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Here Be Dragons
by Tom Laimer-Read
Druxilla de Vort had newly arrived in Norwich, one of England's largest cities in this year of 1222. She found lodgings in the Brackenbrook Hall Inn, a waystation for weary travellers from afar, run by old Simon Crabtree. Druxilla was determined to find work anywhere that would take her, if work didn't find her first. She had come from Denmark, a dark and broken land, where wraiths and wailing witches walk the cracked earth, storms and wretched winds blowing ash and bletching flame. This was a new start for her, or so she thought.
The morning started with the crow of the cockerel, sun bright and blasting on the citadel. Farmers drove their sheep, pigs, cattle and wildfowl to the market. Druxilla followed the herds, and flocks, and so on.
The dusty streets rattled with fruit carts and horse hooves. Druxilla made enquiries with the local duck plucker, Michael Bunt, about possible employment on the market at Tombland.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for employ and wondered if you had anything available at present?" enquired Druxilla.
Michael the duck plucker squinted and replied, "Nay, you be one of them foreign types, b'aint yer?" he replied.
"I hail from overseas, sir, but have a strong command of the tongue, and also of a blade - for cutting up poultry, of course!" she added.
The duck plucker eyed her suspiciously.
"Nope, can't say as I need none of your sort of help at the moment, but try Black Bill the Parson. I know he takes in all kind of waifs and strays, he might have summat for ye. Ye can find him in the Rat and Anvil alehouse up by the Guildhall."
"How will I know him?"
"Oh, you'll know him alright!" said the duck plucker, elusively.
Druxilla wandered up to the sturdy looking building on the hill beside the Guildhallm with its swinging sign outside declaring it to be the one and only Rat and Anvil. She had been warned by Simon Crabtree not to enter such disreputable venues if she wanted to get out alive, but she was determined, and needed the work, so had no other course of action.
As she arrived at the door, a figure flew backwards out of the window. A cheer erupted from within.
"Oh well, it's extra work for Jim the Glazer!" said the man, getting up, dusting himself off, and walking away.
Druxilla took a deep breath, then pushed her way in to the den of vice and villainy.
A circle of muck-covered men stood around two others on the sawdust and straw. One was visibly bigger, more menacing, with a scar on his right cheek going up across his eye. He displayed a vicious snarl. Other men sat on large, sturdy wooden tables around the side, observing the activity and passing pieces of paper, which Druxilla rightly assumed must have been betting slips between them.
The size difference seemed so unfair that Druxilla almost felt compelled to intervene, but she decided to steer clear of any confrontations at the wise words of Simon the Innkeeper, and merely watched, for now.
A fight adjudicator stepped forwards, raised his finger, and called aloud, "Combatants, ready? Then after my call, begin! 3... 2... 1... BEGIN!"
The makeshift referee let his finger sweep downwards, and the fight commenced. The little man, being nimble on his toes, got a head start on the giant, being tall and lumbering. The diminutive figure sidled around the larger fellow, giving him a quick rabbit punch in the kidney. The tall chap flinched, bending downwards just far enough for the small man to reach up and give him a clout around the lughole. The tall man cried aloud, "Ow! He punctured my ear drum!"
But this was no time for pleas of mercy. The little chap jumped about like a flea, prancing and popping at the bigger man so prudently that he didn't even get the chance to lay one lolloping finger on the small lad. At one point the tall figure almost managed to smash the impish bloke between his huge fists in what would've been a knock out blow, but the tiny chap managed to nip neatly between the tall guy's legs, reaching up with a cheeky jab as he did so, which bent the giant double, and then the small man gave him a drop kick to the behind, which sent the giant straight out of the door and headfirst into the water trough outside the Guildhall, where a drinking horse looked at him quite bemusedly, rather upset by the interruption. It whinnied tetchily, while the gathered throng in the bar roared with glee. Frantic men scrabbled about, exchanging paper slips and claiming their winnings, then buying the next frothing pint with them.
The adjudicator stepped forwards to address the crowd.
"And the winner is... Black Bill!" he yelled. So that was him! Black Bill was so called because he rarely washed, except when he accidentally fell into the River Wensum drunk.
Drux went to introduce herself.
