THE DRAGON-SLAYER
When Philip walked up the domino path and under the vast arch into the
darkness beyond, his heart felt strong with high resolve. His legs,
however, felt weak; strangely weak, especially about the knees. The
doorway was so enormous, that which lay beyond was so dark, and he
himself so very very small. As he passed under the little gateway which
he had built of three dominoes with the little silver knight in armour
on the top, he noticed that he was only as high as a domino, and you
know how very little that is.
Philip went along the domino path. He had to walk carefully, for to him
the spots on the dominoes were quite deep hollows. But as they were
black they were easy to see. He had made three arches, one beyond
another, of two pairs of silver candlesticks with silver inkstands on
the top of them. The third pair of silver candlesticks had a book on
the top of them because there were no more inkstands. And when he had
passed through the three silver arches, he stopped.
Beyond lay a sort of velvety darkness with white gleams in it. And as
his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw that he was in a
great hall of silver pillars, gigantic silver candlesticks they seemed
to be, and they went in long vistas this way and that way and every way,
like the hop-poles in a hop-field, so that whichever way you turned, a
long pillared corridor lay in front of you.
Philip had no idea which way he ought to go. It seemed most unlikely
that he would find Lucy in a dark hall with silver pillars.
'All the same,' he said, 'it's not so dark as it was, by long chalks.'
It was not. The silver pillars had begun to give out a faint soft glow
like the silver phosphorescence that lies in sea pools in summer time.
'It's lucky too,' he said, 'because of the holes in the floor.'
The holes were the spots on the dominoes with which the pillared hall
was paved.
'I wonder what part of the city where Lucy is I shall come out at?'
Philip asked himself. But he need not have troubled. He did not come
out at all. He walked on and on and on and on and on. He thought he was
walking straight, but really he was turning first this way and then
that, and then the other way among the avenues of silver pillars which
all looked just alike.
He was getting very tired, and he had been walking a long time, before
he came to anything that was not silver pillars and velvet black under
invisible roofs, and floor paved with dominoes laid very close together.
'Oh, I am glad!' he said at last, when he saw the pavement narrow to a
single line of dominoes just like the path he had come in by. There was
an arch too, like the arch by which he had come in. And then he
perceived in a shock of miserable surprise that it was, in fact, the
same arch and the same domino path. He had come back, after all that
walking, to the point from which he had started. It was most mortifying.
So silly! Philip sat down on the edge of the domino path to rest and
think.
'Suppose I just walk out and don't believe in magic any more?' he said
to himself. 'Helen says magic can only happen to people who believe in
magic. So if I just walked out and didn't believe as hard as ever I
could, I should be my own right size again, and Lucy would be back, and
there wouldn't _be_ any magic.'
[Illustration: He walked on and on and on.]
'Yes, but,' said that voice that always would come and join in whenever
Philip was talking to himself, 'suppose Lucy _does_ believe it? Then
it'll all go on for her, whatever _you_ believe, and she _won't_ be
back. Besides, you know you've _got_ to believe it, because it's true.'
'Oh, bother!' said Philip; 'I'm tired. I don't want to go on.'
'You shouldn't have deserted Lucy,' said the tiresome voice, 'then you
wouldn't have had to go back to look for her.'
'But I can't find my way. How can I find my way?'
'You know well enough. Fix your eyes on a far-off pillar and walk
straight to it, and when you're nearly there fix your eyes a little
farther. You're bound to come out somewhere.'
'But I'm tired and it's so lonely,' said Philip.
'Lucy's lonely too,' said the voice.
'Drop it!' said Philip. And he got up and began to walk again. Also he
took the advice of that worrying voice and fixed his eyes on a distant
pillar.
'But why should I bother?' he said; 'this is a sort of dream.'
'Even if it _were_ a dream,' said the voice, 'there are adventures in
it. So you may as well be adventurous.'
'Oh, all right,' said Philip, and on he went.
