How to survive when you're working with a witch, the town idiot and a sex-crazed dragon! The Last Dragon - Bone Valley
Chapter5 Where Sir Richard - learns not to wander off into dark corners and drink any wine he finds lying around. + How to get chain mail off in a desperate hurry without taking your armour off first.
Chapter 5
Just let nature take its course!
Desperate man, desperate times, desperate deeds.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t wander off.” Torren was trying to be polite, but Beatrix was a naturally nosey witch.
“What ho, little man.” Sir Richard cheerfully stamped his feet on the old broad flagstones that unevenly covered the earthen floor, “Just how big is your back passage?”
Writhing with embarrassment, Torren replied, “Do you ever hear anything you say?”
“Ha, now I have taken off my helmet; I have excellent hearing. Plus, Mother Heggerty had me tested, and Mother Harper says I have excellent hearing, and she gave me a certificate to prove it.” Smiling proudly, Sir Richard continued to boast, “Mother Heggerty framed it and put it on her office wall, non the less.”
Torren and Beatrix both looked at each other with knowing glances; the unspoken thought between them was… ‘Maybe Mother Heggerty couldn’t believe the test results and had to be reminded daily by looking at the certificate.’
Sir Richard took the quiet moment to investigate one of the side arched antechambers hewn out of the dull grey rock Bone Valley lay on top of it. “What ho little man, why is this dark and clandestine warren here, exactly?”
Bringing Sally to a halt, Torren sighed. “It belonged to a group of monks who gave up once the witches took over. Without any warning, one day, poof, they all just decided to go to a warmer climate and… left everything behind.” Torren took off Sally’s feed bag; now, it was obviously licked clean. “I guess they enjoyed making tunnels and anti-chambers in their spare time because, as far as I can tell, the Valley is riddled with them.”
“Let me guess; you’re hoping they left some monk treasure?” Beatrix was bored, tired, and desperately wanting to get out of the oppressive twisting tunnel. But since she truly was a witch to her very core, she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Weren’t they the ones who swore off women and talking but enjoyed shaving little bald spots onto each other’s heads?”
“Yep…” Shrugging, Torren didn’t want to start any conversation and, in the process, accidentally admit to anything.
Most of the chambers were empty, and he was honestly planning on hiring them out to businesspeople or running an underground market on the Moon or the Sun day. But, truthfully, he did now and again find some monk treasure in the form of alcohol!
Costly and rare alcohol!
Give it to the monks; they may have had strange ideas about how the world came about. ‘The big explosion that started everything’ was Torren’s favourite. How could life come from being blown up? The other idea they had, which made Torren shake his head in amusement, was the ‘big black holes in the sky’ theory. How could there be holes in the sky? Everything would fall into them!
Strange people have strange ideas was the common comment about the Monks, but boy, oh boy, could those silent weirdos brew up a decent bottle! And each monk’s wine he had found had helped to fund the next step in his climb up the ladder. The Monk’s bottles, for Torren, were like liquid gold.
Pop!
“Ow, now that’s a cheeky little red if ever I’ve had one.” Sir Richard quaffed down half a bottle.
“Oh, I see!” The witch’s eyebrow once again rose so high it hid beneath her hat. “You know how Mother Heggerty feels about alcohol!”
“Well, I’m not selling them to Mother Heggerty now, am I.” Torren stared directly into Beatrix’s glaring gaze under arched eyebrows, “And you promised you’d keep it to yourself. A witch’s promise nonetheless!”
“Whoa, she’s gotta kick lick a mole!” Sir Richard wobbled a little bit, then took another look at the bottle he held; it seemed to double and then triple in front of his eyes. “She’s sweet lick a lolly bu’ punches lick a sock fulla rocks.”
He blinked a few times at Torren and Beatrix, who stared back, waiting for the evitable. “My, your horsey is vewee beautifool. Do you fink she would like a lil’ kissy wissy?”
Sir Richards’s romantic inclination and vertical direction came abruptly to an end as the Knight slowly fell back, slurring, “Shimber!” as he made his slow journey down to his final resting place.
Full of concern, Torren lunged forward with hands open wide, “Quick, catch the bottle.”
Beatrix rolled her eyes as she held fast and watched Sir Richard go down, smiling vacantly as he went. “Don’t you mean, catch him…” her tone was full of recrimination.
“No, actually,” Torren held the full and half-empty glass bottles in his hands, “I meant the bottle; they’re glass and shatter as soon as they hit the flagstones. If he’d landed on one, it would have cut him to pieces, or the shards could have sprayed back onto Sally.”
