The Dragon Kepeer and Other Stories

indeed. Now he would not only get a cup of tea but also he would hear the wise woman tell his mother’s fortune. He knew all about this as his mother had been reciting it to him as a bedtime story ever since his father left.

  Eagerly he drank his tea and listened with awe as the wise woman told first his mother’s fortune and then her own. Finally she took hold of John’s cup and shrieked. John and his mother looked at her in surprise, wondering if the cup had still been hot. The wise woman stood there shaking with excitement, pointing at the cup and spluttering. A few minutes passed. Then the wise woman drew herself up to her full height and in a voice throbbing with emotion she told John his fortune.

  ‘You are going to be famous. Your name will be spoken by all in the kingdom. You will perform a task of great daring and bravery and be presented with a beautiful princess.’

  John’s mother gasped and went pink with pleasure at the treat in store for her son. John looked doubtfully at the clump of tea leaves in the bottom of the cup.

  ‘Are you sure?’ faltered John. He peered intently into the cup but all he could see was a clump of wet tea leaves.

  ‘You have to know how to read them,’ the wise woman said sternly. ‘But that takes talent and training.’ She picked up a knife as she spoke and neatly decapitated a mouse, which was climbing the pendulum of the chiming clock.

  ‘What sort of daring and brave deed?’ asked John in awe.

  ‘Oh, probably slaying a dragon,’ said the wise woman airily. ‘That’s usually what needs doing to win a princess.’

  ‘Will the princess be rich?’ asked John’s mother in hushed tones.

  ‘Very,’ said the wise woman. ‘Princesses always are, especially the beautiful ones.’

  ‘I’d better pack you some sandwiches and you can start right away,’ John’s mother announced briskly. She fancied a life of idle luxury, and if this was to be her lot then the sooner John went off to do his deed of great daring and bravery the better.

  John stood in bewilderment as his mother rushed around making him two cheese sandwiches and collecting his clean shirt. She wrapped these into a bundle and handed it to John.

  ‘Go quickly,’ she said. ‘Be sure to send for me when your marriage is arranged.’

  ‘What about the animals?’ John asked.

  The wise woman thought quickly.

  ‘We’ll keep the cow but as for the sheep, you may take them with you. You never know, they could come in very handy.’

  John plodded up the hill to round up the sheep. The animals were delighted though puzzled at this change in routine and before too long they were following John along the road to town.

  ‘If I’m going to be famous,’ he reasoned, ‘then I have to start somewhere, and the best place to start will be in the town.’

  This reasoning was somewhat spoilt by the fact that there was only one road and it did, of course, lead to the town. Now if John had gone in the other direction his life would have been very different. He would have encountered an ancient enchanter who would set him a task, a variety of shapeshifters who would try to stop him completing the task, magic runes inscribed on amulets to aid him in his quest and a series of strange travelling companions. But he naturally did not know this so he trod the well-worn pathway with his sheep following behind him.

  John hadn’t gone far when he saw an old woman hobbling towards him.

  ‘Good day,’ he said politely.

  ‘Good day to you, young man. Do you have any food to spare? I am very hungry.’

  John’s eyes lit up. He knew how to deal with this. Every story his mother had read him had involved young men going out into the world to seek their fortune. They invariably came across a powerful witch disguised as an old crone. If they gave her what she asked for there was bound to be three wishes or a magic talisman as a reward.

  ‘Have these,’ he said. He duly handed over his sandwiches to the old woman who ate them avidly.

  ‘Thanks,’ she cackled, as she finished the last crumb.

  ‘Do you have anything for me in return?’ John asked hopefully.

  ‘No,’ the old woman answered shortly.

  John was taken aback. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work.

  ‘Do you have any advice for me, then?’ he persisted.

  The old woman thought for a moment.

  ‘I’ll give you some advice,’ she replied.

  ‘What is it?’ asked John in excitement.

  ‘Don’t put so much salt in the cheese next time,’ the old woman said firmly, as clutching her cloak tightly around her she stumped away.

  John stood with his mouth open, feeling rather foolish. At a nudge from the ram he closed his mouth and began walking towards the town again, trying to ignore his empty stomach.

