How to Slay a Dragon (15 page)

“You were at Witch Hazel’s and you didn’t pick up a healing spell?” The princess’s tone suggested he’d forgotten to pick up brains as well. But then her nostrils flared, and she met Nathan’s eye with an accusing glare. “Just what is it you’re trying to say, Mr. Caine?”

“Nothing Highness,” Nathan said quickly. “I was just explaining the facts so you would understand why Lucky asked what he did.”

“Please don’t call me that!”

“Call you what?” Nathan asked.

“Highness. Do I look particularly tall to you? I hate all that pompous royalty nonsense. Weren’t you listening? I want you to call me Sasha.”

“My apologies,” Nathan said, bowing.

“And don’t bow to me either.”

Greg whistled as loudly as he could. “Would you two stop?”

Priscilla regarded him as if just now realizing he was still there.

Her attention was so unexpected, Greg could barely think what to say. “How did you get away from the dragon?”

Priscilla looked at Lucky and Nathan. “What’s he talking about?”

“You never answered my question,” Lucky told Priscilla. “You’re not trying to stop Greg, are you?”

“Of course not. Ruuan will do that.” She thought a moment. “But maybe I will tag along with you. I might be able to use this boy somehow. Who knows? Maybe he can distract Ruuan while I make my move.” She somehow managed to look down her nose at Greg, even though he actually stood an inch or two taller. “Though I can’t imagine him distracting the dragon for long.”

“You just wait,” Lucky huffed. “Greg’s going to do more than just distract Ruuan.”

I can’t even distract these three
, Greg thought.

“He’s going to slay him,” continued Lucky, “and then you and everyone else who doubted him will be sorry.”

Obviously the two were both crazy, but Greg at least liked hearing Lucky defend him. He puffed out his chest and shot the princess his best what-do-you-have-to-say-about-that? look.

“I’ll be happy to apologize to his ashes when the time comes,” Priscilla said snootily, causing Greg’s chest to deflate so quickly he was lucky he didn’t whiz around the forest like a burst balloon. “Now, let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

“Go where?” Greg groaned.

“You’re welcome to come if you want, Princess,” said Nathan, “but we’re not headed straight to Ruuan’s. We’re stopping off at Simon’s first.”

“Simon’s? How irresponsible. What about my sister?”

“Relax,” Lucky said. “Penelope is still safe at the castle. She won’t even be taken for a couple of days.”

“Quiet!” Greg screamed.

The others finally fell silent and stared at him.

“What’s this about Ruuan coming for Penelope?”

“You remember Ruuan, Greg,” said Lucky. “The dragon?”

“Of course I remember.” He pointed at Priscilla. “He was supposed to have taken
her
.”

Priscilla offered him the same look she’d used when Nathan said he didn’t have a healing spell. “Ruuan never took me.”

“Prissy?” Lucky said. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sure, technically I guess she’s a princess, but—well, look at her.”

“What about me?” Priscilla snapped.

“But King Peter said she was missing,” Greg insisted. “He was all sad and everything.”

“No,” said Lucky, “he said she couldn’t be with us. Besides, Prissy is always missing.”

“Sasha!”

“See how headstrong she is? King Peter can’t control her. He was just sad because he hoped she’d want to be part of such a historic event.”

Priscilla looked concerned. “Daddy was sad?”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Greg said. His mind was reeling again, but this time not from his injury. “If it was Penelope everyone was worried about, why didn’t we just stay at the castle and guard her, make sure Ruuan never got to her? I would have even helped if I could. Who knows? I could have stood lookout or something.”

Lucky shook his head. “No, that’s not how it’s written at all. The prophecy was very clear about us heading into the Enchanted Forest.”

“What? Who cares about the stupid prophecy? Don’t you see? You never even needed me. If you’d have just taken that room full of magicians and set them on Ruuan instead of me, you wouldn’t have had a problem.”

Lucky rolled his eyes. “Have all of King Peter’s magicians go against a prophecy? You might as well ask the sun not to rise in the morning.”

“But—”

“Why would anyone even want to go to Simon’s, anyway?” Priscilla asked Lucky.

“Greg wants to find out more about the prophecy,” answered Nathan. “He wants to be as prepared as possible when he faces Ruuan.”

Priscilla once again tilted her head back to regard Greg down her nose. “Believe me, preparations aren’t going to help. You’re probably right though. He should talk to Simon. Once he sees what a doddering old fool the man is, maybe he’ll climb off his high horse and realize the prophecy was supposed to be about Marvin Greatheart, not him.”

