Norman P. Dragon, Esq.
A long long time ago and as far away as these things usually are, there was a tiny kingdom with the unlikely name of Parth, located high in the Parthian Mountains. It was a beautiful kingdom. It had rivers and lakes, forests and meadows, and all the people would have been very happy to live there if it weren’t for one thing. Just above the valley (where everyone lived), was a mountain. And on this mountain, there was a cave. And in this cave lived—a dragon!
Oh, he must have been a most ferocious dragon, (although no one could ever remember having seen him), because huge flames would sometimes roar out over the mountainside, and there was always a slow trail of smoke that curled up from the mouth of the cave.
The King of Parth had a daughter named Edna. Oh, and was she a princess! Long black hair. Crystal brown eyes. She had a dazzling smile. In fact, Edna was so good-natured and so beautiful that the king knew that some young man would soon want to marry her.
Actually, this was a lie; easy on the eyes or not, Edna was not particularly good-natured, and everybody knew it. She was a proud and opinionated young woman who brooked no nonsense. She was just incredibly smart, and at times, not a little sarcastic. Truth to tell, it was the rare man in those days who could even read or write his own name, let alone discuss metaphysics or alchemy or the historical significance of Beowulf in the context of a modern age, or—oh well, any one of a hundred topics that would have interested Edna. She really should have been born a wizard.Things being what they were, she was rather a problem. And as far as her father was concerned, if he didn’t find someone who interested Edna (and visa versa, of course), he was bound to have her drooping around the castle for a very long time. Reading, all the time reading. Either that or attempting to discuss things with him. Philosophy, art, religion. Boy oh boy, what a daughter. (He drummed his fingers a lot in those days.) What to do... What to do...
Now the king knew that his daughter could sometimes be a bit difficult to please. Who was he kidding? She was critical, demanding, ambitious, bothersome, and exacting. He thought long and hard about the matter. He also thought long and hard about the dragon that lived in the mountain behind his little kingdom. For although no one could remember actually seeing the dragon, they had always lived in terror of the day it might swoop down and crisp them all properly with its flaming breath. It was a terrible dilemma.
Then his eyes turned downward, thinking hard: “He’d better be able to read,” muttered the king, “or Edna won’t go for it.”
He got so excited he went down to the local printer that very afternoon and ordered several dozen posters. Within days, they were up throughout the Valley of Parth, on almost every stump and tree.
🔹
About two years later, young Prince William—who lived about three kingdoms down the road—was on a walking tour of the countryside. Tall. Lean. Slightly freckled and boyishly good-looking, he was everything a prince his age should have been. He had been feeling somewhat bored back at the castle and had decided to go out into the world to seek his fortune. The day was a rather good one for it. The birds were chirping in the hedges, the sky was a perfectly wonderful shade of blue. And although the roads were somewhat dusty, Prince William (or Bill, as he liked to be called), was in fine mettle; the birds, the sky, and yes, even the dust upon his boots fit his mood.
It was on this day, having just finished his lunch (consisting of an apple, some jack cheese, and a rather chewy French roll) when Bill happened to see a notice on a telephone pole by the side of the road.
“Hero Wanted, by Order of the King,” stated the poster; “Apply in person—Must Be Able To Read Pretty Good.” That was all it said, except for the printer’s name in fine print at the bottom. Well, Bill didn’t know quite what to make of it, but it certainly sounded interesting. So he set off, packing the remains of his lunch into his ditty sack, and slinging it over his shoulder.
Three days and two villages later he found the source of the notices (the posters, he soon discovered, were everywhere). Directed to a small print shop in the middle of town, Bill walked in and—jumped back out again; a well-thrown dart sailing through the air, andTHUDing
into the door on the inside. Waiting for a word of encouragement (and getting none), Bill rapped loudly on the door and opened it very slowly. He stepped carefully into a large, untidy room.
“Are you in charge?” he asked. The man he addressed was seated, with his boots crossed and propped on a paper-strewn desk, facing the door. He wore suspenders and a dark green visor, and he held a handful of darts.