And by walking very carefully and fixing his eyes a long way off, he did
at last come right through the hall of silver pillars, and saw beyond
the faint glow of the pillars the blue light of day. It shone very
brightly through a very little door, and when Philip came to that door
he went through it without hesitation. And there he was in a big field.
It was rather like the illimitable prairie, only there were great
patches of different-coloured flowers. Also there was a path across it,
and he followed the path.
'Because,' he said, 'I'm more likely to meet Lucy. Girls always keep to
paths. They never explore.'
Which just shows how little he knew about girls.
He looked back after a while, to see what the hall of pillars looked
like from outside, but it was already dim in the mists of distance.
But ahead of him he saw a great rough building, rather like Stonehenge.
'I wish I'd come into the other city where the people are, and the
soldiers, and the greyhounds, and the cocoa-nuts,' he told himself.
'There's nobody here at all, not even Lucy.'
The loneliness of the place grew more and more unpleasing to Philip.
But he went on. It seemed more reasonable than to go back.
'I ought to be very hungry,' he said; 'I must have been walking for
hours.' But he wasn't hungry. It may have been the magic, or it may have
been the odd breakfast he had had. I don't know. He spoke aloud because
it was so quiet in that strange open country with no one in it but
himself. And no sound but the clump, clump of his boots on the path. And
it seemed to him that everything grew quieter and quieter till he could
almost hear himself think. Loneliness, real loneliness is a dreadful
thing. I hope you will never feel it. Philip looked to right and left,
and before him, and on all the wide plain nothing moved. There were the
grass and flowers, but no wind stirred them. And there was no sign that
any living person had ever trodden that path--except that there _was_ a
path to tread, and that the path led to the Stonehenge building, and
even that seemed to be only a ruin.
'I'll go as far as that anyhow,' said Philip; 'perhaps there'll be a
signboard there or something.'
There was something. Something most unexpected. Philip reached the
building; it was really very like Stonehenge, only the pillars were
taller and closer together and there was one high solid towering wall;
turned the corner of a massive upright and ran almost into the arms, and
quite on to the feet of a man in a white apron and a square paper cap,
who sat on a fallen column, eating bread and cheese with a clasp-knife.
'I beg your pardon!' Philip gasped.
'Granted, I'm sure,' said the man; 'but it's a dangerous thing to do,
Master Philip, running sheer on to chaps' clasp-knives.'
He set Philip on his feet, and waved the knife, which had been so often
sharpened that the blade was half worn away.
'Set you down and get your breath,' he said kindly.
'Why, it's _you_!' said Philip.
'Course it is. Who should I be if I wasn't me? That's poetry.'
'But how did you get here?'
'Ah!' said the man going on with his bread and cheese, while he talked
quite in the friendliest way, 'that's telling.'
'Well, tell then,' said Philip impatiently. But he sat down.
'Well, you say it's me. Who be it? Give it a name.'
'You're old Perrin,' said Pip; 'I mean, of course, I beg your pardon,
you're Mr. Perrin, the carpenter.'
'And what does carpenters do?'
'Carp, I suppose,' said Philip. 'That means they make things, doesn't
it?'
'That's it,' said the man encouragingly; 'what sort of things now might
old Perrin have made for you?'
'You made my wheelbarrow, I know,' said Philip, 'and my bricks.'
'Ah!' said Mr. Perrin, 'now you've got it. I made your bricks, seasoned
oak, and true to the thousandth of an inch, they was. And that's how I
got here. So now you know.'
'But what are you doing here?' said Philip, wriggling restlessly on the
fallen column.
'Waiting for you. Them as knows sent me out to meet you, and give you a
hint of what's expected of you.'
'Well. What _is_?' said Philip. 'I mean I think it's very kind of you.
What _is_ expected?'
'Plenty of time,' said the carpenter, 'plenty. Nothing ain't expected of
you till towards sundown.'
'I do think it was most awfully kind of you,' said Philip, who had now
thought this over.
'You was kind to old Perrin once,' said that person.
