A way with Dragons




By Nick Creech





Text copyright © Nicholas R. Creech
2013

Nick Creech asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced or otherwise used without the prior
permission of the author

Set in Times New Roman





For the dragon lovers of this world



Contents

ALSO BY NICK CREECH  
THE AUTHOR  
Chapter One  
Chapter Two  
Chapter Three  
Chapter Four  
Chapter Five  
Chapter Six  
Chapter Seven  
Chapter Eight  
Chapter Nine  
Chapter Ten  
Chapter Eleven  



ALSO BY NICK CREECH

Galiconia
Beekle Henry
The Blob, the Frog, the Dog and the Girl
Three-P

THE AUTHOR

Nick Creech is a former newspaper journalist. He has two sons, both now
successful and more-or-less responsible adults who still deign to talk to him from time
to time in tones of kindly condescension. He has a wife who does the same, mostly.
Since leaving journalism, he has written extensively for children, young adults and
people of all ages who just enjoy a story.



Chapter One


The icy breeze trickled out of the woods, flowed down towards the River Usk and then
on towards the small town of Abergavenny. The solitary old farm-house in its desolate
winter garden shivered and huddled deeper into itself. An owl, hungry, cold and
thoroughly disgruntled, hooted mournfully. It was the witching hour.
Inside, in her attic bedroom, Cary snuggled deeper under the covers. She was
dreaming. It was summer and she and Cash were cooling off in the shallows at the
bottom of the garden. The sun was hot, the sky blue, the puffy clouds purest white and it
was altogether delightful. A waft of warm air tickled her nose. She brushed at it
absently, refusing to open her eyes.
"Go away, Cash," she murmured. "I just want to be quiet for a moment."
The waft came again, and this time Cary sneezed. Still she refused to open her eyes.
"Stop it," she said crossly, and again: "Do stop it."
"Not until you wake up," a voice said, a voice that shouldn't be in her dream, a
strange voice, one that she didn't know, speaking a language she could barely
understand.
"Who's that?" she said, beginning to wake up properly. She opened her eyes,
expecting the familiar darkness of her familiar bedroom. Instead, there was a faint glow.
She lifted her head slightly and gasped. The glow was coming from something sitting
on her chest. She craned to see and then gasped again with utter astonishment.
There, nestled comfortably into the eiderdown and gazing at her with lively interest,
was the strangest thing she had ever seen, a creature from another age, another world. It
was a dragon, a miniature dragon, tiny but complete and perfect in every detail, right
down to the fire flickering from time to time deep in his throat and to his colour, which
Cary would ever afterwards think of as shimmer, tending to green or to gold depending
on the light. He appeared comfortably at home and even had his front legs crossed
rather like Ichabod when he was hoping for a walk. And that thought made Cary
wonder how the dragon had ever got past him in the first place. Ichabod would be
asleep in his basket on the landing, faithfully guarding the door. She was quite sure that
Ichabod, a very large Newfoundland, enormous really, and a fully paid-up member of
the Canine Society for the Preservation of Young Humans, would never allow truck
with dragons.
She struggled to sit up and the dragon calmly rose into the air, the fiery glow
increasing slightly. When Cary had stopped thrashing about and was still again he
alighted on her knee.
"Who are you?" Cary demanded, her surprise giving way to delight. A dragon! How
wonderful, how absolutely amazing. Dragons had always seemed to Cary the most

fascinating of creatures, quirky, cranky, dangerous, exciting, magnificent, marvellous.
And here one was.
"Who are you?" she said again. "What are you doing here?"
"I," the dragon said, "am Pythagoras von Drachenstein of the House of Hydra. And I
have come to seek your aid." He spoke in an archaic sort of Welsh with considerable
flourish and ignored the rather unfortunate fact that the voice of so small a creature
must perforce sound decidedly tinny. Cary, whose own modern Welsh was not nearly as
proficient as her teacher said it should be, had to struggle hard to understand.
"My aid?" she said blankly.
"Indeed," Pythagoras said. "We have urgent need, I might say desperate need, of a
maiden who believes in dragons. You are a maiden, aren't you?" he added anxiously.
"I think so," Cary said, not absolutely sure what he meant. She found that as though
by magic, the words were coming more and more easily.
"You'd know if you weren't," Pythagoras said with relief. "And I know you believe
in dragons or we would never be able to talk like this."
"Aid to do what?" Cary said. She was a straightforward young lady with a strong
streak of common sense, quite unlike her twin brother, Cassian, pronounced Kashan, or
Cash for short.
"To recover the Amulet of Annwfn," Pythagoras said.
"The Amulet of Annwfn? What's that?" Cary asked, her eyes widening.
"Ah," Pythagoras said. "It is a huge golden torq set with the Jewels of Destiny. It is
the… the symbol of the nation."
"And you've lost it?"
"We've lost it," Pythagoras said sadly.
"Well, that was pretty careless of you," Cary said tartly.
"Not lost lost," Pythagoras said. "It was stolen. By Morgan le Fay."
"Who…?"
"A sorceress. An evil sorceress. She has stolen the Amulet of Annwfn, and without it
the Britons, that is to say the Welsh, that is to say your people, are imprisoned in apathy
and ruled by despair, that is to say by Morgan le Fay and her Saxons."
"Saxons?" Cary asked. "Who are Saxons?"
"Cruel invaders from Europe," Pythagoras said. "Will you help? Please say you'll
help. Or the Britons are doomed."
"Now just a minute," Cary said crisply, her Welsh improving miraculously with this
totally unexpected stimulus. "I might believe in dragons but I'm not the sort of person to
go rushing off with one who hasn't even been properly introduced. You might be
wicked for all I know. Most dragons are, you know. And how do you even know who I
am?"
"You're Carys Cadwagan…"
"I am not," Cary said indignantly. "You're quite wrong. My last name is Cadogan."

"Oh phht," the dragon said crossly, a small spurt of flame erupting from his mouth.
"In proper Welsh, Cadogan is Cadwagan and for your information, that means glory in
battle."
"Really?" Cary said.
"And you were recommended by my good friend, Y Ddraig Goch."
"I don't believe you. Not the real Red Dragon?"
"Indeed the real Red Dragon. The Red Dragon of Wales."
"Oh," Cary said. "Well that's different. He's my favourite dragon of all."
"Wounding," Pythagoras said. "So wounding." He sniffed and another tongue of
flame shot out.
"Well, except for you of course," Cary said hastily. "And do mind the bedspread. If it
gets singed, Mother will never believe what happened."
"Oh phht," the dragon said again, with yet more flame. "I've got much more
important fish to fry than your bedspread. Will you come? That is the question, Miss
Glory in Battle. The only question. Will you come, or will you not?"
"Of course," Cary said without hesitation. "But…"
"No buts."
"But," Cary insisted. "Only if Cash can come too. My brother," she added.
Pythagoras cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.
"We're only recruiting maidens," he said.
"No Cash, no Cary," Cary said firmly.
"This was not part of the plan, not part of the plan at all."
"Well, it is now," Cary said. "We do everything together."
"He probably doesn't even believe in dragons," Pythagoras said discontentedly. "He's
a boy. Boys only believe in dinosaurs."
"I'm sure he believes in dragons," Cary said with her winningest smile, the one she
used on her father when he was trying to be severe.
"Oh, very well," Pythagoras said. "I'm prepared to ask him, but it's a waste of time.
He's a boy and boys are always a waste of time by definition."
And good as his word, the dragon waved his tail in a complicated pattern and the
next second they had magicked across the landing and were inside Cash's room. Outside
in his over-sized basket, Ichabod whimpered a little as the rabbit he was chasing in his
sleep momentarily took on a very strange shape.
Cary knelt by Cash's bed and whispered in his ear:
"Wake up, Cash. Wake up. My dragon wants to talk to you."
Cash stirred and opened an eye. He made to speak but Cary put a finger to his lips.
"I said, my dragon wants to speak to you."
Cash's eyes went wide and Cary winked meaningly.
"What dragon?" Cash said. "There aren't any such…"