Bill closed the door behind him and held up the remains of the poster. “Can you tell me anything about this?”
“Shut the bliddy door,” came the reply. “You’ll be lettin’ the flies out.”
Bill stepped quickly out of the way and shut the door.
A character, Bill thought to himself. His glance wandered the room. Wooden tables. An ancient-looking press. (original Gutenberg, by the look of it.) Dim sunlight fought its way through dirty windows. Pervading everything was the oily black odor of ink.
“So now,” continued the printer, appraising the young man who now stood in the middle of his shop; “I suppose you’re responding to that old sheet of mine I printed for the king, eh?” He chuckled and threw another dart at the door.“Don’t much look like a hero to me. Or perhaps you’re thinking of becoming one, eh?”
“Thinking about it, just thinking about it,” said Bill. “I’d like to know a little more first.”
“Can ya read?”
“I can tell a comma from an apostrophe,” Bill replied, “When the words are right side up.”“Oh ho!” said the printer, looking up with a twinkling eye, “We’ve been to school then, have we?”
“What’s the deal about being able to read?” asked Bill.
“Ah—” said the printer, throwing another dart...“That’s the spiritual requirement.”
“What?”
The printer got up, walked over to the door, and began tugging out the embedded darts.
“Apply in person,” he said. He looked over his shoulder and peered from beneath the green visor; “Isn’t that what it said?”
“Yes, but...”
“Don't but me no buts. Apply in person. At the castle. And pay attention to Edna.”
“Who’s Edna?”
“There’s a dragon involved too,” the printer said, turning from the door and walking back to his desk.
“Somewhat threatening, although nobody alive has seen it.” He looked at Bill and spoke sharply. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“So, who is Edna?” asked Bill
The printer chuckled as he walked back to his desk and sat down, enjoying some private joke with himself. “Oh yes, Edna. She is indeed something. Edna is the Princess of Parth. And a fine one by some accounts. Pain the neck by others.”“Well then, where do I go,” asked Bill, “Where’s the castle?”
“If you think you’re smart enough to play skittles with a dragon,” he said with a shake of his head and grinning, “you should be able to find it all right—big strapping reader like yourself.” And with that, he threw another dart.Bill managed to find his way out between the missiles.
A dragon, a threatened kingdom, and Edna, the Princess of Parth! An interesting princess at that...
Prince William wrestled with his thoughts as he walked along the road. A real dragon! Why—it had been more than a wizard’s age since anything like this had happened. And with a beautiful princess involved...
His heart and his stride both quickened. This was Thursday. The country looked small; he’d probably be at the castle by nightfall. He would check out the princess first. He hoped she was cute. Cute was good. He would ask her to call him Bill around the castle. Cute and sweet and athletic and... Ahem.So. He would bargain it out with the king on Friday (get everything in writing, that sort of thing). And then maybe get to meet the princess formally, see what she thought about the whole thing. This was going to be just terrific.
There was the dragon to deal with of course—he would have to slay the dragon. No getting around that. And dragons could be difficult. No getting around that, either.Only one thing bothered him. Some of those notices had been kind of old-looking. Weathered. As if they’d been up for a very long time—years maybe. Prince William stopped walking. Could the princess now be as old as his mother?
Castle walls glinted in silvery moonlight as two figures stood the ramparts. A beautiful woman melted into his strong arms, and her soft voice whispered, “Oh Billy!” Prince William shook his head and quickly looked around. Nothing but road, rolling hills, and a few bored cows. He picked up the pace.
🔹
Back at the castle, Princess Edna had just finished writing a rather bitter letter to Parth’s only newspaper, outlining not a few technical errors in the editor’s recent article on The Origin of Plagues and Pandemics. She’d left the castle library and was on her way out to the mailbox. Which was on the other side of the drawbridge, beyond the portcullis, outside the front gate.Opening the portcullis was never easy. It took a bit of doing, but she finally got the counterbalance rope to move, the windless to turn, and the portcullis moved up. And there stood a young man. A little dusty. Nice hair. And then he grinned. Good teeth, too. She tied off the rope.
