The King's Dragon (4 page)

Amy looked around in amazement. If the gatehouse had been stuffed with gold, this place was smothered in it.

'Blimey,' Rory whispered. 'Bling Central.'

Suddenly, as if someone had breathed life into them, or turned their key, the courtiers began to move apart, as methodically as dancers, half
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of them shifting to one side of the great round chamber, half to the other. As they moved, the heart of the hall was slowly revealed: the source of the glamour, the place from which it all sprang.

Raised up on a dais, apart from the rest of the gathering, a young man sat on a golden throne. He was tall and strong and handsome, and he wore a narrow circlet of gold around his head. Standing at his right shoulder, tactfully behind him, was another man. He was only slightly older, although his dark clothes were very severe, and he looked almost nondescript compared to everyone else in the hall. The only decoration he wore was on his left hand, which was covered in fabulous rings.

These two men, however, were not quite the star attraction. Curled up in front of the throne, one red eye fixed upon the entrance of the chamber and thus upon the travellers, was a huge, sinuous, golden dragon.

'So... which one's the King?' whispered Amy.

Rory turned his laugh into a cough. The Doctor raised a remonstrative eyebrow.

The silence stretched on, charged and distinctly unwelcoming. Then the older of the two men leaned forwards and whispered something in the King's ear. The young man burst out laughing. So did the Doctor. Within seconds the whole room was in uproar, from the gaudiest toady to the
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THE KING’S DRAGON

lowliest hanger-on.

The King clapped his hands together. The room fell instantly silent. He rose up from his throne, taller than everyone around him, stronger, confident of his beauty and his power. He was like a lazy, well-fed lion, muscular and commanding.

'Nice,' Amy said, appreciatively.

The King smiled down at the new arrivals. 'To our friends and neighbours,' he said, 'I, Beol, King of Geath, offer a most hearty welcome. Come, my friends! Come and join me! Come and speak with me!'

'Hooray!'

cried

the

Doctor.

'All

friends!

Marvellous! Amy, let's go and pay our respects to our host. Rory,' he put his hand against Rory's shoulder and gave him a gentle shove, 'mingle.'

His voice dropped. 'And
listen.
Both of you.'

'Neighbours, Doctor?' Amy muttered, as they made their way through the curious whispering crowd.

'Oh, the psychic paper, you know,' he said offhandedly. Reaching the foot of the dais, he swept out an outrageous bow. 'Friend! Lord! King of Geath!
Love
what you've done with the place — and
what,'
he spun round to look at the dragon, 'do we have here?'

The man behind the throne jumped forwards.

'Don't touch it!'

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DOCTOR WHO

The Doctor's long hands, bare millimetres away from a great golden haunch of dragon, swung up again, palms out. 'All right, won't touch. Hey, nice rings! Who are you?'

'He's my Teller,' Beol said. He seemed to be entertained by the scene unfolding in front of him.

'Teller, Doctor?' Amy murmured.

'Oh, you know,' the Doctor said. 'Oral cultures —always someone whose job it is to do the memorising and the storytelling. Not to mention the spin-doctoring.'

'So nothing to do with counting the cash?'

'Not usually. But then there's a lot of "not usually" going on around here. A whole heap. A hoard. This is Amy, by the way,' he said to Beol.

'Amy, say hello to the King.'

Amy lifted her hand to hip-height and gave a little wave. 'Urn... hello.'

Beol, in return, delivered up a heart-stopping smile.

'Wow,' Amy said. 'And we get Prince Charles.'

'That's aristocracies for you,' said the Doctor.

'You never know what's going to come out. Bit like a tombola. Where did you say you'd found this dragon?'

'We didn't,' said the Teller. 'Where did you say you'd come from?'

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THE KING’S DRAGON

'Dant, wasn't it?' said the King. Something was definitely amusing him.

The Doctor produced another ludicrous bow.

'From the people of Dant, greetings and all the best and, urn, cheers. So - the dragon? Can't be many of these lying around. Where did you dig this one up?'

Beol turned to his Teller and gave him an odd smile. 'Why don't you tell them?'

There seemed to be some private joke going on between them, although the Teller wasn't laughing.

