Here be Dragons… Possibly

‘We're here.’

‘What?’ Sir Gawain stared around the damp misty valley, then turned to his squire. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, look.’ His squire held up the sat-nav.

Sir Gawain clunked across to her. He was sure the constant drizzle was making his armour rusty, seizing it up slowly.

His squire showed him the sat-nav screen. ‘Here be Dragons!’ It said.

Sir Gawain turned to stare at the damp, empty valley again.

‘Hey, be careful with that lance!’ His squire yelled, stepping smartly out of the way and ducking.

‘Sorry, it's new,’ Gawain said absently.

Then, out of the mist something emerged.

Gawain peered into the mist, whatever the whatever it was was, was coming towards them. His hand fell to his sword pommel as he dropped his lance to the ground.

‘Hey, careful with that lance!’ the squire said. ‘I was up all night polishing that.’

Gawain turned, trying to glare at the squire through his visor. ‘So, that was what you were doing?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Oh, nothing… its just that… well, y’know…?’

‘What?’

‘Polishing your lance… y’know back at knight school… well, that was a bit of a euphemism….’

‘A what?’

‘Nothing…. Nothing at all.’ Gawain turned back to see the whatever it was was now standing in the road staring at them… possibly.

‘What manner of foul beast are you? I am Sir Gawain of the Knights of the Oblong Table and I command you to stand clear or taste the edge of my sword!’

‘What does it taste of, then?’ the whatever it was said, drawing back a hood made of the same collection of patched and ragged material that Gawain could now see gave the whatever it was its rather indefinable outline.

‘This sword of yours… taste nice does it?’ The whatever it was winked broadly. ‘Pork sword is it? Know what I mean, eh?’ It winked again.

‘I….’ Gawain peered through the mist. The whatever it was was a peasant, but it was hard to tell if it was male or female, or how old it was. Although, the dirt ingrained in the skin suggested he or she had not had a bath, or even stood out in the rain, for quite a long time. That was surprising in such a damp country as this.

‘Never mind all that,’ Sir Gawain said. ‘I’m looking for a dragon.’

‘Oooh, kinky,’ the peasant said. ‘Got a lance have you?’

‘Yes, I ha…. What do you mean by that?’

‘Disgusting, I call it,’ the peasant said. ‘You posh blokes coming up here to poke a nice harmless dragon with your lance… you ought to be ashamed of yourself.’

‘A dragon… nice… harmless…!’ Sir Gawain spluttered.

‘Yes.’

‘But… it is a… dragon.’

‘So?’

‘But they are savage, fire-breathing monsters who kill….’

‘Well, I’d imagine that you’d get a bit pissed off if every time you settled down for a nap on a heap of gold some toff strode up to you and started prodding you with his lance.’ The peasant peered through the mist at Gawain. ‘Although, you’d probably like to be prodded by a lance, wouldn’t you? I’ve heard what goes on at those Knight Schools once the candles are blown out.’

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]