Losing Heart

By David Randall

The fight between Sir George and the Dragon was not going well. In fact, it was not going at all.

-What do you mean, you won't fight?

That was Sir George.

-The words are simple English, small one. Nevertheless, if you wish, I shall gloss. "I" - a statement of personal identity, in this case scaly, winged, fire-breathing, and extremely handsome. "Won't" - will not, a negation applied to a future indeterminate of length and therefore hopeless of contradiction. "Fight" - an unpleasant process of brawling and stabbing, which would end with you charbroiled or me punctured, both of these dismal options. If you insist on pointing that sword at me, I will have to remove it from you.

That was the Dragon.

-Remove it, will you? I'd like to see you try to- oh.

-The claw is faster than the eye. What a sharp little toy! It makes a good toothpick, don't you think - um - what is your name? You small ones seem to dislike being called small ones, so perhaps we should get these appelations straight now. I am a Dragon; you may call me Dragon. You are-?

-George. Sir George. Sir George since the king knighted me last Whitsuntide.

-A knight! That explains the bellicose attitude, the metal accoutrements, the limited conversational skills. But I'm labelling you. Tell me more about yourself, so I can get a sense of the George behind the Sir.

-I - uh -

-Is there a problem, George?

-Well - that is to say - aren't you going to eat me?

The Dragon removed his monocle. He squinted at George bemusedly.

-Eat you? Good heavens, no! I can eat any peasant who wanders on by. Much less fuss. Eating you requires violence, which, as you may have guessed, I abhor. I'd much prefer to chat with you - so much more stimulating than mere digestion. Tell me more about yourself.- He paused. -If it would loosen your mouth, you can take that as a threat.

-Ah. Yes. My name is George - no, I told you that already. I'm from Sussex. We have a farm there. My father is a knight too. They said I was the best knight-trainee in all Sussex, which is why the king made me a knight so early.

-Fascinating, do go on.

-That was Whitsuntide. I defeated all the other knights at jousting once I had my sword and horse - you can ask anybody! I was the best there was. I defeated ten knights all at once because-

-Because your heart is pure?

George blanched.

-No. I mean, yes, I am pure, but no I defeated them because I'm very strong. I've practiced a lot at jousting, which is why I'm very strong. I think of myself as a good person, too. What I mean to say is-

-I wouldn't eat you even if you were a virgin, George. It's a myth.

-A myth? I mean, thank you, Dragon. A myth?

Some of the color returned tentatively to George's cheeks.

-That dragons have a taste for virgins. I know you humans engage in blatant anthropomorphizing, but to assign your own sexual inhibitions to us! I've always thought that rather peculiar. No, dragons have a taste for young, tender human flesh, that's all. It's you humans who maintain that all our - ah - meals are virginal. I gather it would be shocking for you to admit the reverse.

-Then your demand for the Princess isn't because-?

-Oh, a princess! The plot thickens. Which King did you say knighted you?

-King Edgeohwylfth, father of Dominique, whom you have demanded be delivered to your cave by Christmas, you scaly brute! That's what king! Why did you think I came to kill you?

George hesitated, unsure how to give his words the proper dramatic emphasis, and then pounded his fist against a rock. It broke into pebbles.

-I have often wondered at the motivations of you small ones. Edgeohwylfth, Edgeohwylfth - oh, that Edgeohwylfth! I remember flying over his castle and thinking that - Dominique you said her name was? - that that small one was a perfectly marbled confection of lean meat and fat. Do you like her?

-Her father is offering half his kingdom and her hand in marriage for your head.

-That's a cold-blooded appreciation. Don't you helplessly adore the fair Dominique? I remember that she had hair of gold, a face the color of milk, lips like roses, and other attributes you small ones seem to find desirable. Does this mean nothing to you, George?

