A Dragon in Distress

 A DRAGON IN DISTRESS

A Greenmeadows story by Stephen Brooke

 

Sir Grissol loved picnics. He also loved breakfast and so, each morning—weather permitting—he ate toast and marmalade on his front lawn.

Until, one Wednesday, his customary meal was interrupted by a dragon. It was a big, red one: wings, claws, fiery breath. Yes, the whole dragon package.

Now Grissol was a brave enough fellow, though, like all of us, not as young as he used to be. He brandished the marmalade knife, crying, “Back, bloodthirsty brute!” At the same time, he looked over his shoulder to gauge how far he was from his castle.

“Oh, is that lime marmalade?” asked the great crimson creature, settling down across from the knight. “May I?”

Sir Grissol nodded. As he watched his uninvited visitor devour toast, the old fellow tugged at his long white mustache in a thoughtful manner. “I understood that you wicked worms ate, um, damsels.”

“Too much fat,” confided the dragon. “I have to be careful with my diet; I’m pushing three thousand.” He patted his ample midsection. “And it is hard getting into the air, sometimes.”

“Oh, yes, I can sympathize with that.” Grissol eyed his own waistline. “How I miss bacon!”

“But speaking of damsels," the dragon continued, "I have one in my cave, right now."

"Ah, dastardly dragon!” Some of Grissol’s fire came back. “I might have known.” He paused. “When should I come to rescue her?”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” sighed the worm. “She won’t leave.”

The old knight gave him a questioning look. “If you come with me, I’ll explain. It’s not far,” assured the beast. “By the way, my name is Ransax.”

“Pleased to meet you,” mumbled the perplexed warrior. “Sir Grissol Greenmeadows, at your service.”

Sir Grissol saddled his steed and set forth, with the dragon ambling along beside him. “Flying is so tiring,” Ransax remarked, looking around. “This seems like such a nice, quiet neighborhood; I’d hoped to retire here.” A sudden burst of smoke rose from his nostrils. “Then, Surrey came along.”

“That is the damsel, I take it?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You know, we dragons can assume human form, if we wish. But this shape—” He flexed his wings. “Is much more impressive.”

Grissol didn’t know but he wasn’t about to tell the dragon.

“I’m not much as a human; just a fat, old man, and bald, to boot.” He took a glance at Grissol’s shiny head. “No offense intended.”

“Quite all right, my good, uh, Sir Ransax.”

“It’s Lord Ransax, but you can call me Randy. Need a light?” The affable worm watched Grissol fumble with his pipe. “Anyway, this Surrey’s got it in her head that she’s in love with me and, worse, that I’m in love with her but don’t know it.”

“Some young girl? Sees you as a romantic figure, no doubt.” Grissol bit down on his pipe stem. “I run into that sort of thing. Well, when I was younger, I did.”

“Not quite the case, here,” said Ransax. “Ah, we’ve reached my cave.”

“Complete with angry villagers, I see.”

“Surrey’s relatives,” explained the dragon.

“Here he is,” bellowed one big, toothless fellow. “What’s the idea of running off and leaving our Surrey?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” an old woman chided. Her companions nodded their heads at one another, murmuring their agreement and general disapproval of the dragon.

Ransax turned to his companion and shrugged. “I could eat a few, but then you’d try to slay me.”

“Yes, I suppose I’d have to,” admitted Grissol.

A plump, middle-aged woman came to the door of the cave. She bounded forward, arms opened wide, to embrace the embarrassed beast. “Dragon Dearie, you’re home!”

“Um, yes, good day, Miss Surrey, and please don’t squeeze so hard.” The dragon belched. “It makes me build up steam.” He turned to Sir Grissol. “Won’t you come in and have a bite, Greenmeadows?”

“I’ll whip up a lovely lunch for you,” promised the dowdy damsel. “Now, you should really rest.” She shook her head disapprovingly at the dragon. “He needs me to take care of him, he truly does!”