  By lunchtime the next day, John was extremely hungry. He had spent the night huddled under a tree with the sheep. They had all grazed on the grass and wild flowers that grew beside the road but there had been nothing John could eat. He thought regretfully about the cheese sandwiches but grew hopeful when he saw a plume of smoke rising from over a hilltop.

  ‘A fire! There must be a cottage there,’ he thought. ‘Perhaps I could chop wood or do some work in exchange for a meal.’

  The thought of food spurred him on as he trudged up the hill and down the other side. The smoke appeared to be coming from a small forest and John sighed as he walked between the two large pine trees that marked a narrow winding trail. The smell of smoke grew stronger as John followed the trail, and he felt his mouth watering at the thought of a hearty bowl of porridge. Finally the path opened out into a clearing which contained a pile of tumbled rocks. The smoke was coming from one side of the pile. John walked around the rocks and was dismayed to see the smoke issuing in regular bursts from two narrow tunnels. This was no cottage and there was certainly no sustaining porridge. John was now weak from hunger so he cast himself down despairingly onto the nearest rock. A loud rumbling filled the air, as John discovered to his horror that the rock was warm to the touch. Leaping to his feet he recoiled in shock as the rock pile shook itself and stood up to reveal itself as a large stone coloured dragon.

  ‘What do I do now?’ wondered John. There was no handy sword buried in a stone for him to pull out and no bag of magic dust for sprinkling to overpower the dragon. Here he was and there was the dragon, and he didn’t even have as much as a magic ring or intrepid dwarfish companion to lend a hand.

  ‘Er, sorry to disturb you,’ John said politely.

  The dragon glared. Its large golden eyes gleamed as it extended a long red tongue and licked its lips in anticipation. John took a step back and shut his eyes. He waited for the inevitable to happen and hoped that the dragon would kill him quickly. Instead there was a muffled bleat and John opened his eyes to see the back end of the ram disappearing down the dragon’s cavernous mouth.

  ‘Hey,’ he said indignantly. ‘You can’t do that!’

  The dragon swallowed the ram with a final gulp and turned his glowing eyes on John.

  ‘You would prefer that I ate you?’ he asked in a thin reedy voice.

  ‘Er, no,’ admitted John.

  ‘Fine,’ said the dragon. It belched a small cloud of black smoke and settled down to sleep again.

  ‘You’ve just eaten one of my flock. Can’t you do something for me in exchange?’ begged John. ‘I’m very hungry too, you know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so before,’ said the dragon, sounding bored. It grabbed the nearest sheep and ripped the skin off its back with a long talon. At the same time it blasted a sheet of flame at the sheep, which grilled it nicely.

  ‘Rare or well done?’ the dragon inquired.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Do you want your meat rare or well cooked?’ snapped the dragon impatiently.

  ‘Well done,’ gasped John, as the dragon gave a final spurt of flame and laid a beautifully cooked sheep in front of him.

  ‘I can’t eat that,’ he said in scandalized tones.

  ‘
Suit yourself,’ shrugged the dragon. ‘I prefer them raw myself.’ It closed its eyes.

  John looked around at the remaining sheep. They were grazing under the trees, totally unconcerned that two of their number were recently deceased. Eventually hunger got the better of John and he guiltily ate a goodly portion of hind leg, apologising to his former charge with every mouthful.

  ‘Er, excuse me,’ he ventured, when he had finished eating. The dragon opened one eye.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Um, I think I’m supposed to kill you,’ said John despairingly.

  ‘The dragon opened the other eye.

  ‘What’s all this nonsense?’

  ‘It’s what the wise woman said. She read my fortune in the tea leaves and said I had to do a deed of great daring and bravery then marry a princess. Killing you would certainly be daring and brave.’

  The dragon snorted contemptuously. ‘Old Wives Tales,’ he muttered. ‘What do you want with a princess anyway? I have always found them tedious. They do make such a fuss and they’re very hard to peel. Most of them don’t have nearly enough meat on their bones.’

  ‘But that’s my destiny,’ said John stubbornly. ‘I want a princess and the more I think about it the more certain I am that I have to kill you.’

  The dragon sighed. ‘It’s really not necessary,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m due to shed my skin any day now and you may take the old one and display it. People will think you are very brave if you tell them you skinned me alive.’

  John was horrified. ‘But that would be cheating.’

  The dragon shrugged. ‘It’s a good offer. But