Dragon's Flight

by S. R. Langley

  “Now, now, me sweet cheeks, don’t you fret so,” Gran softly answered, taking one of Mary’s hands in her brown and wrinkled ones. “If you tells me that you ain’t breathin’ no word of a lie to me, then I’ll be doin’ the same fer yous, we agreed, girl?”

  Mary just nodded dumbly in agreement.

  “We’re gonna both be hearin’ some strange things that these ‘ere Humdrums have no tiddler-ticklin’ idea of; well most of ’em at least. So, we’re agreed, eh? No fibs between us, OK?” Now who wants to go first on tellin’ our tales then?”

  “Oh Gran!” Mary burst out, nearly in tears, “I do love you so. You go first please.”

  “OK, Dearie, I’ll tell yous a wee bit ‘bout me but then you tells me all o’ yours, alright?”

  “Alright Gran, fair enough,” Mary replied. “How much on Dragons do you know then?”

  “Well, as to how much I knows, there’s no proper answer to that one, dearie, is there? How long’s a knitted rope, not yet finished. And just how many honey bees makes an hive, eh? Or what’s the wetter ‒ water or tears?” She then paused and gave a quick look about her to make sure no one was in earshot. “The straight an’ simple truth of it is, dear ‒ and now you’ll have to believe me this time Mary ‒ is that, well … I’m what they calls around here … a Witch!”

  Several seconds went by. Mary just looked at her Gran, her mouth agape like a fresh caught cod. She didn’t know what to say. Gran wasn’t joking. Mary could tell. She was telling the truth!

  “So’s I can deal with meddling Matrons an’ the likes with a bit o’ the old ‘fluence’, an’ I can sees through disguises as well, yer know; what’s a rock an’ what’s an egg, juss fer instance!”

  “You know about Regor!” Mary gasped incredulously.

  “Nope, didn’t know his name exactly; but nowz I do I s’pose.”

  She then squeezed Mary’s hand and brought her voice down to a whisper. “We Maddams come from a long line of Witches, truth to tell, but I meself ‘aven’t been doin’ much in the ol’ Witchin’ game fer some years now. ‘Specially not since yer poor mother fell afoul of the Witchery Woes. But even before then. I ain’t been what you’d call a real practicing Witch. Least, not since I left the Forest of The Mad Jester, up North. way back when your mum was but a wee little girl.”

  “Oh, wow Gran! So, do all witches know about the Dragons and the worlds of the Under Erf then?” Mary asked. “Is that how you know about it, coz you’re a Witch?”

  “Well, yes and no,” Gran answered. “You sees, dearie, Witches get educated too yer know; not at Witch school necessarily but educated nonetheless. Some also gets ter specialize. But we all gets to know sumfin of the Under Erf and the Dragons an’ the Core Beasts an’ such. We gets to know even more about the Great Forests and the domains of the Tree Kings too.”

  “Oh my!” Mary exclaimed. “That’s wonderful, Gran! But what did you mean when you said about mum getting the Witchin’ Woes, what are they then?”

  “Witchery Woes is what we calls ‘em, dear. A person can sort of get lost in the world of Faerie yer see; they can go to places an’ not find their ways back. Especially if they are so very aggrieved an’ so heart-broke, like your poor Ma was!”

  “Oh Gran!” was all that Mary could say to that. Despite Gran’s willingness to answer so many questions, she now found she had at least three new ones for every old one she had asked. She felt she could burst with so much to ask and so much to take in all at once.

  “Look ‘ere, Mary me dear, there’s a real awful lots I could tell yers but there’s no rush. Every day you’re in ‘ere I’ll visits and I’ll tell yer more and’ you can do the same, fair enough?”

  “Fair enough, Gran,” Mary answered, grinning.

  “Righto, ducks! Now why don’t you tell me your story now, in your own time and in your own way ‒ and from the beginning, eh?”

  And so, Mary did just that. She told her everything. Grannie Maddam heard how Mary had that last Saturday accidentally bumped into Roger; escaping from the Cold ‘Arbor Gang across the River Quaggy and into the forbidden Bad Wood. Then later, how brave Roger had been, climbing down to the Dragon’s Cave to save her; and how he’d worked out how to escape the Cave and take her and the precious Egg to the surface.