'Was I?' said Philip, much surprised.
'Yes; when my little girl was ailing you brought her a lot of pears off
your own tree. Not one of 'em you didn't 'ave yourself that year, Miss
Helen told me. And you brought back our kitten--the sandy and white one
with black spots--when it strayed. So I was quite willing to come and
meet you when so told. And knowing something of young gentlemen's
peckers, owing to being in business once next door to a boys' school, I
made so bold as to bring you a snack.'
He reached a hand down behind the fallen pillar on which they sat and
brought up a basket.
'Here,' he said. And Philip, raising the lid, was delighted to find that
he was hungry. It was a pleasant basketful. Meat pasties, red hairy
gooseberries, a stone bottle of ginger-beer, a blue mug with Philip on
it in gold letters, a slice of soda cake and two farthing sugar-sticks.
'I'm sure I've seen that basket before,' said the boy as he ate.
'Like enough. It's the one you brought them pears down in.'
'Now look here,' said Philip, through his seventh bite of pasty, 'you
_must_ tell me how you got here. And tell me where you've got to. You've
simply no idea how muddling it all is to me. Do tell me _everything_.
Where are we, I mean, and why? And what I've got to do. And why? And
when? Tell me every single thing.' And he took the eighth bite.
'You really don't know, sir?'
'No,' said Philip, contemplating the ninth or last bite but one. It was
a large pasty.
'Well then. Here goes. But I was always a poor speaker, and so
considered even by friends at cricket dinners and what not.'
'But I don't want you to speak,' said Philip; 'just tell me.'
'Well, then. How did I get here? I got here through having made them
bricks what you built this tumble-down old ancient place with.'
'_I_ built?'
'Yes, with them bricks I made you. I understand as this was the first
building you ever put up. That's why it's first on the road to where you
want to get to!'
Philip looked round at the Stonehenge building and saw that it was
indeed built of enormous oak bricks.
'Of course,' he said, 'only I've grown smaller.'
'Or they've grown bigger,' said Mr. Perrin; 'it's the same thing. You
see it's like this. All the cities and things you ever built is in this
country. I don't know how it's managed, no more'n what you do. But so it
is. And as you made 'em, you've the right to come to them--if you can
get there. And you have got there. It isn't every one has the luck, I'm
told. Well, then, you made the cities, but you made 'em out of what
other folks had made, things like bricks and chessmen and books and
candlesticks and dominoes and brass basins and every sort of kind of
thing. An' all the people who helped to make all them things you used to
build with, they're all here too. D'you see? _Making's_ the thing. If it
was no more than the lad that turned the handle of the grindstone to
sharp the knife that carved a bit of a cabinet or what not, or a child
that picked a teazle to finish a bit of the cloth that's glued on to the
bottom of a chessman--they're all here. They're what's called the
population of your cities.'
'I see. They've got small, like I have,' said Philip.
'Or the cities has got big,' said the carpenter; 'it comes to the same
thing. I wish you wouldn't interrupt, Master Philip. You put me out.'
'I won't again,' said Philip. 'Only do tell me just one thing. How can
you be here and at Amblehurst too?'
'We come here,' said the carpenter slowly, 'when we're asleep.'
'Oh!' said Philip, deeply disappointed; 'it's just a dream then?'
'Not it. We come here when we're too sound asleep to dream. You go
through the dreams and come out on the other side where everything's
real. That's _here_.'
'Go on,' said Philip.
'I dunno where I was. You do put me out so.'
'Pop you something or other,' said Philip.
'Population. Yes. Well, all those people as made the things you made the
cities of, they live in the cities and they've made the insides to the
houses.'
'What do they do?'
'Oh, they just live here. And they buy and sell and plant gardens and
work and play like everybody does in other cities. And when they go to
sleep they go slap through their dreams and into the other world, and
work and play there, see? That's how it goes on. There's a lot more, but
that's enough for one time. You get on with your gooseberries.'
'But they aren't all real people, are they? There's Mr. Noah?'
