A Wild Ride Through The Night (3 page)

‘The moon?’ said Gustave, impressed. ‘Is that where you live?’

‘Yes,’ sighed Death. ‘It’s the only place left where you can get away from people. I used to live in an ice castle at the North Pole, but not even
that’s
off the beaten track these days, what with all the visitors—polar research scientists, explorers, ornithologists, meteorologists, and so on. I now live on the shores of the Sea of Tranquillity. Mine is the only house there—the only house anywhere on the moon, to be precise. You can’t miss it.’

Dementia sighed too, clearly depressed by the thought of her desolate place of residence. ‘Personally,’ she confided to Gustave in a whisper, ‘I’d sooner have a few people around. Those polar explorers were quite good company, but Old Misery-Guts here …’

Death silenced her with an imperious gesture.

‘See you on the moon, then,’ he commanded. ‘
Before the night’s out!
’ he added.

‘But they’re very difficult tasks,’ Gustave said plaintively, scratching his head.

Death nodded. ‘That’s life for you: completely pointless,’ he said
in
a noticeably milder tone. ‘It wears you down by degrees—grinds you to dust like pumice stone. For my own part, and at the risk of seeming self-interested, I’d prefer a nice, quick suicide.’

‘What do
you
know of life?’ Dementia hissed venomously. Death ignored her gibe and went on, ‘Well, Gustave, do you accept my challenge, or would you sooner hang yourself from the yardarm? That would be a convenient and extremely time-saving alternative from every point of view.’

He held out a length of rope and tried—insofar as he could do so without any facial muscles—to give Gustave an encouraging smile.

‘No, thanks!’ Gustave fended off the rope with both hands. ‘I’d rather try the tasks.’

‘Very well,’ Death said with a sigh. ‘You’ve chosen the hardest, longest and most hopeless course of action.’ He tossed the rope over the rail. ‘Have it your own way. In that case, you must now go at once to the Island of Damsels in Distress. These days, it’s the only place where you’ll find beautiful girls in the clutches of fire-breathing dragons.’

Gustave couldn’t remember any mention of
fire-breathing
dragons. ‘The Island of Damsels in Distress—fine, but my ship’s sinking and I don’t even know where the island is. How am I supposed to get there?’ he asked feebly.

‘Why,’ said Death, casually clicking his fingers, ‘like this!’

GUSTAVE’S INITIAL IMPRESSION
was that three far-reaching changes had occurred. In the first place, he was no longer in the company of a skeleton and a lunatic on a sinking ship, but soaring through the air. Secondly, he was wearing a helmet and a suit of silver armour and carrying a lance. And, thirdly, he was riding a creature that seemed to be part lion, part horse, and part eagle.

‘Before you ask,’ said the creature, ‘I’m a gryphon. My job is to take you to the Island of Damsels in Distress. In point of fact, we’re already there.’

Below them lay an expanse of delightful, summery countryside. Gustave could make out lush meadows filled with wild flowers, clumps of shady trees, and a crystal-clear stream. Young magpies and other small birds were excitedly snapping at airborne insects as they circled above its banks.

‘Are you a servant of Death?’ asked Gustave.

‘Aren’t we all?’ was the gryphon’s mournful rejoinder.

They flew on in silence for a while.

‘So where are the damsels?’ Gustave asked at length.

‘Don’t worry,’ the gryphon sighed, ‘you’ll get to see them soon enough. First, though, I thought you might appreciate a little joyride over the damsel-free part of the island—to recuperate, so to speak. After all, you’ve only just escaped from a Siamese Twins Tornado, a sinking ship, a bout of insanity, and death by hanging.’

‘Many thanks,’ said Gustave. ‘Very considerate of you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said the gryphon. ‘Mind you, I must confess I was thinking of myself as well. It’s part of my job to help you rescue a damsel from the clutches of a dragon.’

‘Glad to hear it. The thing is, I’ve never rescued a damsel from the clutches of a—’

‘Neither have I!’ the gryphon broke in, sounding worried. ‘Neither have I!’

At that, it flapped its wings so violently that the air went whistling past Gustave’s ears. The incongruous pair soared high into the sky.

‘Let’s go! The sooner we get it over, the better.’ The gryphon suddenly banked, heeling over at such an extreme angle that Gustave had to cling to its plumage with all his might to prevent the weight of his armour from pitching him off into space.

‘We must make for the coast. That’s where most of the damsels hang out. They go there because it’s where most of the dragons hang out.’

‘But … In that case, wouldn’t it be wiser of them to keep to the interior of the island?’

‘Women are an eternal mystery,’ the gryphon retorted.

Gustave could already make out the sea glittering in the distance. The sun hovered high overhead, the air was clear and balmy.

‘How come it’s midday, and so warm?’ Gustave asked. Just now, on board ship, it had been the middle of the night.

‘It’s always midday in these parts,’ the gryphon explained, ‘and always summertime. For the damsels’ sake.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, it’s midday and summertime so the weather’s always nice and warm. The damsels like to go around naked, you see.’

‘With nothing on, you mean?’ gasped Gustave.

The gryphon turned its head and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

‘More or less,’ it said. ‘Because it’s so hot.’

On reaching the coast, the gryphon banked gently to the right, spread its wings to their fullest extent, and allowed the light sea breeze to carry them along the rocky shore. All that Gustave could see below him were precipitous cliffs with green waves exploding into foam as they broke against them, a few small bays, some narrow sandy beaches, and rocks, rocks, and more rocks.

‘So where are the damsels?’ he asked impatiently.

‘
There
are your damsels,’ sighed the gryphon. ‘Up ahead on the right—and don’t fall out of the saddle!’