"You see?" Pythagoras said.
"That dragon," Cary said.
"And in point of fact," Pythagoras continued fussily. "I'm not your dragon. I'm not
anybody's dragon…" Cary was rather too excited to register the fact that Pythagoras
suddenly seemed to be bilingual.
"A real dragon?" Cash demanded.
"Of course a real dragon," Cary said. "And he wants our help."
"I don't see any dragon," Cash said. "Where? Where is it?"
"Oh Cash," Cary said. "You have to believe. Please believe. If you don't believe, you
can't come."
"What dragon?" Cash said. "What does it look like?"
"Well, it's very small. Tiny." Cary stopped and switched to Welsh. "Are you always
this small?" she said to Pythagoras, who was now perched on her hand.
"What do you mean, small?" Pythagoras bridled. "As it happens, I can assure you
that while I may be small at this precise moment, I am nevertheless perfectly formed
and I try always to adopt a size appropriate to the occasion."
"Who are you talking to?" Cash demanded. "Why are you talking to yourself? And
why are you speaking Welsh?"
"The dragon," Cary said. "I'm talking to the dragon. Pythagoras von Drachenstein of
the House of Hydra. You must be able to hear him at least?"
"Have you gone nuts?" Cash said.
"Oh stop it, Cash," Cary said, frustration welling up. "Stop being such… a boy."
"Can I go back to sleep now?"
"Cash," Cary said desperately. "Do you want to come on this adventure or not?"
"Not if I have to believe in dragons," Cash mumbled.
"Think of him as a pterodactyl."
"Oh puh-leese," Pythagoras said. "So humiliating. I refuse to be a pterodactyl. A
quetzalcoatlus at least."
"All right," Cary said. "A quetzalcoatlus…"
"Quetzalcoatl was a proper dragon, after all," Pythagoras sniffed. "If a trifle
primitive."
"All right!" Cary said.
"Why do you keep talking to your hand," Cash demanded, waking up a bit.
"Because there's a dragon sitting on it," Cary snapped. "Think of a quetzalcoatlus,"
she went on. "Can you do that?"
"Of course," Cash said.
"Now think of him breathing fire…"
For a moment, nothing happened, then Cash snapped bolt upright.
"Cary! Cary…!" he shouted. "There's a dragon sitting on your hand…"

"Oh for goodness sake," Cary said. "Haven't I been trying to tell you that for the last
five minutes?"
"Quick," Cash said with great excitement. "Catch it. We'll put it in a shoebox and
keep it. We can charge people to…"
Of a sudden there was great roar and the dragon swelled hugely until he seemed to
be filling the whole room. Cash cowered into the bed and a tongue of flame licked out,
doing dreadful things to his eyebrows. There was a distinct smell of brimstone and
burning hair.
"Py!" Cary said sternly. "You stop that this instant or you'll wake Ichabod and he'll
wake our parents and then…" The dragon shrank back down until he was again perched
on her hand.
"…And then we'll never be able to go with you," Cary finished.
"Go with him where?" Cash said warily.
"So don't ever do that again," Cary added for good measure. "Not without warning
anyway."
"And why's he called Pythagoras?" Cash demanded, regaining his courage as the
dragon hung his head, just like Ichabod when Cary was using that particular tone of
voice. "Pythagoras did theorems or something," Cash added.
"Excuse me!" the dragon retorted, suddenly recovering. "The Python, after whom I
am honoured to be named, happens to be the earth-dragon who guarded Delphi, the
navel of the earth, long before some jumped-up philosopher stole his name, our name.
Really! Such ignorance. I told you boys are a waste of time."
"Now, look here," Cash said. "I've had just about enough…"
"Oh do shut up," Cary said. "Or you'll ruin everything. Again." Cash subsided, but
very mutinously.
"Now," Cary continued. "Pythagoras, I apologise for my brother's rudeness and will
you please tell us how we can help. What do we have to do?"
"You," Pythagoras said. "Not him. You have to recover the Amulet of Annwfn.
Morgan le Fay has concealed it in the Labyrinth of Lamentation. Only a maiden, a small
maiden, may enter the enchanted tunnels and confront the guardian."
"And what exactly is this guardian?" Cary asked, thoughtfully.
Pythagoras paused. "Think of your worst fear," he said at last, "And then double it."
"Oh dear," Cary said. "That does sound rather grim."
But Cash let out a hoot of laughter.
"Easy, peasy, Japanesy," he said. "Your worst fear is failing an exam."
Cary and Pythagoras looked at each other with exactly the same, long-suffering
expression.
"Phht," Pythagoras said. Cash reared hastily back from the spurt of flame. "Are you
sure you want him to come?" Pythagoras went on. "I could just send him back to sleep."
"Sorry," Cash muttered.

"Perhaps it would be best," Cary said austerely.
"I said I was sorry," Cash said. The others regarded him with strong disfavour.
"I'll behave," he said. "I promise. Really."
"All right," Cary said reluctantly. "So where do we have to go and what should I
wear."
"A long way," Pythagoras said. "We have to go a long time from here. And I think
we should consult your wardrobe."
"What about me?" Cash said. "What do I wear?"
"Clothes," Pythagoras said waspishly. "Whatever you like. It could scarcely make
any difference. But the Lady Carys will be meeting a prince and should look her best."

In the end, practicality won and they settled on Cary's best pair of jeans, stout riding
boots, a crisp white shirt, and navy-blue pullover to set off her short blonde hair. On
being informed that it would still be early winter at their destination, Cary also insisted
on taking her waterproof down parka. Pythagoras gave one last, longing look at her
special party dress sitting lonely and unloved on a hanger right at the back and sighed. It
was actually pretty enough in a most old-fashioned way, but as it happened Cary hated
the frock, all frou-frou and frills wished on her by her great-grandmother, a lady so
ancient and acid that Cary had decided she must live exclusively on lemon juice. She
had worn the dress once under protest, after dire threats from her mother, and had no
intention of ever wearing it again.
"Oh do be sensible, Py," Cary said. "I'm not crawling through any Labyrinth of
Lamentation in that, prince or no prince. Besides, it would look even more stupid with
riding boots."
"But…"
"No."
"It's so…"
"No."
"I could pack it…"
"No. And what sort of a dragon is so interested in clothes, anyway?"
"A refined, civilised dragon with a classical Greek education," Pythagoras smirked.
"Well then, you ought to have more taste," Cary shot back.
"So cruel," Pythagoras said.
"Can we go?" Cary demanded. "Can we please just get Cash and go?"
Pythagoras made a moue, which Cary thought, all things considered, was downright
alarming. However, the dragon sketched another pattern with his tail and an instant
later, Cash had joined them, rather breathless and dishevelled. He was dressed much the
same as Cary and bundled up in their thick jackets it was hard to tell them apart. But
unlike Cary, Cash had thought to put a few useful items in his pockets, or at least items
he thought might be useful: the excellent pocket knife his father had given him for his