'Ah, those is aristocracy, the ones you put in when you built the
cities. They're our old families. Very much respected. They're all very
high up in the world. Came over with the Conker, as the saying is.
There's the Noah family. They're the oldest of all, of course. And the
dolls you've put in different times and the tin soldiers, and of course
all the Noah's ark animals is alive except when you used them for
building, and then they're statues.'
'But I don't see,' said Philip, 'I really don't see how all these cities
that I built at different times can still be here, all together and all
going on at once, when I know they've all been pulled down.'
'Well, I'm no scholard. But I did hear Mr. Noah say once in a
lecture--_he's_ a speaker, if you like--I heard him say it was like when
you take a person's photo. The person is so many inches thick through
and so many feet high and he's round and he's solid. But in the photo
he's _flat_. Because everything's flat in photos. But all the same it's
him right enough. You get him into the photo. Then all you've got to do
is to get 'im out again into where everything's thick and tall and round
and solid. And it's quite easy, I believe, once you know the trick.'
'Stop,' said Philip suddenly. 'I think my head's going to burst.'
'Ah!' said the carpenter kindly. 'I felt like that at first. Lie down
and try to sleep it off a bit. Eddication does go to your head something
crool. I've often noticed it.'
And indeed Philip was quite glad to lie down among the long grass and be
covered up with the carpenter's coat. He fell asleep at once.
An hour later he woke again, looked at the wrinkled-apple face of Mr.
Perrin and began to remember.
'I'm glad _you're_ here anyhow,' he said to the carpenter; 'it was
horribly lonely. You don't know.'
'That's why I was sent to meet you,' said Mr. Perrin simply.
'But how did you know?'
'Mr. Noah sent for me early this morning. Bless you, he knows all about
everything. Says he, "You go and meet 'im and tell 'im all you can. If
he wants to be a Deliverer, let 'im," says Mr. Noah.'
'But how do you begin being a Deliverer?' Philip asked, sitting up and
feeling suddenly very grand and manly, and very glad that Lucy was not
there to interfere.
'There's lots of different ways,' said Mr. Perrin. 'Your particular
way's simple. You just got to kill the dragon.'
'A _live_ dragon?'
'Live!' said Mr. Perrin. 'Why he's all over the place and as green as
grass he is. Lively as a kitten. He's got a broken spear sticking out of
his side, so some one must have had a try at baggin' him, some time or
another.'
'Don't you think,' said Philip, a little overcome by this vivid picture,
'that perhaps I'd better look for Lucy first, and be a Deliverer
afterwards?'
'If you're _afraid_,' said Mr. Perrin.
'I'm not,' said Philip doubtfully.
'You see,' said the carpenter, 'what you've got to consider is: are you
going to be the hero of this 'ere adventure or ain't you? You can't 'ave
it both ways. An' if you are, you may's well make up your mind, cause
killing a dragon ain't the end of it, not by no means.'
'Do you mean there are more dragons?'
'Not dragons,' said the carpenter soothingly; 'not dragons exactly. But
there. I don't want to lower your heart. If you kills the dragon, then
afterwards there's six more hard things you've got to do. And then they
make you king. Take it or leave it. Only, if you take it we'd best be
starting. And anyhow we may as well get a move on us, because at sundown
the dragon comes out to drink and exercise of himself. You can hear him
rattling all night among these 'ere ruins; miles off you can 'ear 'im
of a still night.'
'Suppose I don't want to be a Deliverer,' said Philip slowly.
'Then you'll be a Destroyer,' said the carpenter; 'there's only these
two situations vacant here at present. Come, Master Philip, sir, don't
talk as if you wasn't going to be a man and do your duty for England,
Home and Beauty, like it says in the song. Let's be starting, shall us?'
'You think I ought to be the Deliverer?'
'Ought stands for nothing,' said Mr. Perrin. 'I think you're a going to
_be_ the Deliverer; that's what I think. Come on!'
