And what had Smarasderagd said, as though to himself, and evidently overheard only by Peregrine over the noise of the shoutings and the beatings of leathern wings? - it was … was it not? … “Ephtland, Alfland, which will be the next land?”
Peregrine said aloud, “It would be a good thing, in pursuing after him, were we to have with us a sprig or even a leaf of dragonbane.”
King Alf s head snapped back up, his swollen small eyes surveyed his younger guest from head to buskin-covered toe. ” ‘Pursue after im,’ the lad says.- - Ah, me boy, you’re the true son of a king, lawfully hillegitimate though yer be, hand proper fit for dragon unting, too, for, ah, wasn’t yer brought back to human form by means h’of dragon’s hegg?”
Buck’s face turned red with pleasure and his teeth shone in his mouth. That’s it, Da!” he exclaimed. “We’ll hunt him down, the gurt squamous beasty-thief! And not go running off like”
Again, though, his mother “had summat to say”. And said it. Did Alf think that she and her daughters were going to traipse, like common camp followers, in the train of the Grand Army, whilst he and it went coursing a dragon? (“Hand a mad, crack-brain scheme that be, too!”) Did Alf, on the other hand, intend that she and her precious daughters should attempt to make their own way to the court of Count Witenagamote, regardless of all perils and dangers along the way, and unprotected?
Her husband’s reply commenced with a grunt. Then he turned a second time to his older guest, who had been standing first upon one leg and then upon the other. “Bert,” he said, “Hi commends me wife and me datters hunto yer mercy, care, and custody, hentreating that ye keeps ‘em safe huntil arriving safe at sanctuary, the court of Count Wit. Does yer haccept this charge?”
“Haccepted!” said the King of Bertland. “Ave no fear.”
Queen Claras mouth opened, closed. Before it could open again, the two pettikings were already drawing maps in the sawdust of the kitchen floor with a pair of roasting spits. “Now, Alf, one spot on rowt as yer mussn’t homit, is ere” he made a squiggle. ” ‘Whussat?’ why, that’s Place Where The Dragons Dance”
“Right chew are!” exclaimed King Alf. “For e’ll be a-prancin is trihumph there for sure (Buck, my boy, never trust no reptyle).”
“Likewise,” King Bert warmed to the matter, “don’t forgit e’ll ave to be returning ither” he made another scrawl, “to is aerie-nest at Ormesthorpe, for e’ve a clutch o’ new-laid heggs”
Peregrine, puzzled, repeated, with altered accent, “He’s got a clutch of what?”
“Come, come, young man,” said King Bert, a trifle testily, “Hi asn’t the time ter be givin yer lessons hin nat’ral istory: suffice ter say that hall pie-skiverous dragons his hambisextuous, the darty beasts!”
Something flashed in Peregrine’s mind, and he laid his hand upon King Bert’s shoulder. “It seems destined that I be a party to this quest for the Treasury carried off by gurt dragon Smarasderagd,” he said, slowly. “And… as King Alf has pointed out, it was a dragon’s egg that helped restore me to human form… a dragon’s egg which, I have been informed, is now in your own and rightful custody: now therefore, O King of Bertland, I, Peregrine, youngest son of the left hand of Paladrine King of Sapodilla, do solemnly entreat of you your kindness and favor in lending me the aforesaid dragon’s egg for the duration of the aforesaid quest; how about it?”
Sundry expressions rippled over King Bert’s craggy face. He was evidently pleased by the ceremonial manner of the request. He was evidently not so pleased about the nature of it. He swallowed. “What? … Wants the mimworms, too, does yer? … Mmmm.”
“No, no. Just the egg, and purely for purposes of matching it with any other eggs as I might be finding; a pretty fool I’d look, wouldn’t I, were I to waste time standing watch and ward over some nest or other merely because it had eggs in it? and then have them turn out to be, sav, a bustard’s … or a crocodiles … “
This argument was so persuasive to the other king that he even, as he unwrapped the object from its wad of scarlet-dyed tow, bethought himself of other reasons - ” ‘Like cleaves hunto like,’ has Aristottle says, may it bring yer hall good luck, ar, be sure as it will” - and rewrapping it, placed it in his very own privy pouch. He then had Peregrine remove his own tunic, slung pouch and contents so that it hung under the left (or shield) arm. “There. Cover hup, now, lad,” he said.
Matters suddenly began to move more rapidly after that, as though it had suddenly occurred to everyone that they didn’t have forever. Provisions were hastily packed, arms quickly and grimly sorted and selected. The Grand Army of the Alves was also remustered, and four of its nine members found fit for active duty in the field. Of these, however, one - a young spearman was exempted because of his being in the first month of his first marriage; and a second, an archer, proved to have a painful felon or whitlow on his arrow thumb. This left one other archer, a short bowman whose slight stature and swart complexion declared more than a drop or two of autochthonous blood, and a very slightly feeble-minded staff slinger, said to be quite capable of doubling as spearman in close-in fighting. (“Moreover e’s the wust poacher in the kingdom and so should damn well be able to spot dragon spoor - d’ye hear, ye clod?” “Har har! - Yus, Mighty Monarch.”)
The procession was obliged to pause momentarily in the open space before the cathedral church (indeed, the only church), where the apostolic vicar had suddenly become very visible. As usual, he had absented himself from the dragon ceremony on the ground of dragons being essentially pagan creatures which had not received the approbation of any church council; he was uncertain if he should pronounce a ritual gloat at the dragon’s having been the cause of the king’s discomfiture, or if he should give the king the church’s blessing for being about to go and hunt the heathen thing; and he had summoned his catechumens, doorkeepers, deacons, subdeacons, acolytes and excorcists to help him in whichever task he hoped right now to be moved by the Spirit to decide.
A small boy who had climbed the immemorial elm abaft the cathedral church to get a good view, suddenly skinnied down and came running. Peregrine’s was the first face be encountered and recognized as being noteworthy; so, “Eh, Meyster!” he exclaimed. “There come three men on great horses towards th’ Eastern Gate, and one on ‘em bears a pennon with a mailed fist”
King Alf whirled around. “Kyrie eleison!” he exclaimed. ” ‘Tis Lord Grumpit, the High King’s brutal brother-in-law and ex officio Guardian of the Gunny Sacks (Treasury Division) - what brings him here so untimely? - he’ll slay me, he’ll flay me”
Peregrine said, “Take the Western Gate. See you soonly,” - and gave the king’s mount a hearty slap on the rump. The clatter of its hooves still in his ears, he strode up to the ecclesiast on the church steps, the vicar regarding him so sternly that one might almost have thought he was able to discern that the waters of baptism had never yet been sprinkled, poured, or ladled upon Peregrine’s still-pagan skin.
“Your Apostolic Grace,” Peregrine asked, in urgent tones, “it is surely not true - is it? - that one presbyter may ordain another presbyter?”