birthday, the length of cord and the small can of waterproof matches that his father had
also taught him always to carry, half a packet of chewing gum and his favourite, all-
time champion cats-eye that had never lost a game of marbles and never would even if
he had to cheat, as he had no intention of ever surrendering it to anyone.
"Right," Pythagoras said, suddenly all business. "Pay attention. What's about to
happen is not without danger." He allowed himself to expand until he was about the
same size as the twins.
"Each of you stand behind me and take hold of one of my wings down at the
shoulder, and whatever you do, don't let go. Are we clear on that?" He looked sternly at
Cash. "Are we very clear on that?"
"What happens if we do let go?" Cash said with interest.
"You will be lost forever in the mists of time," Pythagoras replied with satisfaction
and Cash was instantly very serious.
"So," Pythagoras continued. "Hold on for your lives."
This time he put his tail through a very elaborate dance indeed, and a second or two
later they were engulfed in thick, swirling fog that jerked and tore at them. From time to
time they would catch glimpses of strange places and events. Once a squadron of
mounted riders with muskets and half-armour came cantering out of the mist to vanish
an instant later. At another moment they seemed to be in the middle of battle between
fleets of antiquated, square-rigged ships popping at each other with ineffectual cannon.
Then, finally, the fog cleared and they found themselves hovering above an army on the
march. It was a Roman legion in full battle order swinging along a Roman road.
"Whoops," Pythagoras said. "A bit too far, but close."
The fog descended again and this time when it cleared, they found themselves in a
dank, dripping forest.
"Where on earth are we?" Cary asked, recovering her breath. A drop of water ran
down her neck and she hurriedly put up her hood as the rain came on again.
"Home," Pythagoras said.
"Oh no," Cash said. "I knew I never should never have believed in dragons."
"Phht," Pythagoras snapped, flame gushing. "Feel free to cease any time you like."
"Stop it both of you," Cary said, and then: "Where exactly is home?"
"Temporary home," Pythagoras said. "We are in the forest near Isca Silurum. You
might know it as Caerleon."
"Where they have King Arthur's round table?" Cary said.
"Rubbish," Cash said. "It's not the round table, just an old Roman amphitheatre. For
the fort. They just call it the round table." He looked to Pythagoras.
"That's all it is, isn't it?" he demanded. "Just an amphitheatre…We went to the
museum there. With the school."
The dragon cocked his head.

"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't," he said. "We don't know yet. Not until we know if
the Lady Carys survives. Come on."
"Where are we going?" Cary asked, suppressing a sudden shiver at the mention of
her survival, or more ominously her lack of it. It would be all right, she told herself
firmly. Pythagoras was bound to be exaggerating the danger, just trying to frighten her.
"To find the others," Pythagoras said.
"The others? Who are they? And why can't you just…?"
"They have to move around," Pythagoras said. "The Saxons are hunting them.
Morgan le Fay's Saxons. I don't know where they are exactly, so we have to walk."
"We could fly," Cash said hopefully.
"And if you know more or less where we are, then when exactly are we?" Cary said.
The question suddenly seemed the most important of all.
"The trees are too thick," Pythagoras said to Cash. "We might miss them."
"When are we?" Cary insisted. The dragon looked distinctly caught out and
uncomfortable. Cash felt a flush of fellow feeling.
"When?" Cary said unrelentingly.
"492 AD," Pythagoras mumbled.
Cash and Cary looked at each other, their eyes widening.
"When?" Cash said.
"492 AD," Pythagoras said a little louder. "Or CE if you must."
"What's CE?" Cash said.
"Never mind," Cary said. "We're a long time ago. A very long time. We haven't even
been born yet. Our great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great
grandparents haven't even been born yet. Or theirs."
"Cool," Cash said. "Does that mean we're older than Mum and Dad and we can tell
them what to do?"
"Honestly!" Cary and Pythagoras both said simultaneously.
"I told you," Pythagoras added. "But no. You said he had to come too."
"I'm hungry," Cash said. "Can we go? I mean if we have to walk, can we please get a
move on?"

And a weary walk it turned out to be. Pythagoras shrank himself down as small as a
mosquito and perched inside Cary's hood to give directions. His voice now sounded so
much like a whine that she found she had to keep resisting the temptation to slap at him,
a temptation that became stronger and stronger the longer they tramped on through the
mud and the dripping fir trees. Cash was already down to his last piece of chewing gum
and firmly resisted the temptation to offer it to Cary. It was altogether miserable - grey,
wet and freezing cold - and Cary, herself, was longing for the warm bed and the cosy
quilt she had so recently left behind.

At last they heard a sound that didn't belong in the wilderness. A distant axe-blow
rang through the forest, and again.
Pythagoras zoomed out from Cary's hood and expanded to the size of a swallow. He
perched on the top of her head, using a wing as an umbrella. He listened a moment
longer and then let out a satisfied puff of smoke.
"That's them," he said.
"Who?" Cash said. "And I don't suppose you could dry off my jeans a bit? Breathe a
bit of fire my way?"
"Nothing I'd like better," Pythagoras snarled and Cash very quickly dropped back to
what he conceived to be a safe distance.
"Who are we talking about?" he asked again. But Pythagoras made no reply and
Cary just ploughed on, trying to ignore the saturated undergrowth that whipped and tore
at her.
They emerged finally into a clearing that had been recently carved from the woods.
There were numbers of stumps still sticking out of the ground and smaller logs set about
them for stools. It rather had the look of a very down-at-heel al fresco café, Cary
thought. A group of men were gathered in the centre listlessly watching what was
apparently meant to be a fire as it grudgingly leaked forth a faint tendril of smoke and
steam.
"Phht," Pythagoras said, flame sparking. "Calls himself a wizard and he can't light a
fire to save his life."
Men turned at the sound of his voice, and the bent figure crouching before the pile of
wet wood making cabbalistic gestures looked up.
"About time," he said. "Do something about this, will you?"
From his perch on Cary's head, the dragon let loose a jet of fire that sent the wizard
tumbling hastily backwards on to the soaking ground. The pile of wood began to
crackle and flame.
The wizard picked himself up and shook his robes fretfully.
"That was quite uncalled for," he said. "Downright uncouth."
"My dear sir," Pythagoras retorted. "You are quite the last person to call anyone
uncouth…"
"All dragons should be drowned at birth," the wizard snapped back.
"And then who would ever light your fires for you…"
Cary listened with amusement. The wizard she could see, now that he was no longer
crouching, was tall and skinny but also twisted and gnarled like an old tree. He waved
his arms around distractedly, branches thrashing in the wind, and his straggly beard and
sparse grey hair might have been wisps of mistletoe if only they had been green. His
robes resembled nothing so much as bark, very crusty, lived-in bark, and it was clear
that he and the dragon were long accustomed to bickering with each other.

