Kenny & the Dragon, page 7
The audience members shrieked and hollered as they ran to and fro around the skirmish. However, some were so mesmerized by the action playing out in front of them that they edged in closer to better view the gritty battle, oblivious of the danger.
At last Grahame landed atop his cave, just over the entrance. Flexing his back muscles like a cat, he sent a ripple down his spine, loosening George’s grasp. The dragon took full advantage of this opportunity and bucked again—this time sending the knight flying off his back. George was sent arcing over the battlefield, crashing into another tree. Branches snapped and cracked under the weight of the armor, as the beaten warrior was swallowed up by the thick foliage.
Once more Grahame laughed in a low, cold snicker. “You are finished, toy soldier. Now watch, all of you”—he turned toward the audience—“as I dine upon your delectable fair damsel!”
Most everyone in the crowd was silent, save for a few weak sobs. Kenny was wringing his hands and holding his breath. “It’s almost over,” he whispered to himself. “Come on, George.”
Charlotte began screaming at the top of her lungs as the cackling dragon turned toward her. His back was now to the knight. George seized this moment and dropped down from the tree, pitchfork in hand, and pinned the drake’s tail firmly into the ground. Kenny let out his breath.
“Back for more, are you? Enjoy your funeral pyre!” Grahame thundered. He inhaled deeply and exhaled in an effort to engulf the knight in a fiery ball of flames—but all that came out was a puff of smoke. He inhaled once again, but this time he gasped and coughed out only a smoke ring.
The crowd watched, completely stunned—there was George, holding the knotted tail in both hands. He untied Charlotte, pulled his sword from the piano, and announced, “The dragon has been defeated!” The audience cheered and applauded in a deafening roar. The knight looked over at Kenny, and the boy smiled.
But the cheering of the crowd turned into loud ranting as they clamored, “Off with his head! Off with his head!”
Kenny looked at George for some kind of sign, but the knight had positioned himself next to Grahame’s head with his sword blade on the drake’s blue, scaly neck. He gazed out toward the king. The crowd fell silent and turned in unison to look for the final command from their ruler.
The king stood up in front of the rubble that was once his tower and eyed the dragon as he thoughtfully stroked his beard. Kenny watched one of his sons whisper something into the ruler’s ear. The king turned to his boy and said, “What! I don’t think so.”
At this, the audience began murmuring amongst themselves. Kenny noticed that the second son was now whispering into his father’s ear. The king turned to both of his sons and said, “All right. All right, if that is what you want.” Both sons smiled and nodded vigorously. At last, His Majesty cleared his throat and announced in a deep authoritative voice, “Gallant knight, has this scourge, this devil, been thwarted?”
George pulled the sword away and replied, “That he has, Your Majesty.”
The king continued, “Is he no longer a menace to this farm, village, or any surrounding province?”
George sheathed his sword and answered, “I believe he is no longer a threat to anyone present.”
“Indeed,” said Grahame as he stepped forward, then bowed to the crowd, “for I have learned the err of my vicious, vicious ways.”
“Then I declare this battle over,” the king announced. “Sir George is victorious!”
The crowd burst into uproarious applause. Kenny was relieved. They had fooled the entire town, and neither of his friends had been hurt in the process.
But then someone else stepped out onto the battlefield.
For you see, when Grahame stood up to take his bow, his tail slid out of the pitchfork—and that did not go unnoticed.
Porky’s father stormed up, waving his arms madly. “Whoa! Hold on a minute!” he yelled. He picked up the pitchfork and held it over his head. The audience oohed.
“This WHOLE thing is a joke! It was rigged from the start! The old coot was never gonna kill that dragon!” he said, pointing at George. He rubbed the tines of the fork. “And this ain’t no magical pitchfork! It’s just painted gold!”
Kenny’s heart was beating so hard all he could hear was ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. Scanning the stage, he saw that his mom, Charlotte, and a scowling George were watching Porky’s father. Finally his gaze met with Grahame’s lemony, glowing eyes. For the first time, since they’d met on this hill all those nights ago, he saw genuine fear in them.
“Now I say we take responsibility for our own and finish this once and for all!” Porky’s father shouted, pointing the pitchfork at Grahame’s chest. “Who’s with me?”