Edna looked at Bill. Bill looked at Edna. Bill was transfixed. She was dressed in blue—and she was gorgeous. Well, sort of gorgeous.
“Yes?” asked Edna, moving a strand of dark hair away from her face. “What is it?”
Bill swallowed, suddenly dry. “I’m looking for the king. Are you Edna?”“One and the same.” Edna’s clear green eyes appraised the young man. She was aware of her affect on young men. The blue dress in contrast with her green eyes was a killer combination. Which is one reason she wore blue all the time. “So, who's asking?”
“Prince William.”
“Of course you are.”
“Your father home?”
Edna looked at him narrowly. “Maybe,” she said. “Didn't see him go out. He’s probably up on the battlements. He likes to pretend he’s fishing.”
“On the battlements?”
“Well, he’s only pretending so it doesn’t matter where he does it, but he gets the best views from up there.”
“Well, I’d like to see him,” said Bill.
“What about?” asked Edna.
“I found this.” Bill pulled the faded poster out of his pack.She gave it a look. “Yes, well. If that’s your business, good luck.”
“Why?” asked Bill.
“Because,” said Edna; “It’s a stupid idea. I’m not some kind of prize. I’m a person, and whatever my father was thinking of when he had those things printed, I have no idea.”
She tapped her foot. “He should have known better. He should have known me better. And besides, that dragon is bad business. I’d go right back to wherever you came from if I were you.”
Listen,” said Bill; “Can I come inside? It’s really hot out here.” Edna thought for a moment, then grudgingly let him step past her into the cool stone castle. He looked around for a moment, and then back at Edna, who was still standing in the opening, looking at him. Was she happy, not happy, who knew? How does one read a princess anyway?
She looked at him a little closer, then unhooked the rope and let the portcullis fall back into place. Her gown rustled softly when she moved, and the blue fabric caught highlights from the high windows.
“So, if you’re not just another prince with a lot of bright ideas about the dragon, me, and the Kingdom of Parth, why are you here?” Edna had wavy black hair, clear eyes, and a very slight crimp in her nose, like she’d broken it once as a child. Bill decided it was cute. Was there gold thread amongst the blue? Bill was suddenly aware that he hadn't combed his hair and that his clothes were dusty. The castle was as quiet as an empty church on Tuesday.
“You don’t believe in fairy tales,” said Bill.
“Oh, I like stories all right—in books, where they belong,” replied Edna; “Most of them don’t work out as well in real life.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bill.“It would be easier just to show you. Follow me.”
She led him down a short hallway into a large room. Light streamed down through stone embrasures. There was a long wooden table down the center and various pieces of furniture throughout. There were tapestries on the walls and floor, all embroidered with hunting scenes: men on horseback, dogs following a trail. One depicted a man fishing. Bill glanced at the old carpets, then watched Edna, who was far more interesting.
Edna strode farther into the room. “Each of these tapestries tells a story, and I was raised on them.” Her words traveled to him across the history of her years. “Valiant deeds, great heroes, and noble causes—the stuff of legends. These pictures filled my imagination as a small child. I believed that one day a valiant knight would come into my life and—if not rescue me, because I don’t really need to be rescued—at least sweep me away. And together we would ride off into the sunset.”
She turned around, looking back at Prince William. “Or maybe he would have a ship, and we’d take that. I was never clear on what happened after the sweeping part.”
“Your knight never showed up?” asked Bill.
“Oh, he showed up. Again and again. He showed up on horseback, on foot—one even came by balloon—and punctured himself on the weather vane, top of the castle. All the heroes came and went, one after the other; you’re simply the most recent.”
Bill looked at Edna, and Edna looked at Bill. She glanced away.
“A little jaded, are we?” he asked.