He looked put out.

'Be seated, my friends,' Beol said to the Doctor and Amy. 'He tells this tale so very well.'

He clapped his hands again. Servants carried up two ornate chairs onto the dais. Beol gestured to them to sit down.

'Last question for the moment, Doctor,' Amy said, as they took their seats. 'Dant?'

'Don't know... Hang on, yes I do, next city along. Up the river and left a bit.'

'And that's where we're from?'

'Apparently.' He gave her his lopsided grin.

'Citizens of Dant, though! Well done us!'

'I know!'

'Noticed anything yet?'

'Yes. That dragon. Is it me, or is it, sort of, oozing? Or something?'

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DOCTOR WHO

The Doctor's smile switched off. 'It's not you.'

Rory drifted obediently through the room and listened to the conversation. He soon realised that everyone was talking about the same thing. Beol.

Who had seen Beol, who had spoken to Beol, what Beol said, how he said it, and what he was wearing at the time. Not all of what Rory heard had the ring of truth and, in fact, the further away he got from the centre of the hall, the more fanciful the stories became and the more they carried with them the distinct

whiff

of

desperation.

'Help,'

Rory

muttered. 'I'm a prisoner in
Heat
magazine.' He inched his way to the edge of the crowd and looked for a quiet spot where he could observe people in peace.

A covered arcade ran around the perimeter of the room, providing a haven for those who found the bustle close to the dais too much. Chairs and tables had been placed between its columns. These were mostly deserted, apart from one, at which an old woman sat, alone. Her chin was propped up on her hands and she stared out across the hall with a bored expression. Seeing that Rory was looking at her, she gestured to him to join her. When he got close, she rose up from her seat and, with some ceremony, pulled out a chair for him.

'Hello,' Rory said, as he sat down. 'I'm Rory.'

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THE KING’S DRAGON

Why did it sound better when the Doctor said it?

The old woman gave a brisk nod of the head.

'And I'm Hilthe. Welcome to Geath.'

'Thank you.'

'I haven't seen you here before,' she said.

'I haven't been here before. First time in Geath.'

'Yes? Then tell me, Rory, what do you think of my city?'

Rory gazed out across the chamber at the glamorous gathering and then up at the shimmering light-filled dome. He could not see Beol, or the dragon, but he knew they were there, and he could easily picture how magnificent they both looked. 'I think it's amazing.'

Hilthe reached for a bottle and another glass. 'I think it's tasteless.'

The glass chinked against the bottle. Rory blinked. Suddenly everything around him seemed garish and flashy. The gold was a slick coating over the hall's true beauties. When Rory peered past it, he was able to see how the hall had once appeared.

Pale stone and subtle frescoes; measured and delicate. 'That's the trouble with bling.'

'Bling?'

Rory gestured around them. 'All this stuff.

Showy. You know.'

'Bling.'
Hilthe rolled the word around, trying
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DOCTOR WHO

it out. 'I like that. I'll remember it.' She pushed a glass towards him. 'Drink up. It makes the evening pass more quickly.'

From the centre of the hall, applause broke out. It rippled outwards, until soon the people standing at the edge near their table were clapping and pressing forwards. Hilthe sighed. 'Here comes our bedtime story. Same story, every night. And every night, they hang on the Teller's every word.

They've all gone quite mad.' Her voice took on a note of cheerful desperation. 'Or I'm getting old. Or both.'

'The same story? What's it about?'

'How brave Beol won the dragon and brought it to Geath.' She spoke violently, almost viciously. That was when Rory noticed she wasn't wearing any gold. 'What else could we possibly want to hear about?'

Rory got up from his seat to look over the crowd, trying to see what was happening in the centre of the hall. The older man, the one who had been standing behind the King — the Teller, presumably —walked to the front of the dais. He made a brief show of reluctance but the crowd cheered him on. From deep within the hall, a chant arose, taken up by everyone until it boomed around the dome. It was the King's name:
Beol! Beol! Beol!

'See what I mean?' Hilthe said. 'They've all
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THE KING’S DRAGON

gone mad.'

