When the Dragons Came to Barney Castle

WC 601

When the Dragons Came to Barney Castle

By Jack Rawlins

The day the dragons arrived at Barney Castle where I served as resident knight, I was sharpening my sword in the blacksmith’s shop. Suddenly a sentry yelled, “Guess who’s coming for dinner!” I remained calm and I clanked my way up the stone staircase to the drawbridge turret. I looked down on three myopic, geriatric dragons who hobbled about on arthritic joints while emitting little puffs of smoke.

I resisted the urging of my advisors to “Do something, for crap's sake,” and studied the situation. I recognized all three dragons. I had left my mark on each one in previous encounters when I tried to negotiate a peaceful non-aggression pact: one was missing a third of his tail; another was missing his right foot; and the third was missing an ear.

I had just cause for caution. They really hated my guts. And even though these banged-up seniors could no longer fly or breathe fire, they had hundreds of years of experience and, at four-thousand pounds each, were still powerful and lethal instruments of death and destruction able to break things and eat people.

It is not immodest of me to say I am an expert on dragons and dragon behavior. While working as a blacksmith’s apprentice, I attended knight school and received a B.S. in beast slaying and distress management. I was also captain of the jousting and fencing teams, an excellent dancer and quite light on my feet when not wearing my armor.

One of the first things we learned in knight school is that there is no free lunch. You’ve got to earn your keep. The second thing: there is no such thing as a magic sword. As our professor said, “Fuhgeddaboudit. You need cutting edge technology to hack it in this business.”

As I surveyed the scene below, I realized that we were under siege. Dragons hate water. Our moat would keep them out. But those big ornery predators could also keep us in.

I’m as valiant as the next knight; but I’m not stupid. One-on-one, I can hack. Three-to- one, though, are lousy odds. I decided I would rather drop my drawers before the ladies-in-waiting than drop that drawbridge and challenge those three scaly old codgers at the same time.

I like to procrastinate when faced with tough problems. It gives me more time for reflection and delayed judgment. But after three days, I was spurred to action when the castle staff reported that we were out of milk, eggs and toilet paper.

Immediately I had three horsehair mattresses brought to the kitchen. Each one was split open and the contents dropped into three huge pots. Each was then soaked with enough honey to make a giant ball. Three ladies donated their undies to dress each ball for a scanty touch of realism.

Minutes later from three catapult platforms, our ace-launchers launched our missiles. The dragons, who hadn’t eaten in three days, were famished. They woofed the offerings down like gourmet treats. Soon, they were each trying desperately to hack up a hairball.

Quickly the chief drawbridge-dropper dropped the drawbridge. While everyone lined the ramparts and cheered wildly, I galloped out to challenge those wretched beasts. When we closed, they had retched themselves limp. The slaying was easy. It was also my first triple-header.

That year I received the Nobles’ Award for Extinguishing Service even though the poor old fellows were just smoldering when I put out their last embers. However, I accepted the honor graciously and was thankful that I did not receive it posthumously.

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