As they rose to go, Philip had a brief fleeting vision of a very smart
lady in a motor veil, disappearing round the corner of a pillar.
'Are there many motors about here?' he asked, not wishing to talk any
more about dragons just then.
'Not a single one,' said Mr. Perrin unexpectedly. 'Nor yet phonographs,
nor railways, nor factory chimneys, nor none of them loud ugly things.
Nor yet advertisements, nor newspapers, nor barbed wire.'
After that the two walked silently away from the ruin. Philip was trying
to feel as brave and confident as a Deliverer should. He reminded
himself of St. George. And he remembered that the hero _never_ fails to
kill the dragon. But he still felt a little uneasy. It takes some time
to accustom yourself to being a hero. But he could not help looking over
his shoulder every now and then to see if the dragon was coming. So far
it wasn't.
'Well,' said Mr. Perrin as they drew near a square tower with a long
flight of steps leading up to it, 'what do you say?'
'I wasn't saying anything,' said Philip.
'I mean are you going to be the Deliverer?'
Then something in Philip's heart seemed to swell, and a choking feeling
came into his throat, and he felt more frightened than he had ever felt
before, as he said, looking as brave as he could:
'Yes. I am.'
Perrin clapped his hands.
And instantly from the doors of the tower and from behind it came dozens
of people, and down the long steps, alone, came Mr. Noah, moving with
careful dignity and carrying his yellow mat neatly rolled under his arm.
All the people clapped their hands, till Mr. Noah, standing on the third
step, raised his hands to command silence.
'Friends,' he said, 'and fellow-citizens of Polistopolis, you see before
you one who says that he is the Deliverer. He was yesterday arrested
and tried as a trespasser, and condemned to imprisonment. He escaped and
you all assumed that he was the Destroyer in disguise. But now he has
returned and of his own free will he chooses to attempt the
accomplishment of the seven great deeds. And the first of these is the
killing of the great green dragon.'
The people, who were a mixed crowd of all nations, cheered loudly.
'So now,' said Mr. Noah, 'we will make him our knight.'
'Kneel,' said Mr. Noah, 'in token of fealty to the Kingdom of Cities.'
Philip knelt.
'You shall now speak after me,' said Mr. Noah solemnly. 'Say what I
say,' he whispered, and Philip said it.
This was it. 'I, Philip, claim to be the Deliverer of this great nation,
and I pledge myself to carry out the seven great deeds that shall prove
my claim to the Deliverership and the throne. I pledge my honour to be
the champion of this city, and the enemy of its Destroyer.'
When Philip had said this, Mr. Noah drew forth a bright silver-hilted
sword and held it over him.
'You must be knighted,' he said; 'those among my audience who have read
any history will be aware that no mere commoner can expect to conquer a
dragon. We must give our would-be Deliverer every chance. So I will make
him a knight.' He tapped Philip lightly on the shoulder and said, 'Rise
up, Sir Philip!'
This was really grand, and Philip felt new courage as Mr. Noah handed
him the silver sword, and all the people cheered.
But as the cheers died down, a thin and disagreeable voice suddenly
said:
'But _I_ claim to be the Deliverer too.'
It was like a thunderbolt. Every one stopped cheering and stood with
mouth open and head turned towards the person who had spoken. And the
person who had spoken was the smartly dressed lady in the motor veil,
whom Philip had seen among the ruins.
'A trespasser! a trespasser!' cried the crowd; 'to prison with it!' and
angry, threatening voices began to arise.
'I'm no more a trespasser than he is,' said the voice, 'and if I say I
am the Deliverer, you can't stop me. I can kill dragons or do anything
_he_ can do.'
'Silence, trespasser,' said Mr. Noah, with cold dignity. 'You should
have spoken earlier. At present Sir Philip occupies the position of
candidate to the post of King-Deliverer. There is no other position open
to you except that of Destroyer.'
[Illustration: 'Silence, trespasser,' said Mr. Noah, with cold dignity.]
'But suppose the boy doesn't do it?' said the voice behind the veil.