-Dragon, she hates me. She thinks I'm some sort of, of clod with too many muscles and no brains. She's in love with Sir Periwinkle - who's thin as a twig - and a poet besides - and wouldn't give me a second look. Except to throw a shoe at me. Which she did, when I told the court I was going to kill you and get her hand in marriage. And she said something to me in French which I think was insulting. Why should I be in love with her?

-I only asked a question, George. So I am to gather that your quest to do me grievous harm is incited by mercenary motives, adulterated with jealousy and revenge. This is most admirable! I offer you my sincerest congratulations, George! Few knights are as clear-headed as you.

He stretched out a claw to George. George warily extended his own hand, shook quickly, and let his arm fall back by his side.

-Thank you. I'm a clear-headed failure.

-A failure?

-What would you call a knight who can't kill a dragon? I'll come back to the castle and everyone will laugh at me. "There's the bold dragon-slayer!" they'll say. "Where's the dragon, George? Maybe you should start on turtles and work your way up!" Dominique will marry Sir Periwinkle. The king will kick me out of the castle. I'll have been pure all my life, and it won't have done me any good at all!

The tears began to trickle down. The Dragon patted his back in an awkward rendition of comfort.

-There, there, George, don't cry. You'll rust your armor. There, there. Here, take your sword. There, there. Pure all your life?

-Yes! I l-lied to you. I only practiced jousting a little. Mainly I stayed home and wore a hair shirt and avoided all l-l- licentious thoughts. And it worked! I have the strength of ten, but I still can't kill a dragon, and I'm still pure. Foo.

-And you don't want to be pure?

-Betty liked me. She wanted me to take off the hair shirt and come out with her to the fields.

-George! You lied to me.

-So? Foo.

-If you lied, you're not pure. And one impurity is usually the making of another.

-Huh. Maybe. Huh.

-That being the case, George, perhaps I might interest you in a small proposition...?

He drew his head up close to George.

-A proposition?

He almost stuttered; it disconcerted him to face an eye as big as his head.

-Concerning princesses and meals.

-Princesses?

-And a rather glorious lack of purity.

-Go on.

-George - small one - you need a dragon's head.

-I need your head.

-You need a dragon's head. And for me to - ah - disappear - so that you can conveniently collect your reward.

-Ye-es. I see your point. King Edgeohwylfth would crucify me if he found out I'd married his daughter under false pretenses.

-But only if he found out. Which brings us to your side of the bargain.

George sighed.

-I knew there was a catch coming.

-The catch comes later, small one. Your side of the bargain is - well, truly, I abhor violence. Fighting knights, one of whom - and I don't know which one - is destined to slay me. I can never get a full meal without worrying about some armored interruption.

-Get on with it, Dragon.

-Getting assertive are we, George? Your side of the bargain is to send one young human to my cave each month, preferably unconscious. On the sly - no "I must send tribute to the dragon" about it. A small, unobtrusive culling, and no one will be the wiser that Sir George never really killed the dragon.

The Dragon grinned the grin of a salesman with an irresistable offer. George tried to ignore the Dragon's teeth.

-It's risky.

-Faint heart never won fair kingdom.

-True. And no one looks too closely at what the King does. I would be king soon enough, wouldn't I? It won't be that hard to get rid of Edgeohwylfth. Or Sir Periwinkle. I could bring Betty to the court too. I could send my armies north to Mercia and Northumbria! I could reunite England - how does George the Conquerer sound to you?

-It has a noble ring, my lord.

-It does, doesn't it. I could supply you meals from all over England. From Scotland too, if you have a taste for foreign cooking.

-I am an epicure, George. Before this fantasy extends any further, perhaps I should you inform you of the catch?

George grimaced.

-Oh. The catch. What is it, Dragon?

-The fake dragon head. It's not so easy to come by one, you know. It requires a certain item.

-Mandrake root? Rowan leaves? A silver amulet?

-A substance more readily at hand. Your heart, George.

A pause.