The wizard eventually stopped fussing over his muddy robes and began to inspect
Cary. As an afterthought he also paid some passing attention to Cash.
"Introduce me," he said at last.
"Immediately, your wisdom," the dragon said sarcastically. "Lady Carys, may I
present the Wizard Myrddin Wylt. Wizard, I present the Lady Carys Cadwagan."
The wizard stepped forward and offered his hand. His eyes, unlike the rest of him,
were clean, sharp and of a blue so piercing that one expected to find an eagle circling
there in the vault of the midday sky.
"So," Myrddin said. "You're the young lady sent to save us all from perdition. Think
you're up to it then?"
Cary's mouth opened foolishly and she groped for a reply. Then she heard her mother
saying as she had once before when Cary had suffered a particularly bad day at school:
"Little flower, when all else fails, attack."
"I have no idea," Cary said. "But by the look of it, I could hardly do a worse job than
you."
There was a guffaw from the men standing round the fire and the dragon let out an
appreciative spurt of flame. Myrddin said nothing, just continued to gaze at her. Cary
felt herself beginning to flush but she refused to drop her eyes.
At last the wizard spoke.
"Good," he said. "And who is this?" He indicated Cash.
"My brother," Cary said. "Cash, that is Cassian…"
"And precisely why is he here? We don't need him. We don't want him."
"I want him," Cary said. "Besides, he'd never forgive me if I had an adventure like
this without him."
Now that the conversation had turned to him, Cash could contain himself no longer.
"If you're who I think you are," he said to the wizard. "Shouldn't you be called
Merlin?"
The wizard spluttered angrily and raised his hand threateningly above his head as
though to cast a deadly spell. Pythagoras laughed.
"Merde, Myrddin," he said. "You can't blame the boy for Geoffrey of Monmouth…"
"That charlatan!" the wizard roared. "Liar! Hack!"
"Geoffrey who?" Cary said.
"Journalist!" Myrddin sneered.
"A chronicler," Pythagoras said. "A long time in the future. He decided that Myrddin
sounded too much like a very rude French word, so he changed it to Merlin…"
"Without so much as a by-your-leave," Myrddin added. "Typical journalist. They
never, ever get names right."
"Oh," Cash said politely. "I'm sorry you have a rude name…"

Pythagoras spluttered. The men by the fire spluttered. Myrddin spluttered but in a
different key altogether, his eyes sparked dangerously and he raised his hand again
threateningly on high.
A striking young man stepped forward, tall, well-built and every inch a warrior,
though like everyone else his clothing was dirty and ragged.
"Enough," he said. "These people brave unknown dangers and risk their lives to help
us. They are our guests. And we will treat them as such," he added, with a meaning
glance towards the wizard.
"I am Arthur," he went on. "Which is Bear-man in the old language. A lot of people
still call me Bear for short."
"You're not King Arthur?" Cary asked, wonderingly. "Merlin… sorry, Myrddin…
Arthur… You must be…?"
"Not yet," Pythagoras said.
"And not likely to be," Myrddin said morosely.
"At least, not without your help," Arthur said. "At the moment, I am merely a prince.
A prince without a throne or even many subjects. Just these few." He gestured at the
men standing behind him.
The rain had stopped, Cary realised, without her noticing it and the now roaring fire
was at least giving the illusion of heat. The light of the flames danced and flickered
about the clearing as the night drew in. From somewhere, men had dragged out the
flayed carcass of a deer and were setting up a spit to roast it. Cash eyed it hungrily.
"Come," Arthur said. "Come Lady Carys." He gestured to the stools about the tree
stumps. "We will sit and eat and talk. And you shall hear, if you will, how it may be that
you can help us."
"Phht," Pythagoras muttered with a subdued spark but loud enough for everyone to
hear. "Another night at the round tables."
Cash chuckled. Despite himself, he was beginning to like the dragon. And he must
remember to find out why his name had suddenly been changed to Cadwagan. What did
it mean, he wondered?



Chapter Two


With ceremony that seemed to conjure a whole court of lords and ladies from the
dank clearing in the forest, Arthur escorted Cary and Cash to a tree stump table near the
fire and its grateful warmth. A warrior pulled up seats for them and Cary was suddenly
concerned to arrange herself as gracefully as possible. Cash, quite unabashed, slumped
down in his usual careless fashion. Myrddin joined them and Pythagoras, again about
the size of a swallow, came to sit on Cary's shoulder. Unthinkingly, she reached up to
stroke his chest. His skin, despite the scales, felt surprisingly smooth and silky. He let
out a small sound of pleasure which, if he had been a cat, might have been a purr.
Dragons would not often find someone to stroke them, Cary thought. It must be a rather
lonely life.
"So," Arthur said. "I expect there are matters you wish to discuss."
"No need to bother their heads," Myrddin snapped. "Send the girl in to get the amulet
and then send them home. Let's get on and be done with it."
"What amulet?" Cash demanded. "What's Annwfn? Why can't you use your own
maidens? I don't understand any of this." Cary looked superior but as usual was grateful
for Cash asking the awkward questions. It was her most irritating habit.
Arthur looked at Myrddin, who shrugged.
"Too tedious," he said. "You tell them."
Cash was about to make an angry retort but Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.
"Gently, young squire," he said. "Wizards are best not provoked, unless perhaps you
happen to be a dragon with magic of your own." He paused.
"Annwfn, we believe, is the world beyond this. A place of delights and eternal youth,
where there is no disease or war and where there is all the food you can eat for the
taking."
"You mean heaven," Cary said.
"If that is what you call it," Arthur said. "We believe the gateway is to be found at
Ynys Witrin, which some call Avalon. And we believe that on a chosen day of the year
the gateway would open and that all who were near would be invited within to feast and
drink and dance, on condition that no one would return to the real world bearing
anything that belonged to Annwfn. All was well until one year a maid put a flower in
her hair, a white orchid, a star, and in the joy of all that took place, forgot to remove it
before returning. The gateway never opened again."
"Oh dear," Cary said. "But what happened?"
"The orchid was taken by a magus and set by enchantment within a diamond of great
size. He called it the Star of Hope, our hope of again reaching Annwfn. And he set the
diamond within a great golden torq, together with a great ruby he called the Flame of
Courage, a great emerald he called the Clear Green Pool of Knowledge and a great