'True,' said Mr. Noah. 'You may if you choose, occupy for the present
the position of Pretender-in-Chief to the Claimancy of the
Deliverership, an office now and here created expressly for you. The
position of Claimant to the Destroyership is also,' he added
reflectively, 'open to you.'
'Then if he doesn't do it,' said the veiled lady, 'I can be the
Deliverer.'
'You can try,' said Mr. Noah. 'There are a special set of tasks to be
performed if the claimant to the Deliverership be a woman.'
'What are they?' said the veiled lady.
'If Sir Philip fails you will be duly instructed in the deeds required
of a Deliverer who is a woman. And now, my friends, let us retire and
leave Sir Philip to deal with the dragon. We shall watch anxiously from
yonder ramparts,' he added encouragingly.
'But isn't any one to help me?' said Philip, deeply uneasy.
'It is not usual,' said Mr. Noah, 'for champions to require assistance
with dragons.'
'I should think not indeed,' said the veiled lady; 'but you're not going
the usual way about it at all. Where's the princess, I should like to
know?'
'There isn't any princess,' said Mr. Noah.
'Then it won't be a proper dragon-killing,' she said, with an angry
shaking of skirts; 'that's all I can say.'
'I wish it _was_ all,' said Mr. Noah to himself.
'If there isn't a princess it isn't fair,' said the veiled one; 'and I
shall consider it's my turn to be Deliverer.'
'Be silent, woman,' said Mr. Noah.
'Woman, indeed,' said the lady. 'I ought to have a proper title.'
'Your title is the Pretender to the----'
'I know,' she interrupted; 'but you forget you're speaking to a lady.
You can call me the Pretenderette.'
Mr. Noah turned coldly from her and pressed two Roman candles and a box
of matches into Philip's hand.
'When you have arranged your plans and are quite sure that you will be
able to kill the dragon, light one of these. We will then have a
princess in readiness, and on observing your signal will tie her to a
tree, or, since this is a district where trees are rare and buildings
frequent, to a pillar. She will be perfectly safe if you make your plans
correctly. And in any case you must not attempt to deal with the dragon
without first lighting the Roman candle.'
'And the dragon will see it and go away.'
'Exactly,' said Mr. Noah. 'Or perhaps he will see it and not go away.
Time alone will show. The task that is without difficulties can never
really appeal to a hero. You will find weapons, cords, nets, shields and
various first aids to the young dragon-catcher in the vaults below this
tower. Good evening, Sir Philip,' he ended warmly. 'We wish you every
success.'
And with that the whole crowd began to go away.
'_I_ know who you ought to have for princess,' the Pretenderette said as
they went. And Mr. Noah said:
'Silence in court.'
'This isn't a court,' said the Pretenderette aggravatingly.
'Wherever justice is, is a court,' said Mr. Noah, 'and I accuse you of
contempt of it. Guards, arrest this person and take her to prison at
once.'
There was a scuffling and a shrieking and then the voices withdrew
gradually, the angry voice of even the Pretenderette growing fainter
and fainter till it died away altogether.
Philip was left alone.
His first act was to go up to the top of the tower and look out to see
if he could see the dragon. He looked east and north and south and west,
and he saw the ramparts of the fort where Mr. Noah and the others were
now safely bestowed. He saw also other towers and cities in the
distance, and he saw the ruins where he had met Mr. Perrin.
And among those ruins something was moving. Something long and jointed
and green. It could be nothing but the dragon.
'Oh, Crikey!' said Philip to himself; 'whatever shall I do? Perhaps I'd
better see what weapons there are.'
So he ran down the stairs and down and down till he came to the vaults
of the castle, and there he found everything a dragon-killer could
possibly need, even to a little red book called the _Young
Dragon-Catcher's Vade Mecum, or a Complete Guide to the Good Sport of
Dragon-Slaying_; and a pair of excellent field-glasses.
The top of the tower seemed the safest place. It was there that he tried
to read the book. The words were very long and most difficultly spelt.
