beach.
Sitting up, Togura faced the cave mouth. The strange noise stopped. A beast peered inside, then withdrew.
– A dragon?
Togura was almost certain he had seen a dragon. He did not know whether to scream, to run, to freeze, or to pick up a stick and a stone so as to be prepared to fight for his life.
In the event, he froze.
There was a hiatus, in which Togura heard his own pounding pulse and the sea doing leisurely break-falls on the beach. Then the dragon looked in again. It gave a prolonged gurgling cough as it cleared its throat, then it spoke.
'Hello,' said the dragon, in Galish; the word was clear and distinct, marred only by a superfluous bark at the end of it.
'Piss off!' screamed Togura, hurling a rock.
'That's not very polite, you know,' said the dragon, mildly. 'Come outside. Let's have a look at you.'
The cave was large enough to admit the dragon, so Togura saw no percentage in disobeying. Reluctantly, expecting at any moment to be incinerated, he quit the cave. As no immediate disaster befell him, he was able to take stock of the dragon. Entirely green except for its eyes – which were red, with yellow pupils – it stood about as tall as a pony but was three times the length. It had short, stubby wings which were folded against the side of its body.
'You look cold,' said the dragon. 'You need a fire. I'll give you one. I'm an excellent pyrotechnist.'
'A what?' said Togura.
'Watch,' said the dragon.
It clawed together some driftwood then breathed out flames which were delicate shades of blue, yellow and green. The wood scorched, charred and flamed. Togura squatted down by the fire.
'Thank you,' he said belatedly, remembering his manners.
'It was nothing,' said the dragon, in a voice which managed to hint that it was really quite something. 'We sea dragons are very talented, you know.'
'I'm sure you are,' said Togura, hoping that he was engaging in a real conversation and not just being subjected to a before-dinner speech.
'Sea dragons are characterised by versatile genius,' said the dragon, encouraged. 'Not like those ignorant hulking land monsters we are so often confounded with. We are not primitive brutes like the land dragons. No! A thousand times no! Sea dragons are the true lords of the intellect, noted for their wit, intelligence, grace, charm, sagacity and fashion sense, for their matchless command of all the philosophies, for their eloquence, good humour and comradeship, for their surpassing physical beauty, their wise counsel, their profound logic and their highly developed artistic sensitivity.'
'And for their modesty?' said Togura – and instantly wished he had bitten off his tongue.
'That too,' acknowledged the sea dragon, failing to realise that his comment was somewhat barbed. 'Considering the true extent of our genius, considering the power of our swift-speeding inquiring minds armoured by their world-famous panoply of knowledge, we're remarkably modest, believe you me.'
'I do, I do,' said Togura, earnestly.
'Now warm yourself by the fire, young human,' said the sea dragon, 'while I go off to get instructions. Don't worry! I won't be long!'
It waddled down the beach, its tail dragging across the shingle, then spread its wings – which were water wings, not capable of flight – and plunged into the water. Swimming swiftly and gracefully through the lumbering seas, it rounded a headland and was lost from sight.
It had gone to report to its master – the wizard of Drum!
Togura knew what he had to do. He did it. He made himself scarce, and, for the next five days, used all his native cunning – plus a lot which had been grafted on in recent months – to avoid and evade his pursuers. But, in the end, he was cornered by a number of dragons – all very pleased with themselves, and saying so at great length – and, after a lot of spurious speechifying, the dragons led him off to the grim, castellated stronghold of the wizard of Drum.
Chapter 21
As Togura Poulaan was marched into the shadows of the castle of the wizard of Drum, the iron-clad gates creaked open. Yawning darkness hid the nameless horrors beyond.
'Come on,' said the leading dragon, as Togura hesitated.
The command ended with a short bark, followed by a hiss of smoke, steam and pulsating flame. Reluctantly, Togura shuffled forward. He was sure his death awaited him.
Darkness gave way to the daylight of a big, bare, high-walled courtyard.
'Stand here,' said the leading dragon.
Togura obeyed. The dragons formed a circle, with Togura in the middle. They looked eager. Expectant. Something was about to happen. Togura closed his eyes. One of the dragons started to sharpen its claws against the courtyard stones with a slick, evil, sizzling sound which reminded him unpleasantly of a butcher's shop. The leading dragon cleared its throat.
'This,' it said, 'is the dragon hof. Here we gather each evening to eat, drink and recite poetry.'
There was a pause. Togura opened his eyes. All the dragons were watching him, as if they expected something from him.
'That sounds very nice,' said Togura cautiously. 'Very civilised. Dragons do seem to be very civilised.' This was going down well, so he elaborated. 'I only wish I had time to know you better. Time to appreciate your full conquest of the higher intellectual dimensions.'
'Time to hear some of my poetry, perhaps?' said the leading dragon, eagerly.
'That too,' said Togura.
'Then we shall oblige.'
And, to Togura's dismay and astonishment, the leading dragon began to recite its poetry. At great length. It was windy, ostentatious and stunningly boring. Nevertheless, he applauded politely.
The other dragons, jealous of the applause, demanded to be given their own chances to recite. Togura, faint with hunger, listened to their angry, arrogant, hogen-mogen voices disputing precedence. Each wanted to be first to recite. They barked, snapped, spat smoke, and suddenly fell to fighting. Togura, ringed round with fighting dragons, screamed at them:
'Stop! Stop! Stop!'
It did no good whatsoever.
Then a voice roared:
'Begenoth!'
The quarrelling dragons instantly quailed down to silence.
'Shavaunt!' shouted the voice.
And the dragons turned and fled.
'Now then,' said the dragon commander, entering the courtyard. 'What started all that off?'
The dragon commander was an old, old man with a dirty grey eard, who walked with the aid of a shepherd's crook. Despite his age, his eyes were bright, his voice was firm, and he looked fit and healthy.
'Well, boy?' asked the dragon commander.
'I… I asked if I could hear some of their poetry.'
'You what!?'
'Only some poetry, that's all. I just said I wished I had time to hear some.'
'No, boy, no, a thousand times no, that is one thing you must never ever do when you're face to face with a sea dragon. You must never ever – not on any account – encourage their artistic pretensions. Art, you see, is purely their excuse for being the most lazy, idle, shiftless, foolish, irresponsible, degenerate pack of gluttonous sex-
