Camelot Page 3

  He came from a long line of dragon kings, a line that went back far further than Arthur’s. But now Spikeweed, his wife, Primrose, their son, Bloat, and their other child, whose name they kept forgetting, were the last of the line of pure-bred royal dragons. There were plenty of other dragons dotted around the world, but none of them had the proper original vintage royal dragon blood. They were just your common or garden peasant dragons, even those jumped-up Italian dragons who called themselves Counts and the rubbish German dragons who called themselves Barons. Compared to Spikeweed and his family, all the others were just big flying lizards.

  When Spikeweed’s son, Bloat, got married in the future, his wife would not have proper pure royal dragon blood and the world of dragons would probably, maybe, perhaps decay into a world of democracy.

  ‘One dragon, one vote,’ moaned Spikeweed. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  The dragons’ days of glory were long behind them. They had reached their peak when they had shared the world with dinosaurs. Soon sorted them out, hadn’t they? As Spikeweed had already pointed out, only one species could breathe fire. The smell of burnt dinosaur that had filled the air for nearly a hundred years had proved that. Archeologists mistakenly thought that the dinosaurs had become extinct because of a giant meteorite crashing into the planet. That was how they explained the thin layer of burnt stuff they kept discovering whenever they dug up old fossils. But no, Spikeweed’s ancestors had been the bringers of fire, not some hot rock falling out of the sky.

  The most famous joke in dragon society17 went like this:

  There were two other endings to this joke:

  and:

  Then creatures with thumbs had evolved and that had been the beginning of the end. Thumbs meant they could make things and most of the things early humans had made had pointy ends. Pointy ends are made to be stuck into creatures without thumbs and, dragons being very large examples of creatures without thumbs, they had lots and lots of pointy things stuck in them until they were nearly extinct. Thumbs also gave humans something to suck when they felt frightened about being cornered by dragons when they didn’t have a pointy stick with them.

  ‘Maybe it’s because we can’t read,’ said Primrose, who realised she was becoming as miserable and pathetic as her husband. ‘Maybe there’s an instruction book on how to be in charge and if we could read it, then we could take over. Though of course if there was a book, we wouldn’t be able to read it, because we couldn’t turn the pages. We could read the cover, I suppose, except dragons can’t read. It’s not fair. I mean, we’re huge and magnificent. We should be happy, not depressed. Your father’s right. Roarin’ thumbs.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Bloat, ‘whether if we wait long enough, we’ll evolve thumbs.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said the other child, whose name they kept forgetting. ‘And by then all the other species would have probably died out so if we made pointy things, we’d be the only ones left to stick them into.’

  ‘Depressing, isn’t it?’ said Bloat.

  ‘Oh, you remembered at last.’

  ‘Remembered what?’

  ‘My name.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Remind me again?’ said Bloat.

  ‘Depressyng. It’s Depressyng.’

  ‘I know, but what’s your name? I’ve forgotten it again.’

  ‘Depressyng,’ said Depressyng.

  ‘Right. I think I’ll go and help Dad scorch a few rocks,’ said Bloat.

  Primrose went to the back of the cave where Spikeweed’s grandmother, Gorella, was sleeping. It was more like hibernating than sleeping. All the ancient dragon ever did was lie curled up on her bed of dead thistles, snore and endlessly wet herself. Once or twice a day she woke up and talked to things on the wall that weren’t there. And once or twice a week, she limped and shuffled out of the cave into the afternoon sunshine to bask on a rock.

  If there wasn’t much to keep an old dragon occupied, there was even less for a young dragon to do. Damsels to capture and make distressed were few and far between, which meant there were very few knights looking for a fight. When the dragons had discovered the old tunnel under the moat that led into the sewers below Camelot, it had looked as if it might open up all sorts of possibilities to finally overthrow the humans, but the castle was protected by dozens of Anti-Dragon Spells, so all they could do was blow bubbles up the drains into the lavatories.