pearl, the Pearl of Wisdom. And the torq, the Amulet of Annwfn, he presented to my
forebears as the pride of the nation and the symbol of all we hold dear." Arthur paused
again.
"It has been stolen," he said.
"A certain party," Pythagoras chimed in. "A certain party, naming no names, was not
quite so clever with his warding spell as he might have been."
"That wretched woman," Myrddin said angrily. "How was I to know she'd stolen my
recipe book…?"
"The one that just miraculously fell out of your sleeve…" Pythagoras said.
"It could happen to anyone," Myrddin said.
"Anyway," Arthur said. "Morgan le Fay now has the amulet."
"But what does that matter?" Cash said. "I mean, I understand that having someone
nick your best jewels would make you pretty cross but…?"
"Ignorant boy," Myrddin snapped. "Why is he here?"
"Phht," Pythagoras said with what the twins already recognised was his signature
spurt of flame. "To keep you honest, of course." Cash looked at him sharply. The
dragon winked.
"It matters," Arthur said, "Because my Britons are bereft. Without the magic amulet
of their fathers, which also happens to be the mark of the king, they have lost their hope
and they have lost their courage and without hope, without courage, without knowledge
and wisdom there is no changing your fate. These few brave men who follow me are no
match for Brogan and his Saxons. They are no match for Morgan le Fay. Without the
people we are just a tiny band of rebels, we are doomed, but the people have no more
stomach to fight and never will without the amulet to give them heart."
"Which," Pythagoras said to Cary, "Is where you come in."
"But what about your own maidens?" Cash insisted.
"Alas," Arthur said. "Of those who had the courage to try, when my people still had
their courage, none has returned."
"Whoa," Cash said, his voice rising. "You want my sister to risk her life…?"
He leaped to his feet. Cary flashed him a look of gratitude. Whatever his faults, Cash
could always be relied on to spring to her defence.
"She doesn't really have a choice," Myrddin said quietly, unusually quietly for him.
"See that tall man by the fire. He is Cai Hir. He will be known as Kay in years to come.
He is your ancestor. Without the amulet he too is doomed, as are you in turn. You will
never exist. Y Ddraig Goch has seen it."
"Who?" Cash said mystified.
"The Red Dragon," Cary said. "The Welsh dragon. The one on our flag."
"So where is he if he knows so much?" Cash demanded, still standing, his jaw thrust
out belligerently.
"In the Cavern of Cold Despair," Pythagoras said. "He was lured into a trap."

Myrddin snorted.
"Drank himself into a stupor, you mean."
Cash and Cary both looked to Arthur. He sighed.
"Things have not being going well," he said. Myrddin snorted again.
"It was Morgan le Fay," Arthur continued. "She had Brogan and his men dig a great
pit where she knew Y Ddraig Goch would pass. They filled it with mead."
"And the great fool of a dragon drank the lot," Myrddin said gloomily. "Can you
credit that, my young wide-eyes?"
"What happened?" Cary asked.
"Morgan le Fay happened," Pythagoras said. "Y Ddraig Goch fell into drunken sleep
and she enchanted him into the cavern. He can't get out. He's too big for the entrance."
"But can't he change…? Like you…?" Cary said.
"Phht," Pythagoras said. "He's a rough, northern dragon. All sturm and drang. No
subtlety. I tried to show him but he's stuck. At least until that… wizard gets back his
recipe book. The best Y Ddraig Goch could do was to send me to look for you." And
Pythagoras shot Myrddin a withering glance.
"He can see the future?" Cary asked.
"The Welsh future. The future of the Celts, the true Britons."
"Hang on," Cash said. "If we're there in the future then everything must have turned
out all right here without us. We can just go back. Right now. Come on, Cary…"
"But," Arthur said. "I'm afraid you're not in the future yet, that you won't be, unless
somehow things do turn out all right here."
"Oh," Cash said and then: "It still doesn't make sense. If things haven't turned out,
then we're not in the future, and you can't bring us back…"
"Unless you're figments of our imagination," Myrddin said. "Which I'm beginning to
think would be infinitely preferable."
Cash looked at Cary in despair.
"My head hurts," he said.
"I think I understand," she said. "Things turned out because they did bring us back
and wouldn't have if they hadn't. Or something. Anyway, don't you want to find out
what happens…?"
"Not if you have to risk your life."
"But if we don't exist, if I'm just a… figment, then it doesn't matter."
Cash suddenly reached out and pinched her.
"Ouch!" Cary said crossly. "Why did you do that?"
"Did it hurt?" Cash demanded.
"You know it did."
"Then it matters," Cash said. "It matters very much."

"Phht," Pythagoras said with his regulation squirt of flame. "There might actually be
some hope for the boy, after all."

The aroma from the roasting venison had been growing steadily more irresistible and
just when Cash thought he might faint with hunger, men began to hand around rough
clay platters of bread and meat.
"You are fortunate," Arthur said to Cash and Cary, pulling his knife from the
scabbard on his hip and cutting their food for them. "We eat well tonight."
Cash looked at him, his mouth full.
"We often don't eat at all," Arthur said. "But Peredur brought down a deer this
morning."
Myrddin inspected his plate with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"I asked for well done," he said discontentedly. "This is still half-raw. Lend me the
dragon, girl."
Pythagoras huffed up on Cary's shoulder.
"No," he said. "I won't do it. I categorically will not."
"You will if you know what's good for you," Myrddin said.
"It's so undignified," Pythagoras sniffed, but nevertheless allowed Myrddin to pick
him up. A moment later he was breathing fire on the wizard's plate like a miniature
blowtorch. Smoke began to rise.
"Turn it down," Myrddin said. "I said well done, not burnt to a crisp."
The dragon abruptly stopped.
"Do it yourself then, if you're so fussy," he said.
Cary remembered the question she'd been meaning to ask almost from the first.
"So Py…" she said.
"Py," Myrddin snorted. "Dragon pie, and it might be better than this at that," he said,
surveying his now charred venison.
"Py," Cary said again. "What are you doing here? How do you fit into all this?"
"I," Pythagoras said with aplomb, "am on a quest."
Myrddin tittered rather nastily.
"For what?" Cary asked.
"That is my secret and my burden," Pythagoras said. He returned to Cary's shoulder
and again she stroked his chest. If anyone had been paying proper attention they might
have realised that the dragon had quickly closed his eyes to hide the look of bliss
sparking deep with them.
"And there's another question," Cash said. "The most important of all. That nobody
wants to talk about. What is this guardian exactly? The one you want my sister to pass."
The people about them dropped their eyes and Arthur looked extremely guilty.
Pythagoras shifted uncomfortably on Cary's shoulder and abruptly stopped purring.

"We are not sure," Arthur said. "We are not sure," he said again, after a long pause.
"But…" Cash prompted. Cary watched her brother with surprise. She was suddenly
seeing a side of him that she had never dreamed existed. No longer was he the klutzy
boy everybody dismissed out of hand but serious and determined and apparently not the
least bit afraid of these strange adults, strange in every sense of the word. She had
always loved Cash dearly and looked to him for fun and mischief, but now she found
that she was also proud of him, and grateful.
"But…" Cash insisted.
"But we think it's a Donestre," Arthur said at last.
The twins looked at each other blankly.
"Head of a lion, body of a man," Myrddin said abruptly. "And charming habits."
"And you expect Cary…" Cash was suddenly shouting with indignation.
"Gently, young squire," Arthur said.
"Deal with it yourselves," Cash fumed.
"We would if we could," Arthur said.
"The labyrinth is enchanted," Pythagoras said. "Even I can't enter. Only a maiden, a
small maiden…"
"And Myrddin's lost his recipe book," Arthur said quietly. For once, the wizard had
the grace to look uncomfortable. There was a long silence.
"What do Donestres do?" Cary asked at last in a small voice. This adventure in
which they had somehow become entangled suddenly seemed altogether too real.
"It might be better if you don't know," Arthur said.
"What do they do?" Cash demanded doggedly.
"You tell them, Pythagoras," Myrddin said. "You've actually met some."
"I'd rather not," Pythagoras said.
"Tell them," Myrddin said.
"Donestres come from an island in the Red Sea," Pythagoras said at last, most
reluctantly. "They are suave and charming, they have second sight and they speak every
language ever known which makes it easy for them… to gain the confidence of and
then to prey on travellers."
"What do they do to travellers?" Cary asked, her voice now the merest whisper.
"They eat them," Pythagoras said sadly. "Everything but the heads. Then they weep.
Inconsolably. From remorse."
"But that's just a story," Cash said after a long moment. "It has to be. Just a stupid
story."
"We call it the Labyrinth of Lamentation," Arthur said. "Because if you wait at the
entrance, sometimes you may hear the sound of weeping. Weeping to freeze the blood."
"And you expect Cary…?" Cash shouted. He was furious. "How…?"
"We don't know," Arthur said.

