"Where There´s Smoke, There´s Dragons (SPOOF)" by Larry N. Morris

by Dirk Ceruse

The sun wasn’t up yet when Duke Luke scurried into the throne room, panting heavily and mopping sweat from his face. The scene before him showed little of the usual decorum of the King’s Court. He had been told it was an emergency and the activity in the throne room confirmed it. Nothing else would cause the king to be here so early and so many courtiers to be fluttering about like chickens at feeding time.

King Nigel III, the reigning monarch of the Kingdom of Happenstance, frowned down at Duke Luke when he strode to the steps of the dais that led up to the throne. The king wore his usual mask of frustrated confusion when he directed the duke, “Assemble the court! Muster the army! Send messengers across the kingdom with all haste!”

“Of course, Majesty,” the duke replied, growing more tense, “is it war, then?”

“What? War? No, no, not war--it’s worse. My daughter is missing!”

Duke Luke felt himself go limp with relief, and wondered, What’s that fool woman got herself up to now? The king would have himself worked into a tizzy, of course. King Nigel III was know far and wide as Nigel the Inept, heir of Rupert II; Rupert the Barely Competent. It must have been something in the blood. The king did love his daughter though, even if he was the only one who could. The only child of the long-widowed king, Princess Precious would wear the crown one day. Adding that to her great beauty, she should have had suitors lined up across the drawbridge and beyond sight. Yet marriageable men avoided her as though she had the plague. Incredibly spoiled since childhood, even for a noble, she also had a shrew’s temper and the tongue of a viper. The simple thought of her sent an icy shiver up the duke’s spine.

The duke stepped close to Sir Drywater, Captain of Guards and murmured, “What do we know?”

Drywater shrugged. “The Dragon took her.”

“Onions took the Princess?” Duke Luke gasped.

Frowning and rubbing his chin, Drywater asked, “Why is the Dragon called Onions?”
“Have you ever smelled his breath?”
“Ahhh, I see. Well, it had to be Onions, then. There were claw marks on her balcony and it’s pretty hard to mistake Dragon droppings.”

The duke nodded, contemplating. “Well, there’s nothing for it but to send an expedition. Someone has to rescue her and bring her back.”

“From a Dragon? A fools errand, that!”

Duke Luke nodded knowingly and turned back to the king, doing his best to display a formal demeanor. “Your Majesty, Someone must go forth to the Dragon’s lair. The Dragon must be slain and the princess rescued. This sounds like a quest for a King’s Champion.” Better a champion than the duke; the Captain-General of the army. He wouldn’t want to lose any soldiers, and certainly not any knights.

“Hmmm…” the king pondered. “Yes, of course.” King Nigel III leapt he feet and spoke loudly. “Who will be the King’s Champion and rescue the princess?” He held out his hands to belay the anticipated rush.

Everyone in the throne room looked down at the floor and shuffled their feet. Shuffled backwards, that is -- as far back as they could without appearing to run away. Not a sound was heard.

Frowning, the king turned to Baron Darron, his chief advisor. “What of you, Baron? Would you not rescue Precious and be my champion?”

The baron looked as though he would rather be mucking out stalls in the stable just then. “I would be honored your Majesty, if only I could. But the quest might take some time and I have a dentist appointment on Tuesday.”

The king’s shoulders slumped, then he turned to the Court Wizard. “Wizards can defeat Dragons, can’t they?”

“Uhhh . . . well, it’s a long climb up the mountain to the Dragon’s lair and I’m an old man. Somewhat frail, as you may have noticed.”

Sir Drywater murmured to Duke Luke, “Why are all wizards so old? I’ve never seen a young one.”

The duke rolled his eyes, “It’s in the job description.”

“What about you, Count Me-in?” asked the king.

The usually spry count was suddenly an invalid, bent and grasping his back. “Count Me-in must regretfully say count me out, Majesty. Bad back, you know.”

Duke Luke turned back to the king and suggested , “Sidebar, your Majesty?”