Beatrix snorted, “He’s wearing an iron suit of protection!” She then, all too happily to Torren’s opinion, gave Sir Richard’s armour-encased leg a gentle kick. “And your horse… well, I don’t mean to upset you when I say the glue factory would require you to pay them to take her!”
The bottle was carefully placed in Sally’s saddle bag, and then her annoyed owner turned to face the sassy Beatrix. “No, you don’t get what I’m saying.” Torren reached into a small little leather bag strapped onto his side, then ever so carefully brought out a dragon hide pouch which contained a little knife with a clear blade. “This is from the first and only bottle I’ve dropped. Holding the handle ever so carefully, he slowly drove the knife’s blade into the hard flagstone next to Sir Richard.
Beatrix’s eyes widened.
“See, those monks might have had a few screws loose, but the glass they made to contain the wine they made….” Torren carefully put the knife back into the leather sheath double-lined with dragon scale. “It’s sharper and harder than a diamond but explodes if you drop it a millimetre from the ground. Frankly, it’s all a bit too mystic for my liking 'cause it’s not only the bottle that’s special, it's the wine as well.”
Beatrix watched like a hawk fascinated by a big fat bunny’s butt.
“Take ol’ Mr Silver-knickers here.” Torren nudged the shoulder of Sir Richard, who was currently away with the fairies in some lovely warm alcohol land. “He drank half a bottle of plonk, and he’s blotto!”
The young witch found the knife interesting, but the fact that Sir Richard couldn’t hold his liquor… not so much! “Yes… And?”
“Well,” Torren blushed. He didn’t have a whole lot of life experience, but he had experimented with the wine himself. Once and never ever again! “Mr Clanking-Dacks here, won’t be down for long!”
The young, lean man stood up and led his horse a few paces away. “Come on, beautiful girl, walk on.” Sally obliged willingly.
“Why are you doing that?” Beatrix had a robust personal survival streak and could smell the slightest whiff of danger on any gentle breeze.
“He’s going to want to find a private anti-chamber quickly when he wakes.” Torren was still a bit worried they weren’t far enough away.
Beatrix skipped over Sir Richard’s pronate body and stood a few steps from Torren, thinking that if anything went down, she could use the dragon cart man and his horse as a shield.
It’s hard to describe how a fully grown and heavy-set man covered in silver armour and weighty chainmail can go from a state of unconscious sprawlingness to a complete upright cognisant and panicked jiggling-on-the-spot adult, with an unrelenting need to… offload himself, in under three seconds.
“Good God’s little man, where are your lavatories?” Sir Richard threw off his metallic gloves with ricocheting speed, only missing Beatrix’s head because she was quick to duck.
With a little jiggling dance, “Hurry, man, tell me where one might spend a penny or, in this case, a thousand smackaroos.” was bellowed as the knight continued to dance on the spot. Sir Richard suddenly stopped and then began twisting himself around as he chased the little buckles that would allow him to lift the back flap of his protective suit.
“Little man Ho, I need your assistance to lower my draws, or I may end up rendering them decidedly difficult to clean, even with a toothbrush!” Sir Richard had broken out in a full-body drenching sweat and screeched. “Now, little man, now!”
Beatrix turned to the wide-eyed Torren and asked calmly, “Are you going to help him?”
Torren slowly shook his head. “No one can survive stage two unscathed, chainmail or no chainmail.”
“Listen, you little twat, come here and pull my pants dow….” Sir Richard’s eyes changed from outwards looking to inwards, then he quietly whispered, “Oh dear, Mother won’t be pleased.”
The poor knight clankingly scooted like a crab into the dark recesses of the chamber he’d found the bottle in, pleading as he scampered, “Don’t listen, don’t you listen. Cover your ears; I command you to cover your ears.”
After a mere two seconds, a pair of chainmail pants were thrown into the open passageway, landing on the cobblestones in a loud clank.
“Wow!” murmured Beatrix, impressed that somehow Sir Richard had been able to whip his chainmail pants off without removing his armour first.
“Desperate man, desperate times, desperate deeds,” Torren added in an equally impressed tone.
“How do you think he….” Beatrix turned a quizzical gaze to her companion.
“I don’t know. All I remember from my half glass was finding my pants and boots on a tree.”
Torren took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the painful memories came rushing back.
“Maybe you threw them up there.” Beatrix was trying ever so hard to distract herself from the whimper of Sir Richard.