"We only know she must," Myrddin said. "Somehow."
"She can't," Cash said. "I won't let her."
"But I must," Cary said. "They're right. Or we won't exist."

It was an easy enough thing to say, but later in a rough bough shelter trying to huddle
between the drips, Cary felt very small and alone. She had never thought about whether
she was brave or not, she had never really needed to. She had certainly never needed to
think about risking her life in cold blood and she was not at all sure whether she would
be able to go through with it, whether when the time came she would ever be able to
walk up to the entrance of the labyrinth and then bring herself to head down the narrow,
twisting tunnels towards the Donestre.
Somehow the other girls had faced the fear and marched in to their doom and Cary
felt a tear or two gathering as she thought about how courageous they had been and how
much they must have loved their families and their way of life to volunteer for such a
dreadful fate. What had they been thinking? What plans had they made to try to defeat
the Donestre and recover the amulet? What could she do? How could she avoid
becoming just another useless sacrifice?
Cash stirred. The twins were lying back to back, still in all their clothes on a layer of
pine branches. It was freezing, even colder now they were deep into the night.
"Are you awake?" Cash whispered.
"Shsh," Cary whispered back. He sat up and lent over her.
"This is crazy," he said. "They can't make you do it."
"They're not making me," Cary said. "I have to do it or we won't exist."
"I don't want to exist," Cash said. "Not if you have to go into those tunnel things."
Cary groped for his hand and gave it a squeeze. It was icy cold, she noticed.
"It's all right," she said. "It will be all right."
"It's not all right," Cash whispered fiercely. "It's all that stupid wizard's fault, losing
his recipe book…"
"He couldn't help it. Accidents happen."
"And that dumb dragon. Why did he ever have to come and get us?"
"I love Pythagoras," Cary said, and realised as she said it that she was speaking the
literal truth. Pythagoras was the most marvellous thing that had ever happened to her.
"It's not all right," Cash said again and then had a sudden idea.
"I could go," he said. "If we muss our hair the same way, they'll never tell the
difference."
Cary squeezed his hand again.
"I love you too," she said, touched beyond measure. "But even if they don't notice, I
think the enchantment might. You have to be a girl to get through."
"We could try," Cash said and then, "I have to do something."
"Well help me think how to beat the Donestre."

They fell silent, a silence that became gloomier by the second.
"A challenge?" Cash said at last. "A riddle game, maybe?"
Cary laughed despite herself.
"You might win a riddle game but I never would."
"A spelling contest?"
"They know every language and have second sight."
"Well then," Cash said. "Just a spell?"
"A spell?"
"Magic. Can they teach you magic? Wake up the dragon. How can he sleep at a time
like this anyway?"
Cary reached inside her parka to where a tiny Pythagoras was snuggled up in the
hollow of her collar bone, which was lovely for him but a touch prickly for her. Nor
was he best pleased at being woken, but Cash was in no mood to apologise as the
dragon expanded himself to a reasonable size.
"You got her into this," Cash said bluntly. "So you've got to get her out of it."
"Or at least help, please," Cary added as diplomatically as she could.
"How?" Pythagoras said grumpily.
"You can't send her in there with no way to defend herself," Cash said. "She'll just
get eaten alive like all the others and you'll be no better off. What's the point?"
"Y Ddraig Goch said she would be able to find a way."
"Ridiculous," Cash said.
"He has faith in her," Pythagoras said. "And so do I."
"So how would you fight the Donestre if you were Cary?"
"I… I… I would…" Pythagoras came to a stop.
"See?" Cash said.
"Py," Cary said. "Could you teach me some magic?"
"If we had 20 years to spare…"
"Or give her a potion or something?" Cash said.
"What do you mean a potion?" Cary said.
"I don't know," Cash said. "Poison or…"
"A potion?" Pythagoras said. "I don't do potions, far too smelly, but Myrddin…"
"Has lost his stupid recipe book," Cash said.
"Then maybe we should get it back," Cary said.
"Phht," Pythagoras said with the usual spark of flame.
"Sounds like a plan," Cash said.
He and Cary lay down again, pressed against each other for warmth, and Pythagoras
sneaked back inside the girl's jacket. Already Cary was very dear to him. He was
grateful the boy was so determined to help her and reproached himself for not seeing

the necessity himself. It was all very well for Y Ddraig Goch to express confidence in
her native wit, but Pythagoras of anyone knew that a Donestre was no light adversary.

The morning was distinguished from the night before only by a slight shifting of the
black to grey. If anything it was even more miserable.
The twins were handed bowls of gluey oatmeal and rough wooden spoons.
"Hurry up," one of Arthur's band said to them. "We don't have enough spoons to go
round."
Cash took a tentative taste and almost retched.
"I don't think I'm hungry," he said. "I'll just have some water… please," he added as
an afterthought. Cary, watching his face, handed back her bowl without a word. Arthur
grimaced.
"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. "It's all we have. You should try to eat some."
"Maybe later," Cary said.
"But only if we're actually starving," Cash added without thinking.
"Cash!" Cary said.
"Sorry," he muttered. Arthur laughed.
"Let us hope things don't get quite that bad then," he said.
Pythagoras came up. At the moment he was about the size of a large Shetland pony,
which was as big as he could make himself.
"Where is the wizard?" he said.
"Here," Myrddin said. He was huddled morosely by the smoking fire. "Do something
about this, will you?"
Pythagoras lashed at the wet wood with a jet of flame until it was blazing.
"So what do you and Arthur intend?" he said at last.
"Take the maiden to the labyrinth," Myrddin said shortly. "Send her in. What else?"
"Not good enough," Pythagoras retorted.
"None of your business," Myrddin snapped back.
"On the contrary, the Lady Carys is under my protection."
"Since when?" Myrddin demanded. "Have you gone soft on the girl?"
"Since it became clear to me that you're an old fool and he's a young fool,"
Pythagoras said, indicating Arthur. "You're just sending another maiden to a pointless
death."
"Y Ddraig Goch said…"
"Y Ddraig Goch is a bigger fool than both of you. A drunken fool."
"He prophesied," Arthur said. "He has seen. She is the one. You brought her."
"How would you, O mighty princeling, confront the Donestre?" Pythagoras
demanded, picking up on the point Cash had made. It was clear the dragon was working