  Gran listened quietly and patiently, becoming increasingly enthralled and amazed at her young Granddaughter’s many adventures with her unlikely hero and new friend, Roger Briggs.

  “Seems to me this friend of yours is a special sort of boy, I’d say,” Gran said, as Mary told her all about his daring and courageous journey to rescue her and bring her and the Dragon’s Egg back home safe, against all the odds.

  Mary fervently agreed and continued, telling her all about the two evil Fire-Worm Lords of the Core, Lords Morgrave and Morgrim, and their relentless attempts to trap and kill them both, all in order to get hold of the Last Dragon’s Egg.

  “Hmmm, now that’s very interesting indeed!” Gran muttered, her eyes wide with wonder.

  Then Mary explained all about their telepathic powers and their meeting with the old Tree King and the inky Night Imp and the terrible Forest Fire and all about her experiences with Gaia the Great Erf Spirit and everything they had said and done together; as best as she could remember it anyway. It was all pouring out now in a great, breathless gush.

  “I see, I see,” Grannie Maddam said, scratching at her chin with a bright gleam in her eye. “So, you have met the Great Erf Mother too have you, my dear? Now you really have been blessed, my child, yes, yes, very blessed indeed!”

  But now Grannie Maddam could see that Mary was looking particularly upset at this point.

  “What is it, dear, what’s troubling you?” she asked.

  Mary was once again remembering, with a fresh pang of loss and great grief in her heart, the tragic fall of the courageous Night Imp Nimp, standing all alone on the side of Hooter’s Hill, taunting and teasing and doing his very best to distract the Fire-Worm Lords from catching them.

  “He gave his life to save ours!” she said, in a barely audible whisper.

  “I understand, dear,” Gran gently murmured, “you have indeed been blessed with the very best of friends. But don’t despair, me girl. Just remembers yer lessons from the Great Erf Mother. The Spirit is eternal after all!”

  After a little while, Mary was able to finish her story, telling her how their Mavis, the recently self-combusted Queen of the Dragons, had at last returned to them as a beautiful Dragon Spirit, soaring into the flaming dawn sky with the Dance of the Dragon Souls, whirling all about her.

  “Oh, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever, ever seen Gran!” she sighed, remembering. “And after Mavis had sent that brilliant, white flare shooting up into the night sky, well, it was then that the helicopter found us, and we were all saved … and, and … well, here we all are, with a Royal Dragon’s Egg to hatch somehow!”

  “Yes, here we are indeedy!” Grannie Maddam muttered. “You have given me much to think on, Mary, me girl. And I will definitely make some enquiries about your Roger and Regor. We needs ter look out fer each other now! I’ll find out what’s what an’ what’s been keeping him from yers fer sure. I’ll gets off now though, but I’ll be back as usual fer tomorrow and we’ll talk some more then, OK, dear?”

  “OK Gran, and thanks for being here for me … and for believing me!”

  “Of course I believes yer, child! There’s nothing yer’ve told me is of the least surprise!”

  With that Grannie Maddam kissed her and was gone. Mary didn’t quite believe her last remark though. But she did look forward to hearing news about Roger and Regor, and of course more about Gran herself too; and maybe even some answers about her poor mum!

  The next day was Friday and Grannie Maddam, much to Mary’s alarm, came a lot later than usual and it was now Mary who could tell that there was something up. As Gran pulled her chair over to the bed, Mary could see she seemed sad and very subdued. She looked tired and old and not
at all her usual chirpy self.

  “Hello, Gran. It’s your turn now,” Mary burbled to her as cheerfully as she could muster; “I can’t wait to hear all about you being a Witch and how you became one, and … and …”

  Mary’s enthusiasm drained away as she noticed the tears now welling up in her old Gran’s eyes. “Oh, Gran, what is it? Have you heard something about Roger? Have you found out why he hasn’t visited me? Is Regor OK? Is it bad, is that what it is … is that what’s upsetting you?”

  Grannie Maddam silently took her beloved Granddaughter’s hands and held them tightly in hers. Then, with great effort, she finally told her the dreadful news.

