Monday, 6 December 2010

Trevor and the Dragon - Part 3


‘You!’ Trevor felt a lump of chocolate that felt like a chunk of brick lodge in his throat. ‘What are you doing here!’
Trevor made a strangulated choking noise and spat out a large chunk of chocolate. ‘Bloody Nora!’ he gasped. ‘Are you barmy, you whey-faced chimp?’
Trevor found himself looking at a wide puzzled face beneath a curl of yellow hair. ‘Chimp?’ said the broad shouldered boy. ‘What is a chimp?’
Trevor goggled at the boy. He was dressed in a dirty jerkin that might have once been white but was so thick in sweat, dirt, blood and dung that it had turned an oddly colourless green-brown. But that, Trevor reckoned, was probably par for the course on this filthy planet – what was surprising about the boy was that his body was criss-crossed with the thick leather belts, and the belts were strung with swords, knives and short handled lances.
‘It doesn’t matter what a chimp is,’ the boy snapped anxiously before Trevor could reply. ‘You must leave here now!’
‘Eh?’ Trevor frowned at the boy. ‘I ain’t going nowhere chuckles.’ He shoved his chocolate back into his pocket, and glanced down at the wooden edge of the chunk that was sticking out of the manure pile, stood up and pushed it out of sight under his foot. ‘Who are you, king of Vir? I was here first, chimp face, and I’m not going nowhere!’ Trevor blew a loud raspberry just in case the boy didn’t get the message.
‘Listen to me,’ he whispered urgently, ‘I am Bob, squire of Sir David Hylton, and if he should find—‘
‘What is this?’ interrupted a loud, strident voice. ‘What is this peasant doing here, squire? Does he not know that this is the haunt of the dread demon dragon? Or,’ there was the snickt sound of steel drawn on steel, and suddenly Trevor found the blade of a sword under his chin, ‘is this serf under their control perhaps?’
‘Serf!’ Trevor exclaimed angrily. He glared at the face which had appeared over his shoulder. It was a ruddy red face, with thick black hair and an impressive handlebar moustache. Pale grey eyes looked disinterestedly from above aristocratic cheekbones. Sir David Hylton, Trevor noticed, had the cleanest face he had ever seen in his life. In Trevor's twenty-first century life the knight would have looked unusually clean – in this mucky, clarty brown and grey world he looked positively obscene.
‘When you’ve finished playing with your little pal—‘ Sir David began.
‘Hold the phone, cheekbones,’ Trevor snarled. ‘What do you mean serf? Eh? Who you calling a peasant, you curly haired gimp?’
The knight lowered his sword and stared at Trevor in dumb astonishment. Squire Bob let out a squeak of fear. ‘How… How dare—‘ Sir David spluttered.
‘I am Sir William Lambton of Killius,’ Trevor interrupted imperiously, taking what looked like a threatening step towards the knight, but was actually an attempt to sink the Chunk further into the enormous dung heap. ‘And I am here to kill your monster!’
‘You?’ spat Sir David, looking the filthy ragamuffin up and down in frank amazement.
‘Oh yes,’ Trevor replied proudly.
‘Really?’ exclaimed Squire Bob.
‘Are you deaf, turnip breath?’ Trevor replied. He reached into his pocket and took out a fresh chocolate bar. He looked around the dung-filled cave as if the dragon where right here, though oddly not only was there no dragon, Squire Bob had vanished also. ‘Now then, where’s this dragon whatsit?’
Sir David raised a shaking finger as a long shadow fell over them.
‘Right behind you,’ he squeaked.
Trevor turned just as a massive pair of jaws opened, and then snapped closed on him.


Hook saw the tent flap rise, and immediately fell to his knees and bowed his head. All around him his men knelt and bowed their own heads, while the knights muttered uncomfortably.
A pair of black leather boots appeared in the mud in front of his face. ‘Rise,’ whispered a gruff voice. Hook stood and found himself looking into the marble face of his king. ‘Walk with me, Thomas Hook.’
There was an angry muttering from the crowd of dirty knights, and Hook saw his men reach for their weapons. He held up a hand to them as they walked away, and they dropped their hands away from the hilt of their swords.
His king, the Wizard Aeoson, reached beneath his cape as they turned their backs on the knights, and brought out a bizarre devise. Lights blinked across its small mirrored surface, and Hook, though he had followed his king across a dozen different worlds, still felt a thrill of fear at the sight of one of Aeoson’s infernal alien machines.
‘The creature is not of this earth,’ whispered Aeoson in his grating voice.
Hook looked up into the king’s pale, thin old face, with his perfectly bald head, his small strip of grey beard, and, wrapped around his eyes, a black scarf. The scarf fooled many into believing the Wizard was blind – but despite his covered eyes Hook knew that Aeoson could see further than any man he had ever met.
‘An Agent of Change?’ Hook asked.
‘Perhaps,’ the Wizard replied. ‘We must proceed with caution, captain, we can not be seen to oppose the Agents.’
‘You still wish us to capture the creature, my king?’
The Wizard grinned his cold, dry, ancient grin. ‘There is no need, my captain,’ he replied.
The machine disappeared beneath his robes, and Aeoson turned to the knights.
‘My brave lords,’ said the Wizard, holding up his hands. ‘My men can not hope to defeat this demon. I call upon you to find this foul creature and send him back to hell where he belongs!’
With a roar the dirty knight raised their sword as one man and cheered drunkenly.
‘Your problems are solved, Thomas,’ murmured Aeoson with a cold grin, ‘Now find the monster, and let our glorious knights loose.’