-That's funny, I could have sworn you said.- The Dragon had never seen a human turn green before. -Well, it's all well and good being king, but there's always the family farm and Betty. King Periwinkle, that's a name! If Dominique survives - I'm sure someone will save her. Good man, Periwinkle, fine family. I must be going. Goodbye, Dragon!

George turned around and prepared to run. The Dragon's tail - large and spiky - was all around him. He stopped.

-Not so fast, small one! You fail to consider the benefits.

The Dragon had curled up towards him, and now spoke into his ear.

-Of having my heart ripped out of my chest? Call me a small-minded reactionary, but they are not immediately apparent.

-"Ripped out" is an unpleasant expression. I prefer "removed." Admittedly, an irreversible removal - a heart molded into the shape of a dragon-skull isn't much use for anything else. But a king doesn't need a heart - it's rather a disadvantage, what with his heartrending duty to squeeze the peasants, send friends into battle to die, turn on loyal allies and so on. All the best kings have no heart.

George relaxed a little.

-It's true, my father always said, "The King has no heart." On the other hand, he also said, "The walls have ears," and "This beer is made of piss!" - I think he was being metaphorical. I'm almost positive of it. He drank too much beer for me to willingly entertain a different belief.

-Would it help if you closed your eyes while I engaged in a metaphor?

George whirled back to face the Dragon. The Dragon smiled.

-No, I don't think - then again, it might. Out of sight, out of mind, as dad always said about Grand-uncle Morris. He's been blind and mad for ever so long. Are there any other side-effects besides losing my heart?

-Not too many, George. Unless you count turning into a dragon.

-Guk.

George sat down heavily.

-Have you considered the benefits of an education in the liberal arts, George - rhetoric, perhaps?

-G-guk.

-Never mind. You would only turn into a dragon slowly, small one. The first scales only appear after fifty ears or so - it itches, but I assure you that is far better than growing old. Certainly less boring. Consider: I must calculate a nutritionally balanced pattern of feeding flights, a pattern which changes yearly with the climate, local population, and level of intoxication of the warrior class. If I were still human, the great decision of my afternoon would be split pea soup or oatmeal. You see my point, George?

-Gu-ahem! It's certainly an interesting point of view, Dragon, with much to commend it in its - its - yes. That is to say. Thank you very much for your kind offer, though. I certainly appreciate it, and I'll tell anyone who asks that you gave me every opportunity in the world to improve myself, more fool I that I refused it. I won't even mention that you ate my horse. Consider it a gift. I should start back home - it'll be a long walk.

He hoisted himself upright jauntily. The tail was still there.

-You really are very hasty, small one! I don't think you're taking the proper attitude at all.

-No! I refuse! Get some other knight to do your dirty work! I'd rather be slopping the pigs.

-George, George, George. Chat and conversation have their places, but you look amazingly appetizing all of a sudden.

George felt himself turned around by a claw. Too many teeth were too close to him.

-I'll fight. To the death.

He drew his sword.

-Alas. Shall we, then?

Flame flickered in the Dragon's nostrils. George's sword looked awfully small.

-I thought you said you abhorred violence.

-Oh, I do, George, with a passion. I find it ethically distasteful and personally repugnant. If only broiled knight didn't taste so delicious! My stomach has no sense of finer things...and after so many years as a dragon, I find it hard to ignore my stomach.

-I could be the knight who's destined to kill you. You should be afraid of me. You wouldn't like being hacked into bits, no sir!

-It's a terrible worry, calculating the odds. But then, I have safely disposed of a few hundred knights already.

-A few hundred.

-One or two dozen of them named George.

George put his sword back into its scabbard with a decisive clang.

-I must admit that you're a handsome beast, Dragon. Did you enjoy being king?

-Forty of the best years of my life.

-I must remember to have Sir Periwinkle executed as soon as possible. This won't hurt, will it?

He started taking off his armor.

-Only for a second, and then you won't feel a thing.

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