Chapter Twenty-three

And run we did, angling across the cobblestones, toward some shops, just as a twisting geyser of fire erupted from the creature's mouth, burning a furious trail down the center of the street, directly for us.

I didn't think we could outrun the fire. And just as I felt the searing heat, Arthur yanked me into a recessed doorway, and the fire blasted harmlessly past.

The dragon turned to starboard and was gone, and we continued running along the now empty street. Dragons have a way of clearing towns and streets.

Wait. Not entirely empty.

There, standing a block or two up the inclined street, was a man watching us. He wore a black trench coat (or was it a robe of some sort?) that swirled about him as if it were alive. The man was tall and thin, and there was something distinctly menacing about him. A darkness seemed to surround him and, although he was standing in broad daylight, he appeared permanently cast in shadows. He also looked familiar.

As I stared at him, I promptly tripped over the uneven stones and would have fallen face-first into a filthy gutter if Arthur hadn't reached out and caught me. Cobra fast.

He said, "Easy, old boy."

"Who is that guy?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "Later, my friend."

"But - "

"Later," he said, and then pointed to a narrow alley. "Here."

He turned into it, and I followed right behind, but not without a final glance up the inclined street.

The man with the dark cloak was gone.

* * *

Marion was waiting for us inside the alley. And to my utter shock and delight, she launched herself into me, throwing her arms around me, hugging me tight. "You were amazing, James!"

I think I blushed. Actually, I know I blushed. "Amazingly lucky," I said.

Arthur gave me a hearty pat on the back. "You did good, old boy. I knew you had it in you."

Marion released me, doing so far too soon, and I found myself babbling nearly incoherently. "Say, I don't suppose either of you saw the dragon?" But I didn't give them time to answer. No. I was on an adrenaline high and I was damned scared and nothing was going to shut me up. "No, of course not. Obviously, I'm going insane. Or maybe I'm still dreaming. Or hallucinating. Maybe I took some bad cough syrup back at the hotel. You know, you should always check the expiration date on those things - "

Arthur grabbed my shoulders and shook me vigorously. I nearly bit my tongue. "You're not dreaming or hallucinating, old boy. We all saw the dragon."

"Then we're all crazy. Or maybe I'm the crazy one, and I've fabricated this entire - "

Arthur steered me deeper into the alley. "Let's talk about your psychosis later, old friend. For now, we need to get moving."

I heard the horses then. Many of them. More horses, more men, and more swords.

Marion and I followed Arthur down the narrow alleyway - too narrow, I hoped, for the horses. And definitely too narrow for a dragon.

Lord help us all.

Chapter Twenty-four

The three of us were sitting together in an ancient tavern on the outskirts of town. Hot cocoa had just been served by a bartender who sported an actual hump in his back. The way things were going, I wouldn't have been surprised if his name was Quasimodo.

Anyway, the tavern itself was blessedly warm with a nice fire roaring in the center hearth. Outside, through the plate glass window, I saw that the rain had started again. Crooked fingers of smoke filled the afternoon sky, puffing from dozens of chimneys.

I was suddenly reminded of the smoke trailing out of the dragon's mouth. Not a pleasant memory.

"Guys," I said. "I'm not feeling well."

"Hang in there, sport," said Arthur.

Outside, a haggard-looking yellowish dog passed in front of our window, paused, looked longingly into the warmth within, and then continued on. I could have used some puppy love right now. Nothing beats a fuzzy muzzle resting on your lap.

The hot cocoa was piled high with homemade whipped cream and white chocolate shavings. I was never much of a white chocolate guy, but, damn, this hot cocoa was to die for.

Unfortunate choice of words.

I had rested my sword on the floor by my feet. Arthur had shoved his through the wide hammer loop of his cargo shorts. A very unceremonious berth for a magical sword, to say the least. So far, the bartender hadn't noticed the weapons. His hump didn't appear to notice, either.

The rain came steadily down, drumming against the windows and partially closed front door. Somewhere in the far distance I heard the roar of the dragon. I assumed it was the same dragon. Maybe there were more.

"Any chance that roar was a figment of my imagination?" I said to no one in particular.

"Sorry, old boy," said Arthur. "But, no."

Arthur was currently sporting a whipped cream mustache, which kind of made him hard to take too seriously. Very unkingly. Luckily Marion was there to save the day. She wiped it away carefully, wetting the napkin with the tip of her tongue.

"So what's next?" I asked, suddenly glum.

"Glastonbury Abbey," said Arthur brightly. "But first, I think we need to catch our breaths a little, and maybe answer a few of your questions. I'm sure you have many."

Many hundreds, I thought.

The fire crackled and snapped, much like the fire had crackled and snapped from the dragon's gullet. Speaking of which, the great flying lizard was thankfully silent for the moment. We were silent too. I could hear my own heart beating. Every now and then I pinched my arm.

I drank some hot cocoa, suddenly wishing it was something a little stronger. Of course, I was in a bar, and there were ways of making a drink stronger in here. But the humpbacked, old bartender was nowhere to be found. Just my luck.

So I started things off. "That wasn't a real dragon, right?" I asked.

"If it wasn't a dragon, old boy, then what do you suppose it was?" asked Arthur jovially. More whipped cream in his mustache. More wiping from Marion.

Luckily, I was too confused and frightened to care much about her puppy dog crush on the king.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe I'm on a film set. Maybe they're filming Jurassic Park Six or Seven, or whatever the hell number they're on now."

"I think they've made three," said Arthur.

"And they're making the fourth," said Marion.

"Big picture, guys. Whatever number they're on doesn't really matter, does it?"

"And what does matter, my friend?" asked Arthur.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Maybe explaining why the hell there's a flying dragon at all. Or maybe why there's real knights out there trying to skewer me on their lances, or how the hell you pulled that sword free when no one else could? Or why I was suddenly able to use the sword with my right hand, when I'm left-handed? Oh, and who the hell was that man standing in the middle of the street, watching us?"

"That's a lot of hells," said Arthur. "Fair enough. Let's start with the first question. But first, anyone up for more hot cocoa?"