“My mistake,” observed Ransax, as the pair entered his cave, “was to let her see me as a human. She will forever think of me as a helpless, lovable, old gent, rather than a mighty, if slightly over-the-hill, dragon.” He led the knight down a passageway to his study. “And now,” he sighed, “I think she’s planning our wedding.”

“The family seems to approve of her designs.”

“They believe I have treasure piled away.”

“Do you?” asked Sir Grissol.

“I’m comfortable.” Ransax obviously didn’t want to discuss the subject. “I hired Surrey as a housekeeper, but she’s taken the job much more seriously than I intended.”

“Why don’t you simply fire her?”

“Far too late for that. All the folks around here are her relatives. If I told her to leave now, I might as well forget about a peaceful retirement. Assuming she would leave.” He looked around the room. “I do so hate having to move, and I paid a fortune for this cave.”

“Hmm.” The old knight’s face took on a crafty look. “I have a plan. One old bachelor may seem like a catch to your Surrey, but two—here she comes.” The housekeeper entered with a tray.

“The Lord Ransax has invited me to live here with him. Make up a bed for me, will you?”

She peered suspiciously at Grissol and then at her employer. Ransax gazed at the rocky roof, as innocently as a dragon is able.

“Whoops, I do believe I’ve spilled my tea," lamented Grissol.

"No problem, old boy. Surrey will clean it up. Run along, love, and get the mop.” Ransax had quickly grasped the plan.

The bewildered woman threw up her hands and left.

“Lend me your knife,” requested the dragon. He began to trim his claws. If you think human toenails can be bad, just imagine a dragon’s!

Surrey returned with a mop. “Ick! That’s disgusting!” she shrieked, as a chunk of claw went whizzing by her head.

Grissol scratched his stomach and said “I feel like having a beer. How about you, Randy?”

“Excellent suggestion. Fetch us a couple, my dumpling.”

“No, I won’t. It’s much too early,” she scolded.

“We’ll just have to go down to the cellar, then, and open a keg.”

They locked themselves in the cellar all afternoon, playing rummy and telling stories of their younger days. If they heard Miss Surrey approach, they would break into off-key song.

The pair came up barely in time for supper. Surrey had placed a complete meal on the table, but the dragon dismissed her effort with the wave of a talon and demanded hamburgers.

“And quickly, if you please!”

The pair had time to down another bumper of beer (or was it two?) before she returned with a high-stacked tray and a sour look.

Ransax bit into his. “You burned it!” he complained.

“Mine’s raw,” grumbled the elderly knight. He nibbled some and then let it slip out of his fingers. “Oops,” he said, and wiped his greasy hand on the table cloth.

“I’ve never seen two such crotchety, sloppy, unappealing old fellows,” moaned the dismayed damsel, retreating to the safety of the kitchen until they finished their mess—and left her one to clean up.

Yet the housekeeper stubbornly kept to her perceived duty. Surrey was not one to be easily dissuaded, especially when such duty came attached to a reputed hidden treasure. She laid out their beds and went off to her own, convinced that tomorrow would be better.

The next morning, just as they sat down for breakfast, a shrill scream came from the bedrooms. A few minutes later, Miss Surrey came by, carrying her bag.

“That does it,” she proclaimed, with a determined expression. “I hope the two of you are very happy together.” Out the front door she went, never to return.

“What do you think decided her?” asked the dragon.

“She must have found that I kept my horse in the room last night,” answered Sir Grissol. “He’s not housebroken, you know.”

So it was that the valiant, and decidedly devious, knight, Sir Grissol Greenmeadows, rescued a dragon from a damsel. Surrey found herself an innkeeper in the next county, who certainly made a better husband than an aged dragon. Ransax learned his lesson, and hired a butler the next time. And, once a week, he and Grissol would get together to play gin rummy and reminisce.

appears in Lands Far Away 2021