Edna looked back up, and chuckled; “Jaded?” Are you kidding? I'm being realistic.”
She laughed, but Bill thought there was a brittle edge to it. Her eyes grew bright as she looked at him, and he felt a sudden joy and strength flow within him. This was a woman to love. So strong, and yet so tired of the coping. And that laugh!
A short, stocky man suddenly strode in through one of the archways. He wore grey slacks and a tweed jacket with elbow patches that had seen better days. He was also wearing a bedraggled-looking hat with fishing flies stuck all around. The man took in Bill and the princess at the same time. He glanced at the poster in Bill’s hand and his face lit up.“Hi there. Welcome to Parth. Found the poster, eh?”
Bill shook the man’s hand. “I’m Prince William.”
“Yes. Well, I’m the King, and that’s Edna. You can call me Al—short for Alfred Three. Want some mead or something?”
Prince William didn’t quite know what to make of anything now. First, there was Edna, who looked every inch a princess, but obviously a little complicated, and then there was this father of hers, who seemed rather a sport. Bill didn’t think of himself as a particularly introspective person, but it didn’t take much to realize that there was more to Parth Castle than first met the eye. Despite the king’s manner, Bill was still concerned about the princess.
The king noticed his glance. “Oh, don’t mind Edna,” he said. “She’s okay. Her mother quit being queen about ten years ago to join a traveling circus of jongleurs and acrobats, and Edna’s been a little hard on men ever since.”
“A circus?”
“Yeah. She wanted more excitement in her life, and back then we didn’t have the dragon.”
“Excuse me,” said Bill; “Aside from the story about the circus and your ex-wife, which I’m still curious about—wouldn’t that have made Edna harder on women, her mother having left and all?”
“Oh, you don’t know Edna,” said the king. “Her mother left mainly out of boredom, and Edna can’t see how it would be any different for her.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bill.
The king shook his head. “Princesses usually get married one of two ways; the marriage is either arranged by the parents, who need to consolidate peace between two kingdoms, or some prince comes along and wins her hand through some massively great deed.”
“Like slaying a dragon,” said Bill.
“Like, as you say, slaying a dragon.” The king looked at Bill, and Bill looked at the king.
“She really is a terrific person,” said the king.
“Hey,” said Edna. “I’m right here!”
“Okay, okay,” said the king. “Just filling him in. Do you want to do it?”
“No,” said Edna. “You go ahead.”
The king turned back to Bill. “Read much, do you?” asked the king.
“Yes, yes. Of course, I can read.”
“There’s no of course about it,” said the king. “You may not be aware of it, but most people hereabouts can barely write their own name.”
“I take it that you want any hero you employ to browse a book or two now and then? What, does the dragon read?”
“It isn’t me or the dragon,” said the king. “It’s Edna. All the time reading.”
The king spread his hands wide. “Whole upper castle and the second keep filled with books. She couldn’t stand a thickhead; she has enough trouble just living with me.”
“Don’t read much?”
“Hardly a paragraph. Except for tax law, treaties, and the like. And books on fishing.”
“Fishing...”
“Yep.
“And then the dragon came?”
“You got it,” said the king. “Scared the hell out of the fish, and now they won’t bite.”
“So if I get rid of the dragon, you get to fish?”
“Just watch me.”
“Sounds like a noble enough cause.”
“Noble as it gets,” said the king. “I haven’t gone fishing in a long time. I throw a line in the moat now and then, but there isn’t any real sport to it.”
Bill looked over at Edna, who had been watching their conversation from across the room. She moved a little closer.
“And you, princess?” he asked. “What does Edna want?”
The king turned his head and looked speculatively at his daughter. And then looked back at Prince William.
“You seem like a smart enough guy,” he said. “Most of the heroes we’ve seen have been solid ivory from the neck up.”
Bill looked at the king, and then at Edna. “How smart are you, anyway?”
Edna smiled, “Every king’s got to have advisors, right?”
Bill nodded.
“All kings have them.”
“Right.”