“I already know that.” Greg nodded toward Lucky and Nathan. “Tell
them
.”

“Oh?” said the princess.

“Look,” said Greg, “I’m sorry about your sister, and I wish there were some way I could help, I really do. But I wouldn’t stand a chance against a dragon. I just want to get back home.”

The princess studied him a long while, as if trying to determine the truth of his words. Greg didn’t know why, but he found himself struggling to look sincere. Suddenly Priscilla’s eyes widened. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Greg tried to ask what she meant, but she cut him off. “We better see Simon, after all, get you back home where you belong. There’s no sense in you getting yourself killed for nothing. I can find some other distraction for Ruuan.”

“You’re still going to fight the dragon yourself?” Greg asked, astonished.

“Of course,” she said. “Penelope’s my sister, and no one else is going to do it.”

Greg felt a pang of guilt, and he almost told Priscilla he would help, but something stopped him. Most likely it was his sanity. Instead he tried not to think about Princess Penelope’s predicament as he and the others gathered up their things and headed into the forest once more.

The Prophet

The sun arced overhead and had begun to drop again when Greg smelled the potent aroma of wildflowers. By the time the group emerged from Wiccan Wood to gaze across a vast field, the fragrance was nearly overwhelming.

Greg quickly decided there must be a flower of every hue in the world here—maybe more, considering this was not his world. Ahead he could see bits and pieces of trail winding through the field toward a distant structure. Though a pretty golden brown in its own right, it looked unnaturally dull amidst the splendor of the surrounding flowers.

“Welcome to Heaven’s Canvas,” said Nathan, smiling broadly.

“Wow,” Greg said. “It’s amazing.”

Priscilla smiled. “Mom would be glad we took the time to notice.”

“Well, no use standing about,” said Nathan, and with that he strode down the loamy trail that wound its way more or less toward the distant house.

Greg rushed along with the others, stopping several times to gape. As they turned the last bend and trudged up the path toward the small house, an old woman stood upon the front walk, gathering wildflowers into a woven basket. She straightened as they approached, massaging her lower back with one hand as if the effort pained her, but she did not look their way.

“Hello,” Lucky called as they drew near. “Missus Sezxqrthm, hello.”

The woman continued to pick flowers, oblivious of the group’s approach. At least it gave Greg time to study her without her noticing him staring. He had heard some people on Earth lived to be a hundred, but he estimated this woman to be twice that old or older.

“Missus Sezxqrthm?” Lucky repeated. Still she didn’t seem to hear. “MISSUS SEZXQRTHM!”

With a jerk, the woman emitted a feeble scream.

“What in blazes!” she said in a voice that was twice as loud as need be, or four times what she should have been capable of. “Can’t you see I’m an old woman? Not that you ought to be sneakin’ up on anybody, mind, but—who are you, anyway?”

“It’s me, Missus Sezxqrthm,” said Lucky.

“What?” she shouted. “You ain’t Missus Sezxqrthm.”

“No . . . I’m Lucky Day.”

“It ain’t your lucky day?” she yelled. “What do I care? Who are you? What do you want?”

“We came to see your husband, ma’am.”

“Who?” the woman blared, squinting hard enough to cut right through him. “Speak up.”

“Your husband,” Lucky repeated louder. “Simon?”

“I know my husband’s Simon,” she replied gruffly. “And you don’t have to yell.”

Greg exchanged glances with Priscilla, who covered her mouth to keep from giggling in spite of the day’s tensions.

“Say, you’re Sonny Day’s boy, ain’t ya?” the woman asked Lucky.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Lucky.”

“Good for you.” The woman squinted at the princess, scrunching up her face as if trying to recall a memory long past, and Greg silently wondered just how one went about retrieving a single event from a couple of centuries worth of experiences.

“You look familiar, chil’. Have we met?”

“I’m Princess Priscilla . . . King Peter’s daughter?”

The woman scowled. “I know King Peter’s not here. He lives in Pendegrass Castle, clear on the other side o’ the Enchanted Forest.” She turned Greg’s direction. “Who’re you?”

“Greg Hart.”

The woman sniggered. “You ain’t Greatheart. I may be old, but I know a dragonslayer when I see one. Greatheart’s a tall, strapping young buck, makes my knees go weak every time I see him. Not that my knees are all that strong most o’ the time, mind, but well . . . you know.”

