 |  |
Wearily, George began to trudge for home. He had no hummus – the sole objective of the disastrous trip. Incredibly, he had somehow managed to become the victim of two separate mobs of vigilantes – one you could just about explain away, but a second? Mud starts to stick. However, most upsetting of all was the fact that, given the loss of his poncho, he was now completely nude in public for the first time in his adult, sane life. The shame of it!
Now trying to position his dragon bag to preserve the scrap of dignity he still possessed, George continued to plod. At least he could lock himself away from it all in his hut on the outskirts – and then just deny he had ever left when the police inevitably arrived to check on him. Maybe it was lonely but it was certainly better than... George remembered his destroyed vegetable patch and gritted his teeth. That was going to take some work and the little bastards would likely come back and do it again as soon as it was fixed. Then again, after his fracas just now, the garden was probably the least of his worries; The Dragonville Massive would probably be around very soon – injuries permitting – to burn down his house. It didn’t matter which way he looked at it, his situation had gone from bad to worse. Things were completely and utterly desperate. Perhaps he would just kill himself and be done with it? That seemed proportionate.
“Hey!” A high-pitched voice rang out.
“Shhh!”
“Heeeyyy!”
“Shhhhhh! Shut up, or else!”
Still mulling-over whether hanging himself from the beam in the kitchen would affect the damp-proofing membrane – because a failed suicide combined with a costly roof repair would be a double kick in the teeth – George looked over his shoulder. There, next to a large, swaying bush, stood a little girl.
“Get back in, now!” hissed a voice tinged with both fear and extreme annoyance. “Or you’ll end up like Mr Winterburn!”
“I’m not scared, Dad!” said the girl. “He saved us from those nasty dragons. And Mr Winterburn isn’t even dead! We saw him getting into a taxi with a big suitcase.”
“And we saw him at the airport!” chimed in another child’s voice from another bush. “We were there to wave-off Dodgy Uncle Ron; he’s emigrating to On The Run Island again but Mum told me not to say. And Mr Winterburn was there too! He had a fake beard and false glasses but we recognised his skinny legs and that briefcase he always carries diamonds in.”
Apparently no longer widowed, Mrs Winterburn appeared from behind a tree and began to quietly edge back in the direction of People Town.
George tilted his head. There was more to that one than met the eye.
A blonde-haired boy burst from his leafy hiding place, closely followed by an arm which just failed to grab him. “Hi, Mr Dragon! I’m Tommy. Will you come and visit my school? You look just like our football team’s mascot!”
George blinked in astonishment. “Um... hello,” he said, carefully keeping his mouth closed so as not to reveal his huge teeth and also doing his best to forget about his lack of clothing. “How do you do? George. George the dragon. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Another boy appeared from a bush. “Hi, Mr Dragon! Can you come and bite off my headmaster’s head?”
“He doesn’t mean that!” A woman jumped out and grabbed the child by the ear. “Evan!” she hissed. “What did the therapist say about trying to murder your teachers? Come on, home!” She began to drag him off. “It’s a night in the cellar for you tonight, my boy!”
George strained a smile. “She isn’t serious is...?”
“What do you eat?” A tough-looking boy with an earring peered through some leaves.
George nodded in acknowledgement. It was an obvious question and one for which he had a well-rehearsed answer. “Well,” he began, squinting awkwardly as he was illuminated by camera flashes. “I’m a vegan, actually, so I’m a big advocate of vegetables, fruit, too – if it’s in season, of course. Oh, and baked goods!” George self-consciously cradled his exposed belly. “I do try to resist, but bread and pastries are most enjoyable. And I must say, I am something of a fan of the wholefoods shop in People Town, Farmer Fred’s organic—”
“Farmer Fred’s feel-good, local, family, fair-trade, organic wholefoods store,” blurted Julian, still concealed somewhere within a bush. “The only fully fully-certified organic store with an agriculturally-themed figurehead for over seventy-seven and a half miles.”
“Ha! Dragons must have more money than sense!” scoffed a man, prompting a collective chuckle from the crowd.
“Very affordable, actually,” protested Julian’s disembodied voice, “considering the premium quality and fair-trade nature of all items sold. And that’s before I even start on the scientifically-speculated health benefits of organic, vegan produce. For example, did you know that lab tests in mutant hamsters have shown—”
A huge groan emanated from the crowd, drowning out the sales pitch and leaving George somewhat bemused.