“You see any hanging around?”
Bill had been wondering about that. The castle seemed empty, except for the three of them. He’d noticed a cat stalking about as if it owned the place, but that had been about it.
The king looked proudly at his daughter as she looked at Bill. “Edna has been the only advisor I’ve needed since her mother left.”
“And the dragon?” said Bill.
“Oh yeah,” said the king. “About that dragon.. Let’s all step outside for a moment.”
After Edna hauled on the rope, Bill, Edna, and the king were soon standing on the drawbridge, gazing north. Not far off was a range of mountains, with one large peak.“He lurks up there somewhere near the top,” said the king, pointing. “But mind your step—he’s got a flame on him you wouldn’t believe.”
“He’s a flamer, eh?”
“Yep. Grade A, Number One, and Certified Flaming Dragon, all our own,” said Edna. “Like I said, bad business.”
Bill was not undaunted by this pronouncement, but he was willing to give it his best shot. And so he put on some old armor that the king happened to have, and he put on the king’s second-best sword, and (after packing a rather substantial lunch), he set out to conquer the dragon that very day. But not until saying goodbye to Edna, who seemed to like him a whole lot more now than when they first met.
“Beowulf?”
“Read it,” said Bill.“Chaucer?”
“I’m thinking of writing an addendum called “The Dragon’s Tale.”
Edna grinned. She looked at Bill, then out tumbled her thoughts, “Shakespeare, or... Marlow?”
“There are more things between heaven and earth, my dear Edna, than are dreamt of in Castle Parth.”
“How now, sweet William!”
“With a hey, nonny nonny. And you can call me Bill.” And with that, they kissed for the very first time. It was poignant as all get out. And then he left, heading toward the mountain.It took Prince William several days to travel into the foothills that led to the mountains. There was a road in the beginning, but this soon became not much more than a trail. And then even the trail petered out. Bill kept his eyes peeled to the sky and noticed a wispy trail of smoke that seemed to come and go of its own accord.
He splashed through streams, wound his way up culverts, and dove through thickets on his way up the mountain. And then it got steeper. So steep that he was hard-pressed to keep going; the weight of his armor kept pulling him down, and the sword kept banging against his leg. But upon a time, he climbed the last precipice, scaled the last great rock, and stood before the great dragon’s cave.
Oddly, there was a small brass plaque beside the entrance. Bill stepped over to read it:Norman P. Dragon, Esq.
Bill thought about that for a moment; it seemed a little strange for a dragon to have a nameplate by his door. But he shrugged his shoulders and prepared himself. He’d never fought a dragon before; he’d only read about them in books. And that is when the Bill did the bravest thing he’d ever done in his whole life. He shouted into the cave.
“Come on out, you great beast! Come on out and accept my challenge of battle; you’ve been terrorizing people long enough, and one of us must be the victor!”The only thing that Bill got for his trouble was a sudden explosion of fire—whoosh!
It licked out from the blackened mouth of the cave with such force and heat that it sent him sprawling. But when he got back on his feet, his sword was drawn and his body language was pretty stern.
“All right,” he said warningly. “If you won’t come out—then I’m coming IN!” And with that he charged the cave, yelling at the top of his lungs.
He came to a sliding halt in the middle of a large cavern. Bill looked around, expecting to see the great dragon. Where was he? He didn’t see the dragon anywhere. Just a gigantic machine of some kind. With wheels—and fuel tanks—and ropes—and nozzles ... nozzles? It looked like something da Vinci might have built. Slowly Bill began to relax.
“All right,” he said towards the gloom in the back of the cavern. “Come on out. It’s no use hiding.”He strode to the back of the cave. And there, hopelessly entangled in some packing crates, was the biggest, greenest, sorriest-looking dragon that there ever was.
Two great tears coursed down from big soft eyes that looked up at Prince William in hurt wonderment.
“Oh, I’m not going to hurt you,” replied Bill gently. “Come on now, don’t be afraid. Let’s get you out of there.”
