me of Rupert’s voice and then a wind, a true gusting wind, came to life around us blowing the dust of the square against our skin. It stung and brought with it a thrill of coolness. The hairs all over my body stood up and I shivered at the touch.
And then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, it began to rain. Warm, fat drops pattered and broke against every upturned face. They rolled and dirtied themselves in the dust. They made us blink. In moments, no one yet believing it could be true, we were all drenched to the skin. In Prattle’s case, this made him smell worse as his robes became fragrant with moisture.
“If I’m going to come to your church every holy day, is there any chance you might bathe with similar frequency?”
Leopold smiled. I didn’t recognise the look at first because I’d never seen it before.
“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”
Epilogue
And that was how Leopold Prattle and I came to exchange our favourite books from time to time. He would peruse the Ledger, when none of the congregation was around, and I would do the same with his copy of the holy book. We occasionally met for an ale, in addition, but I wouldn’t say we became great companions. A margin of respect grew between us that both held us together and maintained our distance. It suited us both very well, I believe.
The demon, Rupert, we never saw again, but after he was gone we marked the event with a festival—one day later than the original event had been planned for—that to this day remains incorrectly named ‘The Feast of The Dragon’. Even Prattle and I agreed that you couldn’t hold a holy festival that involved a demon in the title. No one, not a single soul, ever ventured out loud what they thought Rupert might really have been, but I’m sure that even Wiggery and Rickett had their suspicions.
The women that cavorted in the wood that night, including Velvet, were never told that they’d been liasing with anything other than an evil employee of Hell. They needed to suffer a little for their transgressions, after all, and a little guilt was good for them.
It’s interesting to note that the animals we kill and eat for The Feast of The Dragon are white geese or white chickens. The purity of their feathers serves as an important symbol to those who remember the events of those days. To everyone else, those born later and those who weren’t really involved, The Feast of the Dragon is just another good excuse for an excess of food, ale and flirtation. Not to mention music and dancing.
But never the occasional sheep.