Gustave could detect nothing among the rocks but some pale dots—nesting seagulls, or so he thought at first, but the nearer they drew the more clearly he discerned that they were a whole bevy of young girls.

And, sure enough, they were all very scantily attired and had beautiful figures. Some wore sarongs or headdresses, but many were completely naked. Gustave gasped.

‘Keep holding on tight,’ the gryphon called. ‘Don’t lose your nerve.’

‘Help!’ cried the girls. ‘Please help us, won’t you?’ And they giggled and tittered and nudged each other in the ribs.

‘Don’t let them fool you,’ the gryphon advised. ‘Those are
undragoned
damsels. They’re of no interest to us.’

‘Really not?’ said Gustave. ‘Why are they all carrying spears?’

‘Because of the dragons, of course. They hunt them.’

‘Damsels hunt dragons? I thought it was the other way round.’

‘Pah! They hunt them, spear them to death, and then eat them. What’s more, they don’t let anything go to waste. They skin a
dragon,
cut the meat into chunks, boil it, and pickle it in brine. Dragon blubber they refine into suntan cream—it’s always midday and summertime, remember. They make combs out of the scales and sausages out of the creatures’ tongues. They even utilise the eyeballs! Those they boil and—’

‘Spare me the details!’ Gustave exclaimed. ‘But how come this place is called the Island of Damsels in Distress? They don’t look very distressed to me.’

‘The girls thought up the name themselves, of course. What if they’d called it the Island of Dragon-Devouring Damsels, or the Island of Dragon-Slaying Amazons?’ The gryphon emitted a hoarse laugh. ‘Then no daring young men would ever come here to rescue them from the dragons’ clutches, get it?’

‘But you just told me they
hunt
dragons.’

‘Yes, but now and then a dragon manages to turn the tables. A girl gets separated from the hunting party, loses her spear or something—and at that very moment the dragon comes along! The stupid creatures make a tremendous song and dance when they manage to capture a girl. They chain her to a rock for days on end, brag about it to their friends, and broadcast the news to all and sundry—whereas, if they were smart, they’d simply gobble her up or convert her into juice, the way she’d have done with them.’

The gryphon sighed. ‘And then, right on cue, along comes some snotty-nosed youth in shining armour—sorry, that wasn’t a dig at you!—who bumps them off. This place should be called the Island of Dragons in Distress, if you want my opinion. It’s even said that dragons are sometimes tamed by damsels for the sake of their milk, which is much in demand as a skin-rejuvenation product.’

‘Sounds as if it’s no great problem, killing one of these monsters.’

‘It isn’t. We simply fly there and you have a bit of a go at each other, you and the dragon. It tries to bite your head off, whereupon you run it through the throat with your lance. It’s child’s play. But that’s not the point of your task.’

‘Really? So what is?’

‘Can’t tell you—not allowed to. You’ll find that out for yourself soon enough.’

‘Yoo-hoo!’ called the lovely girls among the rocks. ‘Help! Come on, rescue us!’ And they giggled and tittered some more, spluttering into their hands with uncontrollable mirth.

Gustave couldn’t tear his eyes away from this unusual spectacle. ‘What if they really do need help?’ he asked.

The gryphon’s sole response was to flap its wings vigorously, and the girls were soon no more than a sprinkling of pale dots that might have been mistaken for a colony of seabirds. Gustave almost dislocated his neck, trying to catch a last glimpse of them.

In a kind of daze, he sat astride the huge creature as it flew along the coastline with powerful wing-beats. He had never seen so many naked girls at once. To be more precise, he had never seen even one naked girl before, or not in reality, only in the form of a statue or an oil painting in a museum. And these girls had actually moved!

He was jolted out of his daydreams by the gryphon’s voice. ‘We’re now coming to the island’s capital city,’ it announced in dramatic tones. ‘This is the site of the dragon-processing industry.’

Projecting from the rocky coastline were some slender towers built of dazzling white marble, their outer walls entirely adorned
with
intricate arabesques, half-reliefs, and tiles bearing geometrical designs. Spacious colonnades traversed deserted halls larger than cathedrals, granite round-towers jutted high into the sky. Dense clouds of white vapour issuing from subterranean shafts made these buildings look as if they were constructed on clouds.

‘Is that a fairy palace?’ Gustave enquired, awestruck.

‘No, it’s a dragon-processing plant,’ the gryphon replied in a businesslike tone. ‘It’s where captured dragons are wrung out in dragon-juice presses. The juice is then superheated, sterilised, and canned. Tastes awful, but it’s reputed to make you immortal if you drink a glass a day. Sells like hot cakes.’

Gustave had always been fascinated by industrial manufacturing processes. ‘Why aren’t there any workers to be seen?’ he asked.

‘Everything’s fully automated and technologically state-of-the-art. You’re looking at the future, my boy. We’re on the threshold of a technological revolution. It won’t be long before locomotives are flying us to the moon.’

The moon …
This reference to the earth’s satellite reminded Gustave unpleasantly of his unfinished tasks.

‘So when do I find my damsel in distress?’

They were gliding along through a dense cloud of steam. Once out the other side, they found themselves back over open sea.

‘It won’t be long now,’ said the gryphon. ‘You see that commotion in the water down there?’

Gustave screwed up his eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Shoals? Eddies?’

‘No, dragons.’

They flew a little lower—low enough for Gustave to make out
a
number of scaly monsters splashing around in the shallows or wriggling across the sun-baked rocks. Creatures of alarming size, they made a powerful, predatory impression and seemed to consist of nothing but muscles, sinews and impenetrable scales. They moved with remarkable speed and grace for their size, both on land and water. Living, invulnerable fighting machines, they were equipped with teeth and claws as big and sharp as sabres. Was he really supposed to fight them with his spindly lance?