “It’s been a pitiful display, and one of which we are not proud.”
Gwen said, “It’s all right.”
Leslie said, “You’re kind. Far too kind, but the idea that you had to witness us grappling in the dirt grieves me to no end.”
“And the language we used,” Kyle said. “Words that should never be said in the vicinity of any lady, let alone two ladies to whom we owe our lives. It will pain me to my dying day.”
Brit said, “The important thing is that it’s over now.”
Kyle said, “True, good woman, true. It’s for the best that you’ll no longer be subjected to the undignified spectacle of me losing my temper over my supposed friend’s unfaithful nature.”
“Aye,” Leslie said, “And we can all be happy that your delicate, ladylike ears will no longer be sullied by my lifelong mate’s pitiful squealing as I grind his face into the dirt.”
And with that, the fight began anew.
Jock said, “Come, Mungo. Let us break the lads up. This serves no purpose.”
“Indeed.”
Mungo reached down with one of his immense man paws and grabbed Leslie by the scruff of the neck, then pulled him away from Kyle. Jock placed himself between the fighting men and pushed Kyle back, away from Leslie.
“Stop this,” Jock grunted. “This is folly. Can you not see that?”
Kyle struggled and strained to break free of Jock’s grip, reaching out toward Leslie. “Then let me go, Jock, and I promise to end it quickly.”
The two of them grappled with each other for several seconds, but Kyle seemed to lose enthusiasm, and soon stopped.
Mungo laughed as he stood, still holding Leslie by the back of the neck. Leslie did not fight back. Instead he seemed to simply hang from the larger man’s grip in a sort of mellow stupor.
“Finally got him under control, Jock?” Mungo asked. “I was afraid I might have to step in and scruff Kyle as well, but I chose to give you a chance, and in time you finally accomplished what I was able to do with one hand.”
Jock said, “You’re by far the largest of us, Mungo, and you chose to restrain the smallest of us. Don’t act surprised that it required less effort when that was clearly your intention from the start.”
“Are you doubting my courage, Jock?”
“Let’s just say that I’m not doubting your craftiness, Mungo.”
Mungo let go of Leslie and advanced on Jock. “Perhaps I can think of something equally crafty to do with your vertebrae, Jock. Perhaps I’ll tie your spine into a necklace for Coira to wear to your funeral.”
Leslie quickly snapped out of his stupor and tried to hold Mungo back, but only got dragged behind the larger man. Jock turned and reached for Mungo, despite Kyle’s attempts to restrain him.
Brit shouted, “Stop it! If we’d known you idiots were going to try to kill each other, we’d have just let the dragons do it instead of saving you.”
“Totally,” Gwen said. “It would have been faster, easier, and less embarrassing for your wives.”
All four of the men turned toward Brit and Gwen with hurt and anger in their eyes, but stopped, looked at each other, and relaxed.
The men all apologized, both to Gwen and Brit, and to each other.
Gwen said, “Before you start fighting over which of you is most sorry for fighting, why don’t you tell us how you ended up out here by yourselves, fighting so many dragons.”
Jock said, “We all hail from the same village. A lovely wee place called Cryb. This morning, Lagan, another of the village folk, came into town telling stories about seeing dragons. Lagan is a mate, and a good enough man, but he has the gift of gab and a taste for the drink.”
“He gets drunk and makes stuff up,” Gwen said.
“Aye,” Jock said. “But he doesn’t usually lie about anything dangerous, just his hunting skills and how far he can toss a caber. We decided to send a scout to confirm his story before we did anything drastic.”
“And the scout confirmed his story?” asked Brit.
“Aye.”
Gwen said, “So you did something drastic.”
“Aye. The four of us volunteered to hunt and kill the dragons. It only made sense. We’re young, brave, able-bodied, and we’re experienced fighters who have each squared off many times against equally experienced foes.”
“Each other,” Brit said.
“Aye,” Jock said. “We set out straightaway, and found the dragons with little trouble. But we were not prepared for the dragons’ ferocity, and things were looking quite grim indeed until the two of you saved us.”