  ‘Not much of a career for a young dragon, is it?’ said Bloat to Depressyng as they puffed out their cheeks for a really big breath. ‘When I nod my head, we’ll both blow together. I’m fed up with making bubbles. Let’s see if we can get a bit more action.’

  ‘It could be worse,’ said Depressyng. ‘At least it’s the King we’re bubbling at.’

  From far above them came a scream followed by a curse as King Arthur was blasted off the toilet. He was thrown upward so violently that he hit the ceiling. His crown embedded itself in the plaster before crashing down in a shower of plaster all over him. He was angrier than anyone could remember and ordered the Master at Arms to drop a large bomb down the toilet.

  ‘Incoming!’ shouted Depressyng and the two young dragons ran back down the tunnel as the bomb exploded behind them.

  The bomb was not a good idea. It landed in the main sewer and exploded. Big bombs in narrow tunnels have only one outcome. The entire sewer collapsed in on itself, blocking every single toilet and drain in Camelot.

  Of course, no one realised for a few days. They just kept flushing, pulling out the bath plugs and pouring things away down the sinks that were too disgusting to eat or drink,18 just like normal. When they finally realised that the drains were blocked, it took a while to work out why and that made it worse. No one was going to dare blame the King.

  ‘What is that awful smell?’ he demanded. ‘Everyone must have a bath immediately.’

  ‘But, your majesty, the drains…’ Merlin began.

  ‘IMMEDIATELY!’

  ‘But…’

  ‘And then they must have another bath.’

  ‘Sire, please, sire, may I speak?’ Merlin pleaded.

  ‘Not until you’ve had a bath,’ Arthur ordered.

  After Merlin had sat in a bath of filthy water that had been used by at least twenty-seven other people and Fremsley the Royal Whippet and his pet armadillo, Petunia, he drenched himself in cologne and went back to the King.

  ‘It would appear, your majesty,’ Merlin finally managed to say, ‘that the sewers have collapsed and are totally blocked.’

  ‘Did you say sewer?’ snapped the King.

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘How dare you say that word in front of me. Do you not know that I am the most sensitive and exquisite creature in creation and I am at a very impressionable age? Why, the mention of that word has so tarnished my ears that I must have a bath immediately.’

  ‘Oh no, your majesty, no, no…’

  But it was too late. All the bits of King Arthur that had been sparkling clean like a white porcelain figurine were now a nasty shade of grey and greasy with little bits of chewed beetroot stuck everywhere. Being a superstitious child, Arthur assumed someone had cast an evil spell over him, so he had another bath in a different room. This merely added a lot of dog hairs to his sticky coat because he hadn’t looked on the bathroom door and had used Fremsley the Royal Whippet’s bathroom. A third bath filled in the remaining gaps on his body with second-hand muesli.19

  Then the King was angrier than he had been the time when he had been angrier than he had ever been before. He was throw-fifty-kittens-into-the-moat angry, and even after that he was still angry. The only way to get truly clean was for him to stand on top of one of the tallest towers for a whole hour while Merlin made a cloud come and empty itself on him. Even then he didn’t feel truly pure and beautifully clean.

  ‘What are we to do?’ he asked Merlin. ‘Surely you can perform some magic to clear the drains?’

  ‘I am a wizard, sire, n
ot an engineer,’ said Merlin. ‘The drains are not so much blocked as totally collapsed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Someone threw a bomb down a toilet, sire,’ said Merlin.

  ‘Who on earth would… oh, um,’ said Arthur, going a rather fashionable shade of red. ‘What are we to do?’

  ‘Well, sire, the only way into the drains is through the secret tunnel that your great-great-great-grandfather’s great-grandfather built,’ said Merlin.

  ‘So send some men along the tunnel to fix it.’

  ‘Unfortunately, sire, the entrance to the tunnel is at the back of the cave where the dragons live. No human could reach it alive,’ said Merlin. ‘They would be charcoal before they even got inside the cave.’

  ‘What about a monkey?’ said Arthur.

  ‘I fear a dragon would think a monkey was a very small hairy human.’

  ‘A goat?’