Trevor closed his eyes and waited for the terrible roar of fire that would mean the end of him.
But nothing happened.
He cautiously opened one eye. It was extremely dark, extremely wet and extremely smelly in the dragon’s mouth. He could feel the monster’s thick tongue pressed against his back, could smell its hot and rank breath, and beneath his feet he could feel the unmistakable, familiar sensation of flight.
Trevor wracked his brain, but, undoubtedly enormous though his brain was, he could not think of a single thing to do – so he sat back, leant against the dragon’s teeth, pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket and began munching it.
Eventually, after Trevor had munched his way through three chocolate bars, he felt a thud beneath his feet. He swallowed a lump of chocolate, wiped his hands on his top, and prepared himself.
The dragon’s mouth opened and Trevor was shoved unceremoniously forward. Trevor rolled forward, landed squarely on his feet, whipped off his spectacles and sprang forward ready to run, and stopped with a squeak of horror. He was hanging over a cliff on the tips of his toes. He waved his arms, but it was too late, his attempt to escape had unbalanced him too much and he was falling forward—
Something grabbed him from behind and threw him back. Trevor slammed into the cliff wall and fell back fearfully as a shadow fell over him.
‘Sit down before you break your neck, you fool,’ exclaimed Squire Bob.
‘Eh?’ Trevor looked around. They were alone on a small ledge half way up a cliff. ‘What the blink’s occurring, dozy?’
‘Sit down,’ Squire Bob repeated.
‘Look, stupid, that dragon’s going to come back for its dinner anytime now,’ Trevor snarled. ‘You’re main, and I’m pudding, now let’s—‘
‘I’m a vegetarian,’ interrupted Bob.
‘What the flip’s that got to do—‘
Squire Bob reached for his belt and pressed something there. In an instant he transformed in a vast red and green scaly beast, muscular jaws flexing in its hawk-like face beneath fierce red eyes.
‘I said,’ said Bob the dragon, its huge wings unfolding with a whip crack, ‘I’m a vegetarian.’ He grinned, showing teeth the silver of razors. ‘But for you, you murderous little wretch, I’ll make an exception.’


‘Eh? What do you mean, murderous?’ Trevor exclaimed. ‘I’ve never murdered nobody,’ Trevor considered, ‘Well, not on purpose, anyway.’
‘John Dylan,’ replied the dragon, ‘You killed him in the cow shed—‘
‘Cow shed?’ murmured Trevor. ‘That cow I fell on, you mean?’
The dragon let out a roar of fury, and bellowed a jet of flame into the air. ‘John Dylan was no cow! He was the defender of Prezema. He was an Agent of Change, sent here to stop your evil plot. So tell me, you murderous little wretch, where is the ring of Argo?’
Trevor sighed. He looked over the edge of the cliff. It was a long drop. From experience he was pretty sure he could survive the fall, but then again if he landed on rocks, or given his experiences so far, spears or swords, it could turn out very badly.
‘Look dopey,’ he said with a resigned sigh. ‘I’m not a murderer, I haven’t got an evil plot, and I don’t know what the ring of Argos is, okay?’
‘The ring of Argo!’ roared the dragon. ‘Do not trifle with me, boy!’
‘Trifle with you? You roar at me one more time I’ll smash your bleeding face in!’ Trevor shouted. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, and frankly I couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff. I fell through time and space by accident, landed on Bob Dylan by accident – who, incidentally, if he wasn’t a cow shouldn’t have been hanging out in a cow shed with cows, the dozy perv – and I am currently stuck on a flipping cliff with a flipping dragon by flipping accident, so flip off, death breath!
‘John Dylan,’ said the dragon.
‘Whatever,’ sighed Trevor.
The dragon folded his wings. For a moment his thick red and green hide seemed to evaporate into thinning smoke, and then Squire Bob stood on the edge of the cliff.
‘Then who in the 101 Realms are you?’

To be continued...

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