The king went off to a corner, followed by Duke Luke, Baron Darron, and a clutch of high ranking nobles; the kind of simpering suck-ups found in any King’s Court. In the middle of the huddle, Duke Luke spoke softly and the others leaned in to hear. “Your Majesty, it seems some incentive may be necessary. You can solve two problems as one. Princess Precious is in need of a husband. Announce that whoever saves the princess may have her hand in marriage.”

The married men in the huddle chuckled and the single men breathed a sigh of relief. The king’s eyes lit up with delight. “A wonderful idea. I’ll make the announcement right after breakfast.” He clapped his hands sharply and shouted, “Break!” The others clapped and broke the huddle, hurrying to their places.

Baron Darron was quick to seize an opportunity for boot-licking. “A wise decision your Majesty. A very wise decision.” The king swelled with pride stroking his beard, and Duke Luke went to get some breakfast.

After a light breakfast of oatcakes with honey, boiled eggs, a rasher of bacon, three sweet rolls, and two tankards of ale, Duke Luke returned to the throne room. He was just approaching a group of noblewomen, hoping to secure a date for the dance on Saturday night, when a hush fell over the room. With a flourish of trumpets and a roll of drums, the king spoke. “I, Nigel, third of my name, King of Happenstance, do thus proclaim. Whoever saves my daughter, Princess Precious, will have her hand in marriage.”

Duke Luke groaned and slapped his forehead. Not a proclamation, you dolt! An official proclamation by the king became the law of the land. He hurried to the Court Scribe, seated at a writing table to one side of the throne room. “Not a proclamation! That’s not what he meant. It was only supposed to be an offer.”

“But he proclaimed it. I’m afraid it must be recorded that way.”

The duke lowered his voice like a conspirator. “Just change it a little, can’t you?” Then he hinted, suggestively, “I can let you have a box seat for the jousting.”

The scribe was aghast. “Attempting to bribe a court official? I couldn’t if I wanted to. Where would it end? The official records of the court would have no value, everything must be recorded precisely.”

A deep sigh escaped the duke but he was distracted by the snickering that swept through the throne room. The duke barely managed to keep a straight face when Sir Bob strode proudly up the center of the room. Actually, he swaggered with a good deal of arrogance. He had always had a far more arrogance than good sense. Frowns of disapproval and a shaking of heads were evident throughout the crowd. Sir Bob marched straight to the dais, bright shiny helmet cradled under one arm. It was a strange sight; him carrying that helmet. He wasn’t wearing his armor. The courtiers had long suspected Sir Bob was a bit weird. Some whispered he “had a thing” for the helmet, whatever that meant.

Sir Bob took a knee to the king and said, “Long have I loved Princess Precious from afar. I would claim her hand in marriage. I will be your champion, my King.” The king wore a mask of mindlessness as he giggled in delight. And so it was that Sir Bob was declared the King’s Champion and was sent on a quest to slay Onions and bring back Precious.

Before the day was done, Charmsworthy, Sir Bob’s chestnut war horse, pranced out the gate of the castle. The knight was sitting on his back and both were bedecked in glimmering armor. Charmsworthy had very long legs, very long eyelashes, and a pleasant smile. Protruding from the armor that covered his forehead was a three-foot steel spike, spiraled and tapering to a sharp point. Before they had traveled far, Charmsworthy asked Sir Bob, “Where are we going? This road leads to the mountains.”

“It does,” the knight agreed. “We go to slay the Dragon and rescue the princess.”

The horse stopped dead in his tracks. “Dragon? Are you mad?”
“You go where I tell you. I’m the knight, you’re just the horse. Now move, Fleabag.”

“I’m not going to be called fleabag by anyone. Call me that again and we aren’t going anywhere.”

Sir Bob apologized and the fared on.

After a time, Charmsworthy said, “I hope you have a talisman. We have no chance against a Dragon without one.”

“What’s a talisman?”

The horse rolled his eyes and blew out a deep breath between his lips, making a flubbering sound. “A talisman is a token of power. Didn’t the Court Wizard give you a token that will overpower the Dragon? Something with magic in it?”