himself into a temper. "How would you, a maiden, fight a creature half man, half lion,
and four times your size for your life?"
Arthur said nothing, but his face grew thoughtful. It was Myrddin who was unwise
enough to answer.
"What's that got to do with it," he said testily. "The prophecy is clear. She's the one."
"Is that all you can say, old man?" Pythagoras roared. Abruptly, he reared up on his
hind legs, lashing his tail, and another jet of flame shot from his mouth, close enough
for Myrddin to step back hastily.
"Do you dare to threaten me?" Myrddin roared back. He raised his hand high above
his head.
Cary stepped between them quickly and hurried to the dragon.
"Py," she said. "Please." She came only a little above his waist now and could be
swatted aside effortlessly should the dragon choose.
"Pythagoras," she insisted. "Down, sir! I'm very grateful but this isn't helping." There
was a long, tense pause and then the dragon allowed himself to subside.
"Thank you, Py," Cary said. "Dear Py…" Something glowed deep in the dragon's
eyes and no one in the clearing was in the least doubt that henceforward they would
deal with Cary at their peril. Myrddin huffed to himself for a moment and then had
enough sense to sit down again.
"What do you suggest?" Arthur said at last.
"That we give the Lady Carys means to defend herself," Pythagoras said.
"How?" Arthur said. "We tried weapons with the others. They could not pass into the
labyrinth until the swords were discarded."
"A petrification potion," Pythagoras said. "The wizard shall provide."
"I can't," Myrddin said tiredly. "You know that."
"Phht," the dragon said. "Then it's time we recovered your book."

Arthur scratched a rough map into the floor of the clearing.
"Here," he said, "is the old Roman fort and the city of Isca Silurum, which we call
Caerleon, by the Afon Wysg…"
"That's our Usk," Cash said. "The River Usk… I'm sure it is. And where we live
must be way up here…"
"As may come to pass," Arthur over-rode him. "And this is the side-stream, the Afon
Llwyd and there the Sor Brook. Now here on the south bank of the Wysg, where the
water has cut deep into the hillside, is a precipice and the entrance to the labyrinth. We
are here, to the north, hidden in the hills and the forest. Morgan le Fay and the Saxons
now hold the city and have enslaved my people."
"Where is Y Ddraig Goch?" Cary asked.
"Dragons," Myrddin muttered. "With this girl, always dragons…"

"Many leagues distant," Arthur said. "Many, many leagues. He is held captive
beneath Yr Wyddfa, which the Saxons call Snaw-dun, or Snow Hill."
"That must be Mount Snowdon," Cash said.
"Mayhap," Arthur said. "But it is too far for all but Pythagoras."
"And Morgan le Fay?" Cary asked. "Where is she?"
"She rules from the tower of the fortress." Arthur said. "It is stone, built in time
before memory by the Romans. It is surrounded by stone walls and impregnable without
an army."
"So Myrddin's book…?" Cash said.
"It may be in the tower," Myrddin said. "It may be in the dungeon beneath where the
witch does her darkest magic. Or it may be who knows where?"
"And if it's not a rude question," Cash persisted, "and even if it is, why haven't you
tried to get it back?"
"Impertinent boy!" Myrddin exploded. "That's an extremely rude question…"
"But a good one," Cary said. This new Cash was a constant surprise and she was
beginning to feel increasing respect for her brother where before had only been
affection, usually exasperated.
The twins looked searchingly at the wizard who, at last, was forced to drop his gaze.
"Tell them," he said to no one in particular.
"Without the book he is defenceless," Arthur said. "Morgan le Fay would use it to
defeat and enslave him were he ever to come near."
"Haven't you heard of codes?" Cash demanded. "Or secret ink…?"
Myrddin spluttered.
"The book is blank, of course," Pythagoras said, not unkindly for once. "But she has
power to read some of it and the more she reads the more powerful she becomes, and
the more magic she has to protect it. While without the book, Myrddin has none."
"Then we should get it back in a hurry," Cary said.
"Which is all very well," Arthur said. "The question is how? You have now arrived
at the point where we have languished for many months. And there's one other thing
you should know. As well as magic, Caerleon is guarded by the White Dragon of the
Saxons."
"I've just thought of something," Cash said. The others all swung towards him
expectantly.
"Caerleon must be Camelot." There was a groan.
"Think of something better," Cary said. "Like how to get Myrddin's book back."

Cary frowned.
"What if…?" she said. "Just supposing…?"
"What if what?" Cash said.

"Well, Pythagoras has brought us back in time…"
"To 492 AD. So?"
"Supposing we went back a bit further…"
"And…?"
"Grabbed Myrddin's book when it falls out of his sleeve before Morgan le Fay can
get hold of it."
"Brilliant," Cash said, but Pythagoras and the others shook their heads.
"I'm sorry," Pythagoras said. "But that's already happened and can't be changed."
Cash and Cary looked at each other, mystified, and then as they sometimes did,
spoke with the exact same thought.
"Then what are we doing here?" they demanded.
"If it can't be changed?" Cary added.
"I told you we should go straight home," Cash said.
"But this hasn't happened yet," Pythagoras said.
"And it must happen," Myrddin added. "Or the future will be entirely different…"
"And we won't exist?" Cary said.
"Exactly."
"It still makes no sense," Cash said crossly.
They all fell silent.
"Py," Cary said at last. "What other magic can you do?"
"How do you mean?" Pythagoras asked.
"Well, you brought us back through time, and you can take us through walls…"
"Yes," Pythagoras said. "I can. Up to a point."
"Up to a point?"
"Well, you're easy. You have great empathy with the aura. Your brother is far more
difficult. He would still much prefer me to be a dinosaur. His belief in dragons is, how
shall I put it…?"
"Wobbly," Cash said.
"Precisely."
"Could you make us really small, too, like you?" Cary asked.
"I could try," Pythagoras said. "But to what purpose?"
"If we were tiny then we might be able to sneak into the fortress and hunt for
Myrddin's book…"
The others all looked at her with gathering excitement.
"It would be very dangerous," Arthur said. "I'm not sure I could allow it."
"Right," Cash said. "But allowing her to be thrown to the Donestre is no problem…"
"Quite," Myrddin said and then: "The wise man doesn't argue when the fool is right."
"You just want your book back," Pythagoras said.

"Indeed," Myrddin said. "I do. But it's to everybody's advantage, wouldn't you say?"
"And what does this book look like?" Cash asked.
Myrddin shrugged his shoulders.
"It's a book," he said testily. "A book's a book."
"A blank book," Cary said. "Remember? Py, can you try making us small, please?"
Pythagoras looked at the twins doubtfully.
"Watch out for feet," he said at last. "And everyone else stand very still."