"Good day, sir. The duck plucker sent me, saying that you possibly had some work?"
"Ah, that may well be, but I ain't no gent! No way!" said Bill, huskily, wiping sweat from his dirty forehead with a mucky, spotted handkerchief.
"We're 'avin' a bit of bother down the old building site - you look as if you might be good at dealin' with riff raff, I see you're a swordswoman yourself, from The Nether Parts, if I'm not much mistaken?"
"That is correct."
"Arr, I been there meself! So you're a dragonslayer, nay?"
"I... used to be. Not any more. That's why I'm here, to get away from all that."
"Well... ye may not 'ave got as far enough away as ye think!"
"What do you mean?"
"Here be dragons! Arr! The cathedral that the bishop's sanctioned 'ere's brought the attention of the terrible beasts! They don't want it bein' built, y'see? So they keep flyin' by an' tryin' to scorch our business. Been pretty successful at it so far, it's halted work for a good while, men don't like the danger, and who can blame 'em? But if we got someone o' your calibre to set things straight, I think we can get rid o' these critters an' get back to work in no time!"
Drux looked him in the eye, the one that wasn't squinting, and stared for a while. She could tell that he was straightforward, honest, and wouldn't deceive her. She was ready for this last challenge, then she could rest easy in a city that would be safe.
"I'll do it," she whispered, sternly.
"Great! Well, it's a decent wage, anyway, one gold piece a week, and you might even get to meet the King and his jester George if they're about. They said they'd drop in this afternoon, so let's go have a look and get you started, shall we? Follow me! Oh, wait a moment..." piped Black Bill, slipping from his stool, grabbing a bag of gold from the referee's table, downing a flagon of ale on his way out, bidding goodbye to the people with a fierce but sturdy belch.
The two wandered along the plain up to Tombland, where the market stood. Before them was the half built construction of the cathedral, the beginnings of a mighty spire reaching into the sky, jagged bricks and mortar with ricketty wooden scaffolding surrounding it, awaiting its completion. As they entered throught the portcullis gateway, a trumpet clarion sounded. It was to announce the coming of the King! Drux and Black Bill stepped back as the King's carriage passed them. Drux caught a glimpse of the King as he passed, looking concerned in his appearance. George the Jester would have joked that the King was always concerned in his appearance, and that you could never get him away from the mirror for hours before an official function or event.
The carriage came to a halt, and Black Bill walked up to greet The King, who was surrounded by other dignitaries and George the Jester, as he descended down the steps.
"Good day to you, fair King Harold!"
"Ah, Black Bill my good man! How be you this fretful day?"
"Oh, punching above my weight, as usual. We've got a new recruit, she's going to sort your little pest control problem out for you, no probs!"
"Ah, excellent, and you might be?"
"Druxilla de Vort, swordswoman and dragonslayer, your excellency. I hear that you have had difficulties here?"
"Yes, indeed. The creature visits at night, mostly, and belches its fire at the building. It's enough for the poor fellows here to put the flames
, without being burnt to a cinder themselves! Trying to build the edifice is a perrilous task, but we must!"
George the Jester stepped forwards.
"Well, it's more than a case of bad breath, is it not sire? This scaly waily miscreant is ."
"Not now, George, I'm not in the mood," moped Harold, grimly.
"Sorry, sire."
"Well," chuckled Black Bill, "We'd best be getting to it. We've got preparations to make!"
"Certainly, Bill my boy! You must away, and we must continue our inspection of the grounds. Adieu!"
The King and his retinue began their circuit of the grounds, while Black Bill took Druxilla on a tour of the perimeter himself, showing her the best defence positions and areas that were exposed. At that moment, Druxilla noticed a brief shift in the air pressure around her. A dark shadow flashed across the pathway, and she instinctively ducked towards an inlet in a stone wall, dragging Bill in beside her. This was not a moment too soon, as where they had been standing, a burst of flames erupted, sending a plume licking into the air, followed by a rushing roar. The dragon had arrived, and earlier that scheduled, taking the protecting unit unawares. There were shouts from the guardian soldiers up to the archers on the battlements, who fired arrows hastily in the direction of the great, flailing creature, but to no avail, they just bounced off its hard, bony scales as it flapped through the aether. The huge beast swept around in a graceful arc, turning and then returning to the dusty path that Druxilla and Bill had been walking along, where it crashed to a halt.