“Well, no. No one mentioned it.”

The horse doubted Sir Bob would last long as the King’s Champion. What fool would go after a Dragon without a talisman? “Then I suggest we get one before we go on.”

The knight shook his head in confusion. “Where would we get a talisman?”

“How about the sorcerer in the forest?” Charmsworthy asked, with more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“Very well, we’ll go see Frank the Sorcerer. Take me there.”

A day later they entered the forest. The trees were big and old with lots of green leaves. Many woodland critters scurried about, each near the right size for a cook pot. In other words, it was just your basic forest. They followed a trail that led them, after a deal of time, to the cabin of Frank the Sorcerer. Frank watched them approach with a smile. “Well met, Charmsworthy, who’s you friend?”

“Hi Frank, long time no see. This is Sir Bob, he needs your assistance.”

After Charmsworthy explained the situation, the sorcerer shook his head slowly, weighing the details. “No, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to turn you down. Shouldn’t get involved at this time. Can’t seem to be taking sides.”
The knight looked stunned and Charmsworthy asked warily, “What are you talking about, Frank?”

“I thought you knew. I’m running for the senate. I’ll have to stay clear of this.”

Sir Bob blew out a deep breath between his lips, making a flubbering sound. “Can you tell us where we might acquire a talisman, then?”

“You might try Blackteria, the witch who lives in the swamp.”

Two days travel found them wading into the edge of the swamp. Well, Charmsworthy was wading, Sir Bob sat high and dry. Much of the swamp was knee-deep, stagnant water with sink holes hidden from view. The trees were gnarled and draped with Spanish Moss. The biting and stinging insects were a fright. In other words, it was just your basic swamp. Another day of slow slogging found them at the shack Blackteria called home.

She came onto the porch to meet them and began stirring a kettle. “Hiya Charmworthy, who’s that sitting on your back?” she cackled. All witches cackle, they study it in Witch’s School.

The horse went through the entire story again and told her that Frank wouldn’t help. She continued to stir her Witch’s Brew and shrugged. All witches make brew, but no one knows what it’s for. “No, I don’t think I can help. A talisman you say. A magic token. I don’t know how to do that. I can cast a lover’s spell or cure warts, I can read fortunes, but nothing like what you want. And I certainly don‘t need the Dragon angry with me. After he eats the two of you, he may come looking for me.”

“Then, who can we turn to?” asked the knight.

“Well now,” she said, scratching her eagle’s-beak of a nose, “if the Court Wizard didn’t offer anything, and if Frank was no help, I don’t know where else you might turn. Nope, no one I can think of.”

“Then we’ll just have to go on with no talisman,” Sir Bob said with determination. “I want this done so I can marry Precious.”

The horse murmured, “I was afraid of that.”

In their camp that night, Charmsworthy did his best to dissuade Sir Bob from going on with this idiocy . . . er . . . this noble quest. “You can’t marry Princess Precious, or anyone else, if you get us killed. You will get an honored funeral but what remains of me will be made into glue.”

“Will you leave off with the whining?” Sir Bob asked disgustedly. “I’m not doing this to get killed; I intend to slay the dragon.”

“Not if you get a whiff of his breath,” the horse grumbled softly. Then he spoke louder for Sir Bob to hear, “Without a talisman we are worm fodder.”

“We have no talisman and we don’t know where to get one. Forget about a bloody talisman.”

Unobserved by the pair, a shadowy figure slipped away from the edge of their campsite and disappeared into the night.

As coincidence would have it, around mid-of-day on the following day of travel, they came upon a shadowy figure hawking wares from a roadside stand (that means he was selling stuff). Sir Bob asked Charmsworthy if he would mind stopping so they could have a look at the merchandise. The horse complied, with a shrug, and Sir Bob dismounted. The hawker immediately began apologizing. “Sorry, I’m short on wares at present. All I have are a few apples--fresh-picked this morning, though--and a few talismans.”