But he did manage to make out that all dragons sleep for one hour after
sunset. Then he heard a loud rattling sound from the ruin, and he knew
it was the dragon who was making that sound, so he looked through the
field-glasses, frowning with anxiety to see what the dragon was doing.
And as he looked he started and almost dropped the glasses, and the
frown cleared away from his forehead and he gave a sigh that was almost
a sob and almost a laugh, and then he said
'That old thing!'
Then he looked again, and this is what he saw. An enormous green dragon,
very long and fierce-looking, that rattled as it moved, going in and out
among the ruins, rubbing itself against the fallen pillars. And the
reason Philip laughed and sighed was that he knew that dragon very well
indeed. He had known it long ago. It was the clockwork lizard that had
been given him the Christmas before last. And he remembered that he had
put it into one of the cities he and Helen had built together. Only now,
of course, it had grown big and had come alive like all the other images
of live things he had put in his cities. But he saw that it was still a
clockwork creature. And its key was sticking out of its side. And it was
rubbing itself against the pillars so as to turn the key and wind itself
up. But this was a slow business and the winding was not half done when
the sun set. The dragon instantly lay down and went to sleep.
'Well,' said Philip, 'now I've got to think.'
He did think, harder than he had ever done before. And when he had
finished thinking he went down into the vault and got a long rope. Then
he stood still a moment, wondering if he really were brave enough. And
then he remembered 'Rise up, Sir Philip,' and he knew that a knight
simply _mustn't_ be afraid.
So he went out in the dusk towards the dragon.
He knew it would sleep for an hour. But all the same---- And the
twilight was growing deeper and deeper. Still there was plenty of light
to find the ruin, and also to find the dragon. There it lay--about ten
or twelve yards of solid dark dragon-flesh. Its metal claws gleamed in
the last of the daylight. Its great mouth was open, and its breathing,
as it slept, was like the sound of the sea on a rough night.
'Rise up, Sir Philip,' he said to himself, and walked along close to the
dragon till he came to the middle part where the key was sticking
out--which Mr. Perrin had thought was a piece of an old spear with which
some one had once tried to kill the monster.
Philip fastened one end of his rope very securely to the key--how
thankful he was that Helen had taught him to tie knots that were not
granny-knots. The dragon lay quite still, and went on breathing like a
stormy sea. Then the dragon-slayer fastened the other end of the rope to
the main wall of the ruin which was very strong and firm, and then he
went back to his tower as fast as he could and struck a match and
lighted his Roman candle.
You see the idea? It was really rather a clever one. When the dragon
woke it would find that it was held prisoner by the ropes. It would be
furious and try to get free. And in its struggles it would be certain to
get free, but this it could only do by detaching itself from its key.
When once the key was out the dragon would be unable to wind itself up
any more, and would be as good as dead. Of course Sir Philip could cut
off its head with the silver-hilted sword if Mr. Noah really wished it.
It was, as you see, an excellent plan, as far as it went. Philip sat on
the top of his tower quite free from anxiety, and ate a few hairy red
gooseberries that happened to be loose in his pocket. Within three
minutes of his lighting his Roman candle a shower of golden rain went up
in the south, some immense Catherine-wheels appeared in the east, and in
the north a long line of rockets presented almost the appearance of an
aurora borealis. Red fire, green fire, then rockets again. The whole of
the plain was lit by more fireworks than Philip had ever seen, even at
the Crystal Palace. By their light he saw a procession come out of the
fort, cross to a pillar that stood solitary on the plain, and tie to it
a white figure.
'The Princess, I suppose,' said Philip; 'well, _she's_ all right
anyway.'
Then the procession went back to the fort, and then the dragon awoke.
Philip could see the great creature stretching itself and shaking its
vast head as a dog does when it comes out of the water.
'I expect it doesn't like the fireworks,' said Philip. And he was quite
right.
And now the dragon saw the Princess who had been placed at a convenient
spot about half-way between the ruins and Philip's tower.