  “Yes, Mary, we’ve ‘ad some news an’ it’s not good at all. But it’s not really about Roger or Regor ...a little bird’s told me what’s goin’ on there. Roger has been under virtual house arrest an’ that’s why yous or I ‘aven’t ‘ad a peep from him. An’ I also think it’s very likely connected.” She now paused, trying to muster up the will to tell her beloved Granddaughter the awful news. “Yes, but ‒ well, dearie,” she continued painfully, “’ere it is… it’s like this, it seems the Local Council Authority ‘ave issued orders for the demolition of our Caravan!”

  “Oh no! That’s terrible. They Can’t do that!” Mary cried out, in great alarm.

  “Yes, b-b-but that’s not all, Mary, there’s more I’m afraid. Now do be brave, dear!”

  “Oh! Wh-wh-what is it, Gran? What else has happened?”

  “Well, well… facts is this, they also says that the Social Police Services will be putting me in a Home for the Elderly and the Infirm and at the same time they’ll be taking yous off into custody too, for, for… appropriate placement in a Home for Wayward Girls and Orphans!”

  There was a stunned silence. Mary lay paralyzed on the bed, shrinking into her pillows in total shock. She couldn’t say a thing for several minutes. She gulped and croaked and bit on her lip; trying her hardest not to burst into tears. She knew if she did that then the nurse would notice and if there was much fuss, then the Ward Sister would get involved, and even then, Gods help them, Matron McCracken. So, she choked back her tears and let her Gran stroke her hair.

  Grannie Madden then quietly continued. “I got the nasty letter, all formal an’ official, juss this morning, Mary’, an’ it says that you’ll be sent direct to the Home from the Hospital, as soon as yer well enough and they’ll be comin’ ter take me away too ter put me in a home for the elderly an’ the feeble minded, or some such, this comin’ Monday. An’ they says there’s no pets allowed neither!”

  Mary sat bolt upright in her bed and flung her arms around her Gran and held on to her for dear life, just as tightly as she could, and then desperately sobbed into her bosom.

  “They can’t do it, Gran. They can’t split us up like that. We just can’t let ‘em do it!”

  CHAPTER 2:

  OF PLOTS AND PANS AND POTS AND PLANS!

  Meanwhile, Master Roger Briggs had also been worried, but definitely not bored. He had of course received as expected, the serious ‘talking to’ from his father, Mr. Brian Briggs the most Honorable Councilor for Under Lundun, once they had returned to the privacy of their so called home, the Briggs’ Manor House on the outskirts of Mottington.

  It had never felt like a proper home to Roger though. It was more like some twisted parody of a haunted house or a sterile museum, full of old rugs, tapestries, paintings and mirrors and dusty, antlered stag-heads; and medieval suits of armor and clanging grandfather clocks; and all of the assorted bric-a-brac, as collected by the second-hand tastes of his wealthy parents.

  After the severe lecturing, full of veiled threats regarding the consequences of his bad behavior adversely affecting his and Mr. Briggs’ rosy future, he was finally banished to his room. Over a week had gone by now and he was still confined to the Manor House. It had taken all his skill in subterfuge and sneakery, that very first night, to get out to the fish pond at the back of the Manor House, and do the desperately needed deed; namely the safe concealment of the Dragon’s Egg in his dad’s fish pond, still disguised of course as a plain, old rock.

  He had managed to do this with only a flickering torch, but luckily also with the much needed telepathic guidance from the unhatched baby dragon himself. It seemed that one of Regor’s many mental skills was his ability to sense and mentally ‘see’ whatever environment he was in. He didn’t actually need eyes it seemed, he could just look with his mind. Regor was definitely a very unique Dragon indeed. There in fact had never been a Dragon like him before. This was one of the main reasons that Roger hadn’t been bored; at least he had Regor to talk to.

  In fact they were doing far more than just talking. Regor was becoming increasingly aware of his Dragon abilities every day, and often got Roger to help him exercise and practice these magical skills. This had become increasingly fraught with difficulty though, due to Regor’s incurable and unquenchable curiosity and sheer, babyish playfulness.