  ‘Sire, I imagine any living creature would suffer the same fate,’ said Merlin.

  ‘How about a not-living creature, um, say, a zombie?’

  ‘Still toastable, sire.’

  ‘One has just had a brilliant idea,’ said Arthur. ‘An idea so brilliant that even you, the greatest wizard ever, did not think of it first.’

  ‘Indeed, sire?’

  ‘Yes, armour,’ said the King. ‘We need a bold and courageous and fearless knight in a suit of fireproof armour.’

  ‘Methinks, sire, that as well as bold and courageous and fearless, this knight would need to be stupid too,’ said Merlin. ‘Unless of course a very large reward was offered.’

  ‘Brilliant. What shall we offer this brave knight?’

  It so happened that King Arthur had a sister, Morgan le Fey. She was many things that Arthur was not, including intelligent and quick-witted. She did have some things in common with her brother, but they were things that looked much better on her, which made Arthur hate her. Her long blonde hair was longer and blonder. Her lovely face was lovelier and she had two really gorgeous legs, so gorgeous they even looked good in tartan tights. She was also something Arthur most certainly was not. She was twenty-one and grown-up.

  ‘How about the hand of your sister, the Lady Morgan le Fey, sire?’ Merlin suggested. ‘I would imagine that even the most cowardly knight on earth would take on a hundred dragons for the chance to marry so beautiful and wise a princess.’

  Merlin hated Morgan le Fey too. She questioned every single thing he did, even down to the colour of the paint on the handle of the paint cupboard. If Merlin could get her married off, preferably to someone who lived a very long way away, it would solve a lot of his problems.

  In her turn, Morgan le Fey hated Merlin. She knew Arthur was as bright as a very small torch with a broken bulb and a totally flat battery and he was way too useless to manage a small puppy, never mind an entire kingdom, but she hated the way Merlin controlled everything. If anyone should have been in charge it was her.

  The trouble was that Morgan le Fey was ferociously independent and not about to marry anyone she wasn’t in love with.

  But a few well-placed spells should be able to fix that, Merlin thought, though he had to admit none of his spells had ever worked on her in the past.

  Never mind, he thought. We’ll cross that drawbridge when we come to it.

  ‘Let there be Royal Messengers sent to every corner of the Kingdom,’ said King Arthur, ‘calling for a Brave Knight to carry out this noble deed. Let them come with the speed of lightning because one simply cannot bear another day using a bucket as a lavatory and having to stand on the roof in the rain to get washed.’

  ‘It might be best to leave out the bit about the toilets being blocked up,’ said Merlin. ‘Probably better just to say there are some ferocious dragons that need slaying.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘And probably better to leave your sister’s name off the proclamation. Just say the hand of a beautiful princess.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And probably offer several big bags of gold too, your majesty,’ said Merlin.

  ‘My thoughts entirely, good and faithful wizard,’ said Arthur. ‘You know, it never ceases to amaze me how you seem to be able to read my every thought.’

  ‘Indeed, sire,’ said Merlin. Or actually create them, he thought.

  So it was decided that the next morning four Royal Messengers would set off to ride to the four corners of the Kingdom.

  There was no time to lose. The three-hundred-and-forty-seven buckets dotted around Camelot were almost full and every single bucket shop for a hundred miles in every direction was totally sold out of buckets, except for the Environmentally Friendly Bucket Shop, whose buckets were made of recycled grass and were therefore one hundred per cent useless due to leaking, falling apart and getting eaten by goats.

  ‘My spies tell me,’ said Spikeweed, ‘that King Arthur is sending messengers out on a quest.’

  ‘What spies?’ said his wife. ‘You haven’t got any spies.’

  ‘Have too.’

  ‘You’re really sad, you know,’ said Primrose. ‘You live in fantasy land.’

  ‘Well, no. I am Spikeweed, King of the Dragons, not sad at all, actually,’ said Spikeweed.

  ‘King of the Dragons? King of what? A damp cave in a miserable valley with a population of five: you, me, the kids and your senile old grandmother. Some kingdom.’