XIII. Performance of a Lifetime
KENNY’S EYES WENT BIG. THE river-stones, the fiery feeling, the river itself, was ready to explode out of him. How could he let the villagers kill Grahame after all of this? He had no more chess moves, no more strategies, no more books to help him . . . .
“NO!” he yelped. “Don’t kill him!” He bolted toward Grahame and placed himself between the pitchfork and the dragon. “He’s my best friend in the world! He never hurt any one of you!”
Porky’s father did not falter, “Git outta the way, kid—this devil has to be dealt with! That’s a fact.”
“Actually,” Kenny’s mother said, “the fact is, the boy’s right. And you’re going to have to go through both of us in order to get to him.” She stood behind her son, between the pitchfork and the dragon.
“An’ me, too,” the wizard said, removing his hat and revealing the familiar face of Kenny’s father. He took his place behind Kenny, next to his wife, and placed both his hands on his son’s shoulders.
The audience was dead silent. Porky’s father wavered a bit but held his ground.
Next, George and Charlotte took their place behind Kenny’s parents. Now they were all standing between the weapon and Grahame.
“Of course they’re all standin’ here!” Porky’s father shouted to the crowd. “This is part of their little show! But this monster has to die before he kills one of us!”
Then Porky himself walked up and stood next to Kenny. He said to his ruffian father, “It was a really cool battle. Do we hafta kill ’im, Pa?”
Porky’s father blinked and stepped back.
Silence. Not even the crickets were chirping. All Kenny could hear in his head was his own breathing, which panted in time with the sound of the dragon’s immense heart, beating rapidly.
Oh gosh, Kenny thought. Grahame’s nervous. And when he’s nervous—
“Hic!”
The fireball puffed out of the dragon’s mouth and engulfed Porky’s dad. The dumbfounded lout stood there blinking, trying to comprehend what had just happened. All the hair had been singed off his body, and the tips of his ears were smoking.
From the back of the audience there came a hearty, loud laugh, and a single clapping. “Encore! Encore!”
Everyone turned and looked.
Walking down the center aisle was His Royal Majesty, the king. He was clapping excitedly and laughing aloud with his two sons. The jester joined in, whistling and cheering and shouting, “Encore! Encore!”
Kenny watched as the shouting spread throughout the entire crowd. Soon the hilltop was clamoring, “ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE!”
The throngs of townsfolk surged forward onto the stage. They cheered and lifted George, Charlotte, Kenny’s parents, and Kenny himself up onto their shoulders. They carried them all around the amphitheater, hurrahing and hailing the troupe. Kenny looked over at Grahame, his best friend in the world, and smiled. The dragon responded in kind with his familiar toothy grin, then loaded a group of kids onto his back and pranced about the amphitheater with the rest of the party.
The sun finally settled down below the hills, causing the clouds in the sky to fade to a deep red before cooling off into a lovely shade of lavender. All along the horizon, the little lamplights of Roundbrook flickered on, but no one noticed—they were up on Shepard’s Hill, celebrating the performance of a lifetime.
XIV. A Favorable Outcome
PECKING ORDER,” KENNY’S FATHER said the next morning as he walked up to his son and handed him the pitchfork. “When the true leader is revealed, then there’s a new order.”
It was the dawn after the big battle. The celebration had gone on late into the night, with Kenny and his friends reenacting bits and pieces of their performance for eager groups. Now they were all back on the hill, cleaning up the aftermath of the enormous party.
Of course, Porky’s dad was nowhere to be found—but Porky was there. He turned out to be just as excited to see a real live dragon as Kenny had been, commenting that Grahame seemed much hairier and scruffier than he’d imagined. In fact, several of Kenny’s classmates, along with Charlotte, had arrived to help tidy up the hilltop.
“Last night was a blast,” Charlotte said, dropping the hilt from a broken toy sword into a garbage can. Fluttering her eyes and putting the back of her paw on her forehead, she continued, “I’ve always wanted to be a damsel in distress.”
The little buck smiled.
“Ho, bantling!” Grahame said, sweeping his cave entrance. “It looks like George is back—and with a few friends.” He pointed to the road, and there was the king’s royal procession heading their way.