Jock dropped to one knee and held his sword in front of him, with the point set in the ground so that the hilt formed a cross.
“I thank you for saving my life, and my friends’ lives. I thank you not only for us, but for my beloved Coira, and my daughters Effie and Nessa. May they grow to be half the women you are.”
Mungo, the largest of the men, followed suit, also dropping to one knee, though doing so merely lowered him to being just slightly below Gwen’s and Brit’s standing height. “Aye, and I thank you for my darling Grizel, and for my girls Jinny and Seonag, and my boy Torquil, who will all be told many times of your bravery and strength this day.”
Kyle also knelt and said, “And for Morag and Rut.”
Finally, Leslie said, “And for my betrothed, the lovely Donalda, whom I cherish more than my own life.”
“But not more than Morag, it would seem,” Kyle said.
Leslie remained on bended knee, but turned looked to Kyle, his long red curls whipping around his angry red face. “I’m beginning to regret I ever said a word to you about Morag.”
“I regret that you ever said any word to me about Morag, or anything else!”
Leslie smiled, bitterly. “Well then, perhaps I should let my fists do the talking from now on!”
Brit said, “Thank you,” in the tone of voice she usually employed to stop Phillip when he’d try to explain the plot of Zardoz. “We were happy to help.”
Her intervention had the desired effect, temporarily ending the men’s back-and-forth.
Gwen recognized what Brit had done. She’d had to perform a similar maneuver more than once when Martin started discussing the career of Bruce Campbell. She continued the diversion, saying, “Yes. And as much as we hate to leave your charming company, we have to go deal with those dragons before they try to roast someone else.”
Jock rose to his feet and asked, “By deal with, do you mean kill? Is it your intention to hunt down and kill the dragons?”
Gwen said, “That’s the plan.”
Jock said, “If we may ask you to wait just a moment, my friends and I need to talk.”
The four men huddled up and engaged in a great deal of impassioned mumbling. Gwen thought she could pick out the names of more than one of the Highlanders’ wives and children. This did not surprise her.
The men separated. Jock bowed to Gwen and Brit and said, “We have discussed it, and we all agree that we cannot allow yo
u to face the dragons alone.”
Gwen said, “We didn’t ask for your permission. We told you what’s going to happen.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. Another moment please?”
The Highlanders huddled and muttered again. This time the muttering took on a much more concerned tone. Among the mumbling, Gwen picked out different voices saying short sentences containing the name Morag at increasing volume until Jock said, “Enough!”
The huddle broke up. Jock said, “I apologize. I put that quite badly. You do not need our permission to do anything, and we wouldn’t suggest otherwise. We not only respect women who are independent, some of us greatly prefer it.”
Kyle and Leslie both nodded.
“Of course,” Jock continued, “you are perfectly capable of hunting and killing the dragons, but you will find that trying to do it without us will be more difficult than you think.”
“Why is that?” Brit asked.
“Because we’re coming with you.”
“And that’ll make killing the dragons more difficult?” Gwen asked.
“No, the killing the dragons part should be easier with our help, but the doing it without us part will be well near impossible.”
Gwen shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t let you come along.”
Jock said, “We weren’t asking for your permission.”
Brit chuckled, and muttered, “Touché.”
Jock stepped forward. “You see, ladies, you don’t need our help, but I’m afraid that we need to help you. We swore an oath—”
“A sacred oath, sworn to God himself!” Mungo interrupted.
Jock continued, “To slay the dragons and keep our families safe. It is our duty—”
“Our sacred duty, conferred upon us by God himself!” Mungo interrupted.
“—to see it through to the end, no matter how difficult it is,” Jock said, seeing his sentence through to the end, no matter how difficult it was. “It doesn’t matter how valiant you two are, or how powerful with magic you may be, it would be a terrible disgrace on all of us to return, saying that we left you to do the dirty work for us. I could never face my sweet Coira again, nor look into the eyes of Effie or Nessa without feeling the shame of it.”