“I suppose you must be Norman,” he said, after pulling and tugging the tumbled crates from around the dragon. “But what does the “P.” stand for?”
“Percival,” snuffled the dragon, hanging his great green head. A large tear fell, splat!, right at Bill’s feet (getting his armor wet from the knees down).“Well, Norman Percival Dragon,” said Bill, “I hope you’re satisfied with the situation down below. All the people are scared stiff about you. And here you are, you big coward, frightening people with that—that great machine over there. You should be ashamed of yourself. Why do you do it?”
Between snivels and occasional tears, the dragon told his story. “It’s been this way ever since I lost my flame!” said the dragon. “I had to do something before anybody found out. And I’d have been lost if George Wellbeloved—he’s a wizard who lives about two mountains over—wonderful fellow really—if George hadn’t made the Fire Machine for me. He even installed it up here in the cave.”
“But how in the world did you come to lose your flame?” asked the prince, scratching his head.
“Oh—it was just awful..”
“Come on now—let’s have it,” said Bill gently.
“Well—I was down by the lake one day,” continued Norman, getting a grip on himself, “I just wanted a drink of water. Breathing fire makes my throat dry.”
“What lake?”
“There’s a nice lake over to the East. I think they call it the Eastern Lake.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Well. I had just gotten my drink, and I must have been looking down at the water, noticing how the sunlight sparkled. And I saw a great, fierce, horrible-looking thing staring right at me! I got frightened. The water went down the wrong way, I choked, and the next thing I knew my flame had gone out. It’s such an embarrassment.”The dragon’s eyes closed tight and he tried to cover his head with his wings.
“You realize of course,” said Bill; “it was just your own reflection.”
“That’s what’s so embarrassing!” One great eye peered out at the prince. “Who’s ever heard of a fire-proofed dragon?” Norman shuddered.“I’m sorry,” said Norman. “It usually doesn’t affect me this much, but I get triggered sometimes, and I can’t help it. I used to be happy.” His head sank with the thought.
Bill didn’t know quite what to do, so he just kind of patted the dragon’s head.
“I know exactly how you feel,” he said. “We’ll figure something out.”
“And I’ve been so lonely,” wept the dragon.”It’s been just awful!” He looked at Bill with his large soft eyes. “Nobody to talk to, nobody to play backgammon with. Just this cave.”
Prince William finally got Norman to come outside onto the porch of the cave, and they had a long talk. And the dragon was soon calling him “Bill,” and Bill was soon referring to his large green friend as “Norm.” And it was soon agreed that Bill would see to it that no one bothered Norman if he would stop frightening the people with his fire machine.
They struck up a bargain; that is, that Norman would continue his deprivations upon the kingdom below—but only pretending! About once a month, he was to fly over the kingdom with his blowtorches strapped to his back, let off a few blasts, (this to be a ruse to frighten possible invaders from the Northeast), and in return, no one would bother anybody. And Bill promised to play backgammon with him whenever he could get away from the castle.
And so it was that Prince William came down from the mountain and told the king and Edna all that had happened. And (after much discussion), Edna finally agreed to marry him. Norman was invited to the wedding along with everyone else in the kingdom, but of course he was too shy to come to the actual ceremony, what with all the people that were expected. But he sent a very nice gift—one of those long barbecue lighters (engraved).
He made three passes over the wedding feast, shooting flames out over everybody. And the people were a little frightened, but not too much because Bill had explained everything so well.
And after all the excitement had settled down, everyone lived happily ever after and the king finally got to go fishing. But if ever there was any trouble from the Northeast, Norman would crank up his machines and the flames would roar out once again over the Mountains of Parth.
“Only one thing,” said the king, right after the wedding (he’d already put on his fishing hat).
“Yes?” said Bill.
“Keep an eye out for circuses.”🔹
I penned this story in the 1970s, perhaps in memory of Puff the Magic Dragon. The style is mine, but it also honors both P.G. Wodehouse and William Goldman.
🔹