Greg stared back at her. “No, Mrs. Sezx—er, Mrs. Sezxquer—er—”

“Just call her Missus Sez, Greg,” Lucky advised him. “Most people do.”

Greg nodded. “We’re looking for Simon, Mrs. Sez.” He turned suddenly to Lucky. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me your prophet’s name is Simon Sez, and you go around doing anything he tells you?”

“Well, his name’s Simon Sezxqrthm, actually. Most of us just call him Simon Sez. And it’s not like we do whatever he tells us. He only tells us what we’re already going to do.”

Greg frowned. To Mrs. Sez he asked, “Is Simon here?”

She stared at him, confused. “You’re in where?”

“No . . . IS. SIMON. HERE?”

She nodded. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying, boy. Maybe you should talk to my husband, Simon.”

Greg swallowed back a comment. The old woman escorted them all into the house, through three empty rooms, and right out the back door. Greg was beginning to think she’d misunderstood again, until he saw an old man sitting at an easel in a tiny patch of green yard behind the house. He was facing the most beautiful landscape Greg had ever seen, yet the painting in front of him looked as if he’d toppled a paint can onto the canvas.

“Simon, we have guests,” the old woman shouted, her voice so loud Greg was sure he, too, would be deaf if he stayed here much longer. The old man looked up from his work. If his wife was two centuries old, this man was easily three or more.

“Wozzat? Hooreezfok?”

It took Greg a moment to recognize the first part as “What’s that?” and the last part as “Who are these folk?”

“This here’s Sonny Day’s boy,” Mrs. Sez said. “And I guess this must be his girlfriend . . . and well, I don’t know about them other two.” She leaned toward her husband and covered her mouth with one hand, adding in a whisper that shook the easel, “This one thinks he’s Greatheart, the famous dragonslayer.”

“Grauht, naint thadahoot. Wacniduferu?”

“What’d he say?” Lucky asked Mrs. Sez. He might as well have asked the easel.

“Are you going to answer his question, or not?” she yelled.

“What question?” moaned Lucky. “What did he say?”

“He asked what he could do for you.”

“We want to know about the prophecy involving Greghart and the dragon Ruuan,” Nathan tried.

The old man shouted something totally incoherent. Mrs. Sezxqrthm held a hand to her ear and forced him to repeat himself twice, until Greg felt his ears would bleed, but each time was no clearer than the last. Finally she nodded. “He says that was a long time ago, and his memory ain’t what it used to be. What do you want to know?”

“We just want him to verify that it was Greg Hart, not Greatheart who was supposed to slay the dragon,” Nathan said. “The boy here thinks maybe there’s been a mix-up.”

She clearly didn’t understand a word he’d said, but Simon was prompted to spout off more indiscernible ramblings. Again, he repeated it several times before his wife understood. “That’s what I was thinking, too,” she screeched back at him. The pair yelled more gibberish back and forth, and finally Mrs. Sez turned to the others and smiled as if the matter had been settled.

“Well, what did he say?” Priscilla cried.

The old woman wilted, as if she couldn’t be expected to endure talking to the four of them a moment longer. “Weren’t you listening? He said he don’t remember.”

“I’m afraid this is hopeless,” Nathan said. “We’re never going to learn anything from these two.”

“No,” said Greg. “We’ve already learned everything we need.”

The others looked at him questioningly.

“Don’t you see? His mumbling is so bad he couldn’t have possibly communicated the prophecy correctly. And she’s so deaf she couldn’t have possibly heard him. But she’s the only one who stands a chance of understanding a word he says, so that means whoever got word to the King’s scribe must have got it at least secondhand through her, and then the scribe probably got it third-hand and had to remember it well enough to write it down. And that’s another problem. Lucky said that the scribe’s handwriting is atrocious. No telling how far from reality the original prophecy was from how it reads now.”

Greg rested, thoroughly pleased with his summation.

“Nonsense, Greg,” said Lucky. “Prophecies are never wrong.”

Greg felt his blood pound in his temples. “No, what you mean is, no prophecy has ever been wrong
before
. That doesn’t mean this won’t be the first time.”

Lucky looked to Nathan for backup.

“Greg’s right,” Nathan admitted. “Nor does it mean that he won’t be harmed in the process. Ruuan could chomp off an arm or sear off a leg and not affect the prophecy at all, but Greg surely wouldn’t view the ordeal as a success.”