Chapter Three


The great eagle came plummeting out of the darkening sky, talons braced to strike.
Some instinct made Cary glance over her shoulder.
"Py!" she screamed. "Behind…!"
The dragon, now the size of a magpie with the twins about the size of mice riding his
back, reacted instantly.
"Hang on," he called, and timing his move to perfection executed a smooth barrel-
roll. The eagle, caught by surprise, hesitated and was hit by a spurt of flame right in the
midriff. The bird gave an outraged squawk, a most undignified squawk, and spiralled
down, trailing smoke and feathers and heading desperately for water. The dragon rolled
back, right way up, and Cary reached forward to rub his ears.
"Well done, Py," she said.
"Good one," Cash said.
Ahead, they could now see the Afon Wysg, glinting dully between the thick forest
overhanging it on either bank. Then the town came into view, surrounded by the
powerful stone walls and turrets of the old Roman fort with a multitude of ant-like
figures busy within. It looked just like a castle, Cary thought, or at least what she rather
hazily imagined a castle ought to look like. The huge compound seemed to be filled
with low buildings in orderly rows and various states of disrepair and in the centre
loomed the squat tower of the old Roman principia, once the fort's headquarters and
which now served as the castle keep.
"The Saxons," Cash said aloud. Cary shivered involuntarily. She couldn't help
wondering what might happen if they were caught and Pythagoras were unable to save
them. A thought struck her.
"The White Dragon," Cary said. "What about the White Dragon? What do we do
about him? Can you fight him, Py?"
There was silence except for the rush of the wind, a long silence.
"Py?" Cary said.
"I can try," Pythagoras said at last.
"I don't understand," Cary said.
"The White Dragon…" Pythagoras began.
"Is what?" Cary insisted."
"Very big," Pythagoras said unhappily. "And very powerful."
"But can't you make yourself big, too?" Cary asked.
"Bigger," Pythagoras said. "As big as you saw this morning. But not nearly as big as
him."
"But you're smarter," Cary said loyally. "Much smarter…"

"Unfortunately," Pythagoras said, "there are times when brute force and
ignorance…"
"Are you afraid of him?" Cash demanded.
There was another lengthy silence.
"Yes," Pythagoras said at last.
The twins looked at each other across his back, eyes wide. The White Dragon must
be truly terrifying if Pythagoras were frightened of him. Nothing more was said until
Pythagoras brought them down, landing high in a beech tree that surveyed the river and
the cleared land before the city. Away in the distance a party of workers was hewing at
the forest and, as they watched, a tree came crashing down. Another party was
harnessing oxen to stumps and striving to haul them out of the ground. A third party
was levering rocks out of the soil and using them to build dry-stone walls.
"Are they the Saxons?" Cary asked.
"Slaves," Pythagoras said. "The guards are Saxon. Hear that?"
There was the sound of a whip cracking. A man bearing a boulder had fallen to his
knees and was struggling to rise. Another man stood over him, lashing at his back.
"Welsh slaves," Pythagoras said.
Cary watched as another of the slaves went to help the fallen man but was beaten
back.
"That's awful," she said. "We have to do something."
"It's why I came for you," Pythagoras said. "It's why you're here."
The fallen slave eventually managed to struggle to his feet and stagger to the wall
with his rock. Another man surreptitiously helped him to heave it into place.
The afternoon was drawing in rapidly now. One of the guards gave a bellow and
pointed back to the town. The slaves dropped their burdens, mustered into a straggly,
dispirited line and were herded off. In the distance they could also see the people
outside the walls of the city beginning to disappear inside.
"How much longer do we have to wait?" Cash demanded. The flight over the forest
and the fight with the eagle had been entertaining, but the twins had spent most of the
day killing time and he was rapidly getting bored again. And cold, not to mention
hungry, starving hungry…
"Do you know what Morgan le Fay will do to you if she catches you?" Pythagoras
replied.
"No," Cash said incautiously. "And I don't care. I'm cold and I'm famished and
I'm…"
"What will she do?" Cary asked.
"Grind you up to make a rejuvenating face cream…" Pythagoras began.
"Yuk," Cash interrupted.
"Or…" Pythagoras tried to continue, but Cary wouldn't let him finish.
"That's horrible," she said.

"If you're lucky," Pythagoras said. "Things are horrible here…"
"So let's do something about it," Cash said. "Please…"
"Wait," Pythagoras said, and it was only when night had properly fallen that he
allowed them to mount up.
"We'll start with the tower and work down," he said. The twins climbed on his back
and they flitted off across the fields. Pythagoras approached the castle with circling
caution doing his best to look like a bat, but the tower was quite unguarded. A moment
later they were safe on the rampart behind the battlements. A large black hole in the
floor yawned before them.
Cary shivered. Now that they were actually at the point of invading the enemy lair
she couldn't help but feel afraid.
"No lookout, no sentry," Cash whispered in her ear. "Shows what they think of
Arthur."
"Shsh," Pythagoras hissed and then: "Come on."
He led the way to the hole which proved to be the beginning of a stairway that
wound around the inside of the turret. Tiny as they were, it looked like a mountainside
of descending precipices. Pythagoras weaved his tail and the twins returned to their
proper size, while he made himself about the same height.
"Can you make us bigger than we really are?" Cash asked.
"No," Pythagoras said shortly. "Only smaller. Come on."
A little way down, they came to a landing and a thick, nailed door. The three stood
there, ears pressed to the wood, straining to hear. Whatever was on the other side
appeared to be empty. Pythagoras gestured and the twins took hold of him again. He
weaved a spell with his tail and moment later they were on the other side, not daring to
breathe.
After the longest time, Pythagoras allowed a little glow to show and it became clear
that the bed chamber, for bed chamber it proved to be, really was empty. A brazier
stood in the centre, waiting to be lit, and away in one corner was a curtained bed. There
were coffers, a chair or two, a table empty except for a candle-stick, tapestries on the
walls to cut down the draughts and rushes on the floor, but otherwise, nothing. It was
plain that whatever Morgan le Fay chose to do here, it was not necromancy or even
alchemy.
"What about those box things?" Cash said, pointing to the coffers.
"Unlikely," Pythagoras said.
"Better check," Cash said, and began to rootle through the chests. He found only
clothes and a casket of jewels, which he examined with interest.
"Don't you dare," Cary said. "Put them back this instant."

As they crept down the rest of the staircase, what started as the merest rumour of
sound within the thick stone walls became more and more raucous until at the bottom,

they were hit by a great wash of noise. They had arrived at the hall where the Saxons
were already deep into the evening feast. Cautiously they peered around the open
archway and froze. The huge chamber was filled with people, hundreds it seemed,
looming large in the light of the flickering torches and from the blazing fire at the far
end. Their shadows danced and gestured all about and everyone seemed to be shouting
at each other, trying to be heard over the general roar. But most assailing of all was the
stench, a mixture of roasting meats and burning fat, unwashed bodies and spilled drink,
smoking torches and bad drains. It came at them in stinking waves, nauseating,
unbearable. Cary found herself longing for the clean scents of the forest.
About half way down one side of the hall was a second, open archway through
which scullions were entering and leaving, bearing platters of food and great pitchers of
mead and ale. Opposite the archway there was a closed door. Pythagoras pointed.
"It must go to the dungeons," he said. He had to shout almost into the twins' ears to
make himself heard.
"Where's Morgan le Fay?" Cary shouted. Pythagoras shrugged.
"Come on," he yelled. "Hang on."
"Wait," Cash shouted. "She might be down there." The others looked at him
questioningly.
"If she calls for help," he went on. "We could be trapped by this lot."
"They'll never hear…" Cary shouted.
"I've got an idea," Cash yelled. "Make us small again."
Pythagoras regarded him quizzically.
"Why?" he said.
"To give us some breathing space, just in case," Cash said. Pythagoras shrugged and
weaved his tail. Instantly, Cash was again the size of a mouse and without waiting for
Cary to nag him about being careful, he had slipped through the archway and was
making his way around the wall, quite invisible unless you happened to look directly at
him.
Cary frowned at Pythagoras, who for his part wondered yet again why he had ever
allowed himself to be persuaded to bring the dratted boy in the first place.
Cash was gone for what seemed like hours, so long that they feared he must have
b