The man lifted up his left hand. The rings on it glittered sharply in the lamplight. The crowd fell silent. 'So,' he said, and then paused for effect.

Hilthe groaned and reached for her bottle. 'Here we go again...'

The Tale of the King and the Dragon

'Hear now,' said the Teller, 'great men and women gathered here in the heart-hall of Geath, how
Beol—'

Hearing the name, the crowd said, 'Ah!'

'How Beol, of all men bravest and boldest, haled to this high hall a gift of great worth—' The Teller flung out his arm.

'Ooh!' said the crowd.

' — hear now how Sheal was shorn of the golden worm —'

'Is he alliterating?' whispered Amy to the Doctor.

'It's the form. It's how it's done. Shush! Want to listen.'

Amy settled back in her chair and got comfortable. The hall was very full and very warm.

The light from the lamps and the torches filled the place with a soft gold haze that imbued it with a dreamy feeling. Amy closed her eyes.

When you listened carefully, she thought, the
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DOCTOR WHO

Teller's voice had a lot going for it. He used it like a musical instrument - one moment dropping down to a whisper that made Amy lean in to catch his words, the next moment bellowing out a war cry and making her jump back. There was something else too - his voice conjured up vivid images in her mind. She could picture in detail everything he described - not like television, little images flickering away in the corner of the room - this was more immediate, more immersive, like a lucid dream. It swept you up and carried you along.

Amy followed the Teller as he led her through Beol's deeds: she gasped at the King's audacity, tricking his way into the city of Sheal; she laughed herself nearly into hiccups to hear the way he made such fools out of the townsfolk; she chewed her nails at the suspense of him creeping through the city; and she thrilled at the knockdown fight with the guards. And then he laid hands upon the dragon...

Amy opened her eyes. There it was, lying at the heart of the city, the red slit of its eye watching, its mouth curved in a hungry smile. The Teller's tale went on without her. Amy leaned forwards in her chair, mesmerised by the hugeness of the dragon and the beauty of it. She marvelled at the craft that must have gone into each scale upon its back, the long flat ears, the elegant snout, the humming...

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THE KING’S DRAGON

Humming? Amy shook her head. Yes, she could hear humming: a faint and distant chord that was pitched perfectly with the Teller's rich tones. Was it the musicians, accompanying him? Amy listened more closely. No, it was too precise for that. This sound was mechanical... Amy strained to listen. And then she heard something else — behind the Teller's voice, behind the dragon's music. A whisper in her mind, inchoate and almost suppressed, but she could just make out the sense of it. The whisper said:
Wil it come
back tonight? Wil the monster come back tonight?

Monster? Fear clawed at Amy and she began to tremble. She looked round the room, but she could only see strangers, alien strangers on an alien world. She was quite alone.

Suddenly, the Teller's voice swooped up in anger. Amy jumped. He was describing the pursuit of Beol made by the people of Sheal in their anger at the theft of the dragon. They chased him like a vagabond up hill and down dale, set their dogs after him ('Boo!' hissed the crowd), but at last he came to Geath, and he brought the dragon with him. But Sheal was angry. The crowd shivered in fear at this threat — but then the Teller soothed them, reminded them how Beol had won once and would win again. Beol was their King, he said. Beol would protect them.

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DOCTOR WHO

'Amy. Amy.' Someone spoke softly in her ear, breaking the spell. It was the Doctor. 'What is it?

Can you hear something?'

The tale ended. The crowd broke into rapturous applause.
Beol!
they cried.
Beol! Beol!
The name dispelled all fear. Amy shook her head. 'I heard nothing.' And what had she heard, really - a whisper, a hum, a story? She nodded at the Teller.

'He's good, isn't he?'

Hilthe sat up with sudden interest. 'Now this is new! Whenever he's told this story before, he's always said that Beol won the dragon from the people of Dant. But this time it's from the people of Sheal. I wonder what that could mean...' Hilthe glanced round the hall and shook her head. 'Not that it makes any difference to this lot. I doubt anyone else has even noticed. He could tell them they brought it back from the moon and they'd believe him.'

'Is any of the story true?' Rory asked.

'Some of it. They did ride into town with that dragon on a cart behind them. Quite an old cart -