The horse raised his eyebrows to the knight and Sir Bob smiled. “Show me your talismans,” the knight instructed the hawker.

Charmsworthy frowned suspiciously and interrupted, “Say, aren’t you a Dwarf?”

“Me? Oh my, no,” he answered, pulling his hood lower. “Everyone knows Dwarves are greedy and untrustworthy. I’m an Elf--one of the good guys. I just happen to be short and broad shouldered for an Elf, and the long black beard is just a coincidence.” Sir Bob was oblivious but Charmsworthy was dubious. You could fool the knight but Charmsworthy knew better. Still, he didn’t want to accuse anyone of wrong-doing, and it was Sir Bob’s gold, after all.

Sir Bob began to examine the three items the shadowy Elf/Dwarf claimed to be talismans. While they were occupied, Charmsworthy ate two of the apples.

“Now, what’s this?” the knight inquired.

“That’s a wooden spoon,” the horse told him.

The Elf/Dwarf scowled at the horse, then turned a totally fake, sincere smile to Sir Bob. “You can have that for only three gold coins, but it has the weakest magic of the three. What you want is this.” He pointed out an over-ripe melon.

“Is that the most powerful?” Sir Bob asked. The Elf/Dwarf nodded that it was. “How much?”

“Ahh, well, I’d have to have seven gold coins for that.”

Sir Bob frowned into the purse he was holding open, reluctant to part with that much money. It was a small leather pouch with drawstrings, but that’s what they called a purse back then. “What else do you have?” he asked.

The Elf/Dwarf pointed to a worn leather boot. A lone boot, the right. “This might work for you, and for only five gold coins.”

Sir Bob frowned into his purse again, “Maybe the spoon will do.”

Charmsworthy was growing impatient. “Don’t be such a tightwad, you need to slay the Dragon. Remember what the reward is.”

The knight’s eyes lit up when he recalled Princess Precious. “Well, I can’t cover the cost of the melon, so I’ll take the boot. But first, how does it work?”

While the Elf/Dwarf was dropping the boot into a used Wal-Mart bag, he said, “It’s quite simple, really. Just get your opponent to put it on. He’ll fall into a trance and you can slay him.”

Startled, Sir Bob’s eyes flew wide. “How can I get a Dragon to put on the boot?”

He handed the bag to the knight and held out a hand for the gold. “I’m sure a charming fellow like yourself can be quite persuasive it you put your mind to it. If that doesn’t work, just trick him.” Sir Bob swelled with pride at the compliment and Charmsworthy rolled his eyes. Soon, they were riding toward the mountains again, but before they had gone far, they thought they could hear soft laughter behind them.

Onward and upward they fared for two more days; up into the mountains. They followed a little-used trail that would take them to the Dragon’s lair. They came upon the lair before they expected to, and the Dragon abruptly appeared before them. Onions was a massive creature, shimmering red, with a long neck, a long tail, and a vast wing-spread. In other words, he was just your basic Dragon. His leer revealed huge, pointed teeth and he was clutching Princess Precious in one enormous front paw. Black smoke curled from his nostrils when he growled, “What are you doing in my domain? Be gone or I will eat you.”

Sir Bob gulped down his fear and held out the magic boot in a trembling hand. “We brought you a gift. Here, try this on.”

“Fool!” the Dragon roared, and his head swung down toward the knight, jaws agape.

Plunging ahead to avoid the Dragons jaws, Charmsworthy was missed by the Dragon when it snapped up Sir Bob and swallowed him. Leaning to grab the knight had brought the Dragon’s chest in front of the scrambling horse and Charmsworthy’s three-foot steel spike drove into Onion’s chest, piercing his heart. The Dragon fell dead and the princess wriggled from his grasp and scampered away from the body.

Princess Precious scrambled onto Charmsworthy’s back and they galloped back to the castle. The Dragon was slain and the princess was saved. The king had spoken and his word was law. The princess had to marry the horse, but they didn’t live so happily ever after.