  There had indeed been several strange occurrences over the past week that had quite spooked the household staff. His Father had even enquired if he’d been doing any of his silly, secret-science experiments around the house, in an attempt to explain some of these weird events. Like things that had seemingly moved by themselves or had disappeared and then turned up in a different room entirely. Roger had made the unfortunate mistake of joking to his father, telling him it was probably just ‘paranormal activity’. Mr. Briggs had not been amused.

  Roger was lying on his bed, listening to his wireless. He knew Regor was taking a nap right now, so he had no reason to worry about him. It was just one more quiet and lazy summer afternoon with nothing of interest happening at all; just how his parents liked it in fact. Then, out of the blue, he heard a crash, then a scream! Then came a further series of loud crashes and screams, all coming rapidly one after the other. It sounded like it came from the kitchen area.

  Roger raced out of his bedroom and down the stairs to investigate. At the same time he mentally called out to Regor, but there was no answer.

  As he ran into the kitchen he saw the Maid, Anna, cowering in the corner, crying and covering her face in horror. She had become quite hysterical. Roger immediately saw what was going on. Pots, pans and plates were flying about all over the place. The washing up was doing itself!

  “Regor, stop it at once!” Roger mentally hissed.

  Immediately the pots and pans that had been flying around the room and dive bombing into the over-flowing sink, all stopped in their tracks. For several seconds they just hovered in mid-air, motionless. Roger then mentally hissed a warning once more.

  “Regor! That’s enough, you’re scaring the Maid. Stop it now, immediately!”

  “Sowee, Wodger. I’ze juss twying to help!” Regor replied sheepishly, and with that every single pot, pan and plate dropped like stones and crashed onto the floor.

  Anna looked up at him and just burst out crying, then ran from the room screaming once more. Roger could hear the footsteps of his father approaching now and then him loudly bellowing, “What’s all this racket. What the blazes is going on down here?”

  Roger didn’t hang about to be caught in the middle of such a mess. He bolted out the back door as fast as he could run. He could hear his father cursing and calling for the Housekeeper to come and explain all this horrible hullabaloo and dire destruction immediately.

  Roger quickly crept round the side of the Manor House and sneaked in through the front door and then stealthily made his way up the broad stairway to his bedroom, removing his shoes first so that no tell-tale mud prints would be left as evidence of his having been involved in any way.

  He quietly closed his bedroom door and flung himself onto his bed and at last breathed a sigh of relief, the parental ravings from the kitchen now slowly fading into uneasy silence.

  “What do I have to do to get that Dragon to behave?” he thought to himself.

  “Sowee, Wodger, I didn’t meensh to be naughty!” Regor mee
kly piped into his head.

  The next day Regor seemed more subdued. Roger hoped for a more restful day than before. The morning had passed without incident and Regor seemed to have understood and to have possibly even learned some manners from the long lecture that Roger had given him the night before.

  However, the peace was deceptive. Regor just couldn’t seem to help himself. This time it was the afternoon cleaning of the dining room that was disrupted. Once again it was the very unfortunate Anna, the Maid, who had the dubious honor of being caught in Regor’s mental experimentations. Anna had left the room briefly to get some more soap suds, but when she returned, she found all her mops and brooms were busy sweeping and mopping the floor all at once and without her or anyone else holding them. They were doing the work all by themselves!

  This time the Maid refused to calm down. She left the household that same day, being paid an extra week in advance and given the very best references that Mrs. Briggs could write for her, in return for her promised silence of course.

  An air of gloom and doom had now fallen over the whole household. Only Roger knew what was going on and why. But no matter how much he pleaded with Regor, the unborn baby Dragon just couldn’t seem to help himself. He just had to explore – with his mental powers. It was after all what a Magical Dragon did. It wasn’t being naughty to him; it was just learning and having fun.

  Then the very next day, the old Gardener, Bob Higgins, came into Mr. Briggs study, which he very rarely did and complained bitterly about hooligans disturbing the fish pond. He told him of finding several of Mr. Briggs prize Koi fish, flapping about and gasping by the side of the pond.

  He’d managed to save them, but Roger was thankful old Bob hadn’t come along earlier when Regor had the Koi all flying around in a circle above the pond, like they were on some invisible, airborne carousel!