“What do dragons do?” squeaked a little girl with pigtails who was wearing a frilly, pink dress.
“Good question!” said George. Instantly, he wondered why such an individual had been part of a kill-the-dragon lynch mob – then promptly chastised himself for allowing his gender-biased, ageist, sizeist thoughts to run amok within the confines of his own skull. “Well, I am rather a fan of gardening,” he said, smiling. “I try to grow as much of my own food as possible. I also enjoy um... reading... er... books... and...” George racked his brains; what sounded suitably impressive but couldn’t be easily verified? “... er... classical music, contemporary and regular art, um... foreign films, and er... oh yes, clothes making.” George arrived back at the truth. “Dragons don’t tend to wear anything – at least nothing that doesn’t look horrendously common – so I have to make all my own garments. Did have a nice example – a poncho – you might have seen it earlier during the...” George stopped. A simple allusion to his heroics was enough; fully blowing one’s own trumpet in public was just crass. “Anyway,” he recovered, “that one’s er... gone now... so that’s a new project for me to start. How exciting!”
“Do all dragons like those sorts of thing?” shouted out a woman with long, red hair who seemed to be suffering in the sunshine. “It all seems a bit undragon-like to me. What about burning down villages and eating people alive? Do you lot do much of that?”
‘You lot’? George bristled at her terminology. Seriously, in this day and age?! This one was going to require some diplomacy. “Well,” he began, “what you’ve just described is something of a stereotype. Admittedly, there are a few dragons who, given the opportunity, would indulge in those types of vulgar pursuits.” Literally, all of the others as far as he knew but he wasn’t going to point that out. “However,” he continued, now relishing the sound of his own voice, “I personally have never burned down a village, or any other defined area for that matter.” A kebab shop wasn’t a defined area by any stretch. “But I can breathe fire as you’ve already—”
“Go on, breathe it now!” shrieked a random voice.
“Yeah!” chimed in another. “Breathe it! Come on, Mr Dragon! Do it! Do it!”
–––
George was in his element. He loved to chatter but was certain it would have been impossible to have an intelligent conversation with any of the other dragons due to both their limited intellects and his highly restrictive restraining order. And these people all wanted to talk about him, which was one of his favourite subjects. From being a terrible day, suddenly things were turning out alright!
For another good hour, George answered more probing questions, repeatedly apologised about the destruction of the pedestrianised area’s paving stones, and also reluctantly gave a boorish, crowd-pleasing display in which he used his breath to set fire to a cardboard box that had been propped up against a fence. Then as things were beginning to tail off, George spotted someone who he recognised. The hairy proprietor of the wholefoods shop.
“Hello, Mr Dragon, er... George,” said Julian, nervously edging forwards. Having discarded his soiled shorts, he was now wearing his shirt around his waist like a skirt and had only an off-white vest on his top half. “Julian Pinkerton Smith. Um... thank you for rescuing me earlier.”
Immediately, George reached into his dragon bag and began to rummage. “Sir, I must apologise for my conduct in your establishment,” he said. “Please allow me to pay for any damage I caused with the hummus. Oh, and after you left, I may have accidentally knocked the strip light off the ceiling with the mop. And one of the chiller blinds might have gotten a tiny bit torn when my er... tail... Do you have insurance?”
Julian’s brow creased for a second, then he shrugged. “Really, it’s not necessary.” Casually, he pocketed the money that George handed over without counting it. “I think by the time I get back the place will have been robbed. I’ll add it into the claim. Don’t lose any sleep over it. Oh, while we’re apologising I’m sorry I accidentally um... er... shot you earlier. Reflex action, you understand. You startled me. Self-defence. Reasonable force.”
A kindred spirit! George grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, no problem! No harm done. But hopefully you won’t do it again? To me, at least?”
Julian vigorously shook his head. “Definitely not!” he gasped. “You’re a valued customer now. And we also won’t hide when you come to town, not now we’ve seen you’re a decent dragon.”