It threw up its snout and uttered a devastating howl, and Philip felt
with a thrill of horror that, clockwork or no clockwork, the brute was
alive, and desperately dangerous.
And now it had perceived that it was bound. With great heavings and
throes, with snortings and bellowings, with scratchings and tearings of
its great claws and lashings of its terrible tail, it writhed and
fought to be free, and the light of thousands of fireworks illuminated
the gigantic struggle.
Then what Philip had known would happen, did happen. The great wall held
fast, the rope held fast, the dragon held fast. It was the key that gave
way. With an echoing grinding rusty sound like a goods train shunting on
a siding, the key was drawn from the keyhole in the dragon's side and
left still fast to its rope like an anchor to a cable.
_Left._ For now that happened which Philip had not foreseen. He had
forgotten that before it fell asleep the dragon had partly wound itself
up. And its struggles had not used up all the winding. There was go in
the dragon yet. And with a yell of fury it set off across the plain,
wriggling its green rattling length towards--the Princess.
And now there was no time to think whether one was afraid or not. Philip
went down those tower stairs more quickly than he had ever gone down
stairs in his life, and he was not bad at stairs even at ordinary times.
He put his sword over his shoulder as you do a gun, and ran. Like the
dragon he made straight for the Princess. And now it was a race between
him and the dragon. Philip ran and ran. His heart thumped, his feet had
that leaden feeling that comes in nightmares. He felt as if he were
dying.
Keep on, keep on, faster, faster, you mustn't stop. Ah! that's better.
He has got his second wind. He is going faster. And the dragon, or is it
fancy? is going not quite so fast.
How he did it Philip never knew. But with a last spurt he reached the
pillar where the Princess stood bound. And the dragon was twenty yards
away, coming on and on and on.
Philip stood quite still, recovering his breath. And more and more
slowly, but with no sign of stopping, the dragon came on. Behind him,
where the pillar was, Philip heard some one crying softly.
Then the dragon was quite near. Philip took three steps forward, took
aim with his sword, shut his eyes and hit as hard as he could. Then
something hard and heavy knocked him over, and for a time he knew no
more.
. . . . . . .
When he came to himself again, Mr. Noah was giving him something nasty
to drink out of a medicine glass, Mr. Perrin was patting him on the
back, all the people were shouting like mad, and more fireworks than
ever were being let off. Beside him lay the dragon, lifeless and still.
[Illustration: Then something hard and heavy knocked him over.]
'Oh!' said Philip, 'did I really do it?'
'You did indeed,' said Mr. Noah; 'however you may succeed with the other
deeds, you are the hero of this one. And now, if you feel well enough,
prepare to receive the reward of Valour and Chivalry.'
'Oh!' said Philip, brightening, 'I didn't know there was to be a
reward.'
'Only the usual one,' said Mr Noah. 'The Princess, you know.'
Philip became aware that a figure in a white veil was standing quite
near him; round its feet lay lengths of cut rope.
'The Princess is yours,' said Mr. Noah, with generous affability.
'But I don't want her,' said Philip, adding by an afterthought, 'thank
you.'
'You should have thought of that before,' said Mr. Noah. 'You can't go
doing deeds of valour, you know, and then shirking the reward. Take her.
She is yours.'
'Any one who likes may have her,' said Philip desperately. 'If she's
mine, I can give her away, can't I? You must see yourself I can't be
bothered with princesses if I've got all those other deeds to do.'
'That's not my affair,' said Mr. Noah. 'Perhaps you might arrange to
board her out while you're doing your deeds. But at present she is
waiting for you to take her by the hand and raise her veil.'
'Must I?' said Philip miserably. 'Well, here goes.'
He took a small cold hand in one of his and with the other lifted, very
gingerly, a corner of the veil. The other hand of the Princess drew back
the veil, and the Dragon-Slayer and the Princess were face to face.
'Why!' cried Philip, between relief and disgust, 'it's only Lucy!'