“No, I mean, I woke up to find the tree wearing my pants and boots.” The sounds escaping the antechamber brought back flashbacks for poor Torren.
“What, you mean the tree had them on a branch or something?” Beatrix was finding such depths of intrigue wherever she could at the moment. Anything to block out Sir Richard’s now quiet-loud howls.
“No,” Torren shouted to get over the warbling shrieks from Sir Richard, who was busy begging Death to come and take him away. “The tree was split in two like it had legs and was wearing my pants, and my boots were half-buried in the ground.”
“Oh, fascinating.” Shouted Beatrix, who was now desperately searching her little witch’s bag for a packet of tissues. Anything she could throw into the antic chamber to help Sir Richard wipe his tears away.
“Yes, I thought so at the time too.” Replied Torren, who searched his pockets for the calming cream Mother Harper had made him and which had brought him cooling relief in his time of great need.
Sir Richard called out weekly, “What ho, I think it’s over, but I don’t think I can bear to put my pants back on. Thank you for the tissues and cream.”
“I understand.” The young cartman nodded in sympathy. “The cream will help, so apply it quite thickly. You’ll just have to walk behind us when you're done.” Torren felt some sort of kindred spirit had now grown within Sir Richard’s soul.
“What ho,” came lamely out of the darkness. “I don’t think I can walk right now. Could I please lay over the back of your horsey, with my derriere, as you would say, sans free of any irritant?”
Torren sighed. “You stay here, Beatrix; I’m used to dealing with this sort of thing.” Then he pulled down his leather helmet with its dusty goggles, tying it tightly around his neck.
“Thank you, so kind.” Beatrix patted his shoulder as Torren trudged forward with his faithful Sally into the wastelands.
*
The yellow dragon may have been determined, but it was rapidly running out of room. Torren’s ‘back passage’ was becoming quite quickly rather narrow, and there was only so much room a giant scaled winged reptile could squish itself down and still have ‘some street cred left.
“Was a matta flossy?” Mr Geezer enquired as he watched the dragon stand still in the passageway, looking left and right before she crouched onto the flagstones uncomfortably.
“You big butted scaley lizard, you’re run’n outa room, aren’t ya! You might be after that shiny knight, but ya big butt won’t let you get down this here tunnel now, will it.” Mr Geezer elbowed the dragon’s hind flank. “Cause ya too fat now, aren’t ya, missy! Ya been piggen down on too many virgins now, haven’t ya!”
Mr. Gezzer was having a wonderful time. The old-aged retirement home for single men was boring, dull and uneventful. Whereas here, well… he wasn’t against watching a good BBQ; just as long as he wasn’t the entree, he didn’t care.
The yellow dragon turned her massive head towards the old pensioner; her golden eyes flashed in calculated retribution.
The dragon shivered, which made Mrs Geezer take a sensible step back and away from the reptile. Another shiver swarmed over her body, from her enormous head down to her round and muscular hind flanks.
“What ya doing, flossy,” Mr Geezer’s old grey eyebrow arched above his old blue eyes. “You got a fart building up in ya gut, eh? Do ya need to do a sh…”
He didn’t get to finish as the dragon’s shivering had quickly developed into fast quivering, causing a low hum as her scales rubbed together.
“Oh bugga, I’ve heard about your lot detonating. You gonna go boom flossy?” Mr. Geezer didn’t think he’d make it far away fast enough to avoid being blown up, so he decided to stop and watch the show. He considered it would be good to go out with a bang.
Unfortunately, as we all often are, he was disappointed at the lack of climax.
The yellow dragon simply made a noise like a mouse squeak before the dust in the passageway plumed up to the ceiling and then rained down to the floor.
“I am not fat!”
A young naked woman with golden reflective eyes now stood in the settling dust where the yellow dragon had, but moments before existed, an indignant look plastered all over her face.
“No, Flossy, ya bum looks pretty nice from where I’m standing!” Mr Geezer wiggled his bushy grey eyebrows around in appreciation. “In fact, Flossy, I’d say it’s gotta be the nicest behind I’ve seen in the last sixty. Nah, eighty-five years of my life!”
The golden woman smiled, her ego placated, “You may live.”
She turned with her head covered in long golden locks towards the direction of the darkening tunnel and commenced a swaying saunter towards her future.
Mr Geezer wobbled after her, so pleased that he’d been married five times and knew exactly how to dig himself out of a stupid comment as fast as possible. He had to admit he also knew how to dig himself into trouble with stupid comments, but for the moment, he was happy to enjoy the view.
Thank you!🩶 Loved it!
Wild wild