In his chest, George’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, um... thank you!” he gasped. “A decent dragon – ha, that’s got quite a ring to it! Might just write that down, if I remember. So um... you’re a—”
“A vegan,” replied Julian. He glanced to his watch. “Over two decades now.”
George looked a little surprised. “I was going to say a ‘human’ – I’ve never met many of your species to talk to at length so it’s quite a big deal to me. But since you mentioned it because no one ever does – at least not around here – I’m also a vegan. Have been since I was at school. Decades and decades and decades. Absolutely ruddy ages! So long I’ve lost count!”
“Wonderful.” Julian gave a thin-lipped smile. “A very commendable way to live your ... it’s not all about duration though, is it?” He folded his arms. “You’ve got the quality aspects as well – the organic-ness and the fair-trading—”
“Oh, obviously,” said George. He paused. “Sorry, I think I more or less understand ‘organic’ but—”
Julian snorted. “I bet you don’t!” He flapped a wrist. “One for another time. There’s been more than enough conflict today already. Actually, speaking of conflict I just wanted to take the opportunity to explain my um... earlier comments; the ones about telling that other dragon to eat the,” he lifted his fingers into a quotation gesture, “‘burger-fed fat people’.”
“Totally unnecessary!” exclaimed George. “It was a very stressful situation.”
“It was,” agreed Julian. “Plus, as I see it, if you don’t afford basic rights to other lifeforms then you can’t really expect—”
“I understand!” cut in George. They had only just met. There was no need to shatter the illusion just yet. “And I um... expect you’re also very sorry for being a part of the mob that tried to...” George began to mock laugh. “...kill me? Even after I explained to you all at great length that I was of no threat?”
Julian looked thoughtful. “Um...yesss. I mean, in the circumstances, I do still think we were justifie—”
“Let’s leave it there, shall we? Water under the bridge. The important thing is that you’ve all accepted me now – well, the two dozen people that were here whom I imagine are representative of your town of...?”
“Four-million.” Suddenly, Julian’s eyes lit up. “Of which twenty-four is a perfectly adequate sample size! ‘One-hundred percent of people accept dragon’ – there’s your headline!” Beaming, he turned to George. “How would you feel about a job in Farmer Fred’s?”
“A job?”
“Yes! You could have a meals counter – using the incredible vegan cookery skills you just spent over half an hour telling us all about. I sell the food and you cook it! We’ll call you a ‘hot-meal curator’ or something similarly confusing. People would go crazy for that! I doubt we’d even need to advertise!”
George stood there flabbergasted. “A... a job in Farmer Fred’s?” he stuttered. “A job in my favourite place in the world? A move to People Town, to finally be around those of my own ilk?”
Julian frowned. “Well, you probably don’t need to move; it’s only a twenty-minute commute by foot.”
George glared at him. “A job in my favourite place in the world?” he repeated. “And a move to People Town because the people have accepted me? Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You live where you work! Or you don’t work there!”
Julian forced a smile. “Absolutely,” he said. “Can you start tomorrow? There’s space in my mum’s double garage if you need temporary accommodation. Don’t worry, she never goes in there. Um, also...” he began to smooth down his moustache in a bid to disguise his smirk, “...until we get your meals counter sorted, I might have a couple of um... asset protection tasks you could help me with – nothing too taxing for a chap like you.” It would be interesting to see how the debt collectors intended to deal with that one.
George grinned broadly then extended a claw. “It’s a deal!”
–––
Walking back towards his hut on the Dragonville outskirts for what he hoped would be the last time, George felt happy. No longer would he be called a weirdo-veg-munching-anything by the other dragons or a hideous monster by the people – at least not to his face, not after today’s display. Finally, he was going to live somewhere that suited him and force everyone to tolerate him for who he was if they knew what was good for them.
His thoughts turning to what he’d do with his stash of Dragon’s Health Magazines, he sighed a contented sigh. A new start beckoned for George the decent dragon.
THE END
Congratulations, reader - you made it! As I stated at the outset, this book is the shortest / weakest in the series. If you found it even remotely enjoyable, you’ll really enjoy volumes 2 to 7.
George’s next adventure ‘The Vegan Charade’ (volume 2) is available on a massive website whose name I’m not allowed to write but which starts with an ‘A’ and ends in an ‘N’, and which is also the name of a rainforest and a very big river in South America...!