"I think we have an unwelcome visitor," stated Bill, laconically.
"Let's give him a discourteous welcome then, shall we?" replied Druxilla, unsheathing her sword, while Bill removed the sharp, poison-tipped dagger from his belt.
The dragon stood, sniffing the air for a moment, its massive nostrils steaming, the air shimmering with heathaze in front of them. It could sense a new-comer in its midst, somebody that it felt shouldn't be here. Somebody that it recognised from days gone by, far over the sea. It leaned its head down moving its eye close to the inlet in the wall that Druxilla and Bill were stuck inside. As the eye drew close, Druxilla saw in it a look of comprehension and slow recognition. So, it had come, the monster that had killed her family, her mother and father, while she was young, and sent her alone into the world to fend for herself. This would be her day of reckoning. Druxilla raised the sword and sliced downwards, cutting the creature across the eyelid. It howled and recoiled, crashing its tail onto the floor and shaking its head from side to side in pain. Bill and Druxilla used this chance to escape, hurling themselves along the path to the entrance of the cathedral itself, where The King and a small army had gathered. The infuriated dragon had regained its composure and spotted the perpetrator of its disfigurement, so began thumping along after it, flapping its wings to send itself soaring into the sky above, blocking out the sun. Clouds surrounded it, and a cold darkness descended.
"We'd better get inside, sire!" shouted Bill, knowing that they were in serious danger. "Leave some of the squadron out here to defend the entrance, we'll get inside and get to higher ground where we might have more of a chance against it!"
"Certainly! You heard him, get to it, chaps!"
Some of the guards stayed in the doorway to protect the King from the ensuing attack, while he, Bill, Druxilla, George and a number of soldiers accompanied them inside.
The haunting transcept of the half built cathedral was dusty and dank. Their footsteps rattled along the flagstones, as fierce fighting was heard outside, accompanied by howls and cries of (pain).
There was a smash as pieces of masonry fell around them. The dragon was using its tail to break in, slamming it against the door and the side of the building. The party continued, up the steps in the spiral staircase, ascending to a higher level. Up here it became lighter, the holy surroundings giving things a hushed reverence. The fighting outside had stopped, the guards presumably dead.
Each of the King's entourage was breathless, eyes wide with alert fear. They did not know what the dragon was planning, but the wait to find out was excrutiatingly worrying.
A crash above signified that the dragon was with them. It peered in through the gaping, unfinished spire, seeking its prey, and where to wreak its infuriated vengeance. It spotted the band of battling brawlers and inhaled. Those who were quick enough dived behind pillars and sepulchres to protect them from the fiery explosion. Those who were not so quick were roasted alive. Druxilla had managed to hurl herself headlong behind a scaffold, which she then began climbing up, to get herself as close to the dragon as possible.
George and King Harold had survived by leaping behind the pulpit.
"We have to escape, sire, or we'll be cooked like pigs on a spit!"
"You do not wish to stay and fight this loathsome beast, George?"
"I do not wish to become a pork chops, that's for certain!"
"Where's your guts, man?"
"In my belly, sire, just where I'd like them to remain!"
"This is no time for cowardly quibbling, George. I'm a King. I have to show that I'm not to be cowered by this feckless fiend! I shall address it and demand that it takes notice of my command."
"No, sire! That's madness! Let's just leg it and see another day!"
"I cannot, good jester, though I know you advise to my protection, but I must fight, for it is my duty to do so for my subjects."
The King stepped up to the top of the pulpit, where he coughed, to attract the attention of the dragon.
"Excuse me? Dragon? Can you hear me?"
The dragon looked a little perplexed, and frowned at the King.
"I just wanted to say, that I'm the King around here, and you're not welcome on my turf, you bally oaf! If you don't leave in five seconds, I've a good mind to give you a ruddy good thrashing! Do you hear me? One..."
The dragon looked extremely disgruntled."
"... Two..."
It stared down its nose at the King, disgustedly.
"... Three..."
"Sire, I think we'd better..."