  ‘We shall rise again,’ said Spikeweed unconvincingly. ‘You just wait and see. I have plans.’

  ‘Get real.’

  ‘Yes we will, and I do so have spies.’

  ‘Well, if you’re so clever how come you can’t even dry this cave out?’ said Primrose. ‘You can go outside and turn the whole valley into a wasteland with your macho fire-breathing, but you can’t get rid of the damp in here.’

  ‘I thought you liked it damp,’ said Spikeweed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought you liked the slime running down the walls and all the mould growing everywhere,’ said Spikeweed. ‘I think it’s romantic.’

  ‘Oh yes, every young wife’s dream is this place,’ sneered Primrose. ‘When my mum said I was going to marry the King of the Dragons, I imagined something a bit better than this. I tried to be realistic. I wasn’t expecting a castle with crystal spires and all the puppies you can eat, but I certainly thought it would be better than this disgusting hovel and a diet of earthworms. It wouldn’t be so bad if your grandmother didn’t live with us. The smell of mildew’s bad enough, but the awful stink of a leaky old dragon’s wee is unbearable. I spend all day in here with my eyes watering.’

  Spikeweed looked desolate. He had assumed that, because he was the King of the Dragons, every other dragon, especially his wife, adored him. Now it turned out the only one who did adore him was his ancient granny, Gorella, and she was so far out of it that she didn’t know who or what her grandson was. In fact, she spent most of her time talking to a green stain at the back of the cave thinking it was her dead husband.

  But one thing Spikeweed was right about were his spies. It was them who had told his children which toilet King Arthur was sitting on and it was them who now told him that the King was sending out messengers to find a knight brave enough to come into the dragons’ cave to enter the secret tunnel that led to the collapsed drains.

  Primrose still wouldn’t believe him, though. ‘These spies are in your head,’ she sneered.

  ‘So you do believe I’ve got spies then?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You said my spies are in my head and they are. Look,’ said Spikeweed, tilting his head and giving it a shake.

  Three cockroaches fell out of his ear.

  ‘See,’ said Spikeweed. ‘These are my spies, Adam, Evel and Barry.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No,’ said Spikeweed. ‘They are the perfect spies. They can fly all over Camelot in and out of every room and cupboard and drawer and spy on everyone. Take a bow, boys.’

  The three cockroaches fle
w up onto Spikeweed’s left shoulder and bowed. Primrose was speechless. Maybe her husband was not quite as big an idiot as he looked, though at four hundred and fifty kilos he was seriously big.

  ‘Maybe I misjudged you,’ she said, trying to see him in a new light. ‘I just thought you were a complete dork when in fact it’s all a cunning disguise.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Spikeweed, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing out his chest.

  His full height was actually taller than the cave so the illusion of majesty was rather spoilt when he bashed his head and sent a pile of rocks crashing down, one of which flattened Barry. Cockroaches hate waste so Adam and Evel picked up the bits of Barry and ate them.

  No, he is as big an idiot as he looks, Primrose thought.

  ‘My cunning disguise is to lull the humans into a false sense of security,’ said Spikeweed. ‘They think that we are dumb and powerless when in fact we are very cunning and…’

  ‘Powerless,’ said Primrose.

  ‘That’s what we want them to think,’ said Spikeweed.

  ‘And they’re completely right.’

  ‘Um, no, er, it’s just a cunning disguise while I work on my plans.’

  ‘Ooh, and what plans are those then?’

  ‘They’re secret. I’m still working on them,’ said Spikeweed, ‘but you wait and see. When I am ready I shall send out the call and all the other dragons around the world will come and join us and we will once again rule the world.’

  ‘Once again?’ said Primrose. ‘And when did dragons ever rule the world?’

  ‘A long time ago.’

  ‘Oh right, and I suppose part of this ruling the world involved almost becoming extinct, did it?’

  ‘No, that was, um, that was because of, er, those, um, them dinosaurs,’ said Spikeweed. ‘They done it, but we winned because they all got extincted and we didn’t.’