Kenny’s mother and father joined their son as the coach reached the summit of the hill. The young knights flanked the carriage as the driver hopped down and opened the door. Out came the jester, the royal sons, George, and finally the king himself.
“Kenneth Rabbit,” the king said as he approached the lad, “I had to stop by and speak with you before we head back home.”
Kenny gulped, glancing over at George. “Y-you don’t have to do anything to Grahame, do you?” he asked.
“Heavens no!” the king said with a smile. “I want you, all of you”—he gestured to the group—“to come to my palace and give your performance for the royal court.”
Kenny’s mother gasped. His father whistled.
“Wow! Cool!” Charlotte said.
Kenny blinked. He looked over at George. The old knight was beaming.
“My boys and I haven’t had a good time like that in ages,” the king added, “and George tells me this was all your doing. So what do you say, lad?”
Kenny turned and looked up at the dragon. “Sounds good to me. Grahame, what do you think?”
Grahame looked down at everyone, smiled his toothy grin, and said, “You know, those royal cooks can make desserts you didn’t even know existed. Have you ever tasted Austrian Lattice Pie?”
And So . . .
That is how our story closes. Kenny and company did indeed travel to the king’s castle, where they performed for a week to standing-room-only crowds. That is where I, the royal historian, was finally able to meet the young rabbit and his best friend who had entertained an entire kingdom.
They reveled with the court, visited the royal library, and tasted a variety of delicious foods (including Austrian Lattice Pie). Kenny’s mom even made crème brûlée for the king!
It was an experience Kenny would never forget.
When the troupe finally returned home to their little farming town of Roundbrook, they were welcomed back with a roaring, huge homecoming parade. The townsfolk greeted each and every one of them with congratulations and admiration because by this time the legend of their act had spread all across the land.
After that summer, things settled back down. Kenny continued to live with his parents, started back at school, did his chores on the farm, and even helped out at George’s bookshop with Charlotte. For you see, the knight had been commissioned by His Majesty to travel about the countryside revising The King’s Royal Bestiary, and Kenny was determined to help ensure that the research in this new edition was thorough and that the subjects were handled accurately.
The celebrated rabbit of Roundbrook spent the rest of his time with his friends, flying kites, painting sunsets, and acting out plays in the amphitheater that he and Grahame had built on the hilltop.
One Sunday, on a cool autumn afternoon, the boy Was riding his bicycle up to the summit of Shepard’s Hill. As he hopped off and leaned his bike against a willow tree, he spied his friend curled up in a ball, dozing at the entrance of his cave.
“Hey, Grahame,” he called so as not to startle the dragon.
The great beast opened one large luminous eye, stretched, and let out a terrific yawn. Smacking his lips, he said, “Bantling! I was just catching forty winks in this warm sunny spot I found on the rocks here. What’s going on?”
“Mom’s serving dinner early tonight,” Kenny said, pulling something out of his satchel. “George and Charlotte are already there, so I thought I’d come up to get you. I wanted to show you this, too. It’s a new book I borrowed.”
The dragon sat right up, rubbing his scaly paws together. “Ooh, hand it over! I can’t wait to see what it is—more prehistoric animals? Creatures from the Ice Age? Renaissance poetry, perhaps?”
Kenny handed the slim volume to him. “Naw, some fairy tale by a British guy. George said we’d really like it. Take a look.”
“The Reluctant Dragon,” Grahame read as he set his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I like the title already . . . oh look, nice pictures!”
“Come on,” Kenny said, heading back toward his bike. “Let’s go get dinner and we’ll start reading it tonight.”
The dragon tucked the book and glasses into his cave and followed the boy to the tree where his bike was parked. “Sounds like a grand plan to me. What’s your mom got on the menu tonight?”
“Um, soufflé, glazed carrots, and I think she’s making the king’s Austrian Lattice Pie for dessert, so we . . .”
“What are we waiting for, then?” the dragon squealed. He unfolded his expansive wings and began flapping them excitedly. “Race ya home!”
As they took off down the hill, the rabbit and the dragon, their laughter could be heard dancing and swirling about on the wind.
Tony DiTerlizzi, Kenny & the Dragon