"... not now George... Four..."
The dragon inhaled, taking deep lungfuls of air, the heathaze in front of its nostrils blazing.
"Sire, I really think..."
"... Four and a half..."
The dragon's eyes lit in a lustrous, evil elation. Its innards rumbled and then it ejected a massive jet of fire from its mouth and nostrils, spraying the pulpit where the King had stood.
George wrenched the King's gown, pulling him backwards bodily down the steps of the pulpit as the flames hit, just managing to bounce off the top of his crown, which got singed slightly and had a wisp of smoke rising off the top while George dragged the King behind him at great speed, his long jester's boots trapping as quickly as he could across the floor while the jet of fire followed inches behind them.
Using this distraction, Druxilla had managed to clambour directly level with the dragon, with Bill closely following her directly the other side. They chose this (moment) to jump onto the dragon's neck and head, Druxilla slashing at it with her ornate sword, and Bill slicing away with his dangerous dagger. The dragon stopped breathing fire and began to shake its head wildly to remove the (offending) intruders/KKK?. They would not be shook off, holding tightly but surely, knowing where to get a grip from their days of fearless fighting. The dragon could not produce fire for a while, having used up its last blast in the jet of before, it taking a while for the internal juices to produce enough combustive fluid for it to ignite again. Instead it used its mighty claws to scratch up at the fighters who had attacked it, but this made it lose its grip on the stone wall, and it veered downwards onto the stones below. For a moment it was stunned, but so were Bill and Druxilla, doing all that they could to hold on and not be crushed in the fall. They shook themselves, but so did the dragon, who by now was infuriated. The remaining few soldiers made a valiant attempt to attack the flank of the dragon, but were driven back by its flicking tail. Nobody co
uld get close. The dragon groaned, deeply, righted itself, then decided that it had had enough of the (kkk), so extended its (huge) wings, flapped (hugely) and rose into the air, the two assailants still clinging to its head and neck. As it got higher and higher, Druxilla and Bill realised that they had to act quickly, otherwise they would be so far up in the air that a fall to the ground would mean instantaneous death. They could not let go now, but it was either them or the dragon. This was it.
As the giant reptile peered around to see what was stuck to its neck, Druxilla remembered that she had injured its right eye, so thought to do the same to the other to at least incapacitate its sense of sight, and prevent it from locating them so easily that way. She lifted her free hand with the sword still clutched in it, and brought the spike down into the soft mulch of the dragon's left eyeball. It squealed with anguish, a cry that shook the two bodily and ripped through their ears and innards. They both winced as the dragon cartwheeled through the sky, doing all of the aerial manoeuvres that it could to get rid of them. Bill slipped down from his position, grasping on tentatively to the underside of the monster, at one point only holding on by his fingertips, but managing to swing himself up as the beast spun around one more time, righting himself and getting in a position for another attack. He raised his dagger, cutting it across the lower part of its throat. A vein had been caught, and a trickle of blood sprayed out, floating to the ground below in a shower of reddish purple droplets. Atop the creature's head, Druxilla was getting herself into position for the final blow. The creature itself was bawling in agony and rage, flying as fast as it could towards a crop of trees, it felt the rustle beneath it. One branch managed to catch Bill and he flew off with an "Ooof!" as it hit him in the stomach. It was only Druxilla and the dragon now. She had to get this right, otherwise she was a gonner. She had spent her lifetime battling dragons and fearsome creatures. She knew what she had to do, but this one was mean, and the fact that it had killed her parents made her own blood boil inside her so much that it was hard to control herself. She reined her temper in and concentrated for that split moment that was necessary. The dragon was propelling itself towards a rocky outcrop that it intended to scrape the unwanted parasite that it had picked up off its head with. Druxilla didn't have much time. She bent over, lifted up the scales from just above the dragon's forehead, and then plunged the sword inside at the correct angle to send it severing into its brain. The creature careened headfirst into the rocks, leaping away at the final moment onto a (rocky) outcrop, the only place possible to grab onto. The dragon slid and crumpled onto the floor, causing an avalanche of boulders and debris to fall around it. It was dead.
Bad Moon E-Zine #2 - Blue Moon Page 3
