Fire and rescue: Part 3

Patrick pulled the horse box up outside the farm house, by the field gate, and turned to his aardvark pal; “that’s a big barn,” he warned, “and I only have room for one horse back there. I’m as excited as the next man to rescue some magical ponies, but don’t you think I should call for backup? We can’t sneak them out one at a time, Monty, we’ll be here all week!”

Lizzy nodded, her whiskers twitching, “this is a much bigger job than we’re prepared for,” she admitted.

“Exactly!” the human agreed, “now we know where the dragon lives, we could go back to my stables and round up the crew, return under cover of darkness if needed.”

It all sounded very sensible, so they were surprised when Mortimer simply shook his long, grey head and opened the passenger side door. “They don’t need transport; they need their magic back!” he snapped.

Patrick gave Lizzy a look; “just like old times,” he rumbled, “I’ll be saving his hide before the day is out, mark my words.”

“You were excited about slaying a dragon last night,” she reminded him.

He sighed, stepping out of the van, “that was before I actually had to do it.”

They followed Mortimer into the field, still unsuccessfully trying to reason with him.

“We don’t even know where the magic is! The dragon will be here soon. Patrick may have a sword but I’m a rabbit – we’re a menu item, not fighters!”

Mortimer smiled, wryly, “the sword’s not going to be much help, I’m afraid, dragons are legendarily hard to kill.”

“NOW he tells me!”

The barn was locked up tight; this was a dragon’s hoard, after all. It was out in the open in clear view; the only thing in close proximity was the hay stash – a great wall of sweet-smelling dried grass.

Mortimer gave the solid door a cursory glance and began snooping around the building perimeter.

“You think there’s another way in?” Lizzy asked, doubtful.

“No, I think the dragon must siphon off the Nightmare’s magic somehow and store it in a container outside of the barn. It’s got to be here; we just have to find it! And quickly.”

“Barn? This is more like a warehouse, it’s massive,” she craned her neck to see to the roof.

“There’s plenty of crates and boxes littered about, though.” Patrick lifted the lid to a feed bin and peered inside.

Mortimer stood next to him, “It’s not going to be kept with the alfalfa, dear. It will be hidden. Safe. It’s price per gram is only matched by diamond.”

“So… in the house, then?” Lizzy offered.

Mortimer frowned, “too far. The dragon needs it close, but not too close or the Nightmares will reabsorb it. That’s what all this metal is for; it acts as a magical barrier. We’re looking for a vent, maybe, or tubing coming from inside. Once the magic has been sucked out of the Nightmare’s, it has no way back in.”

Lizzy flopped an ear, “and we can’t see magic, right?”

“Right, but in a great enough quantity you’ll certainly see something that looks curious, like a swirling, glittering substance. Which is rather lucky.”

“A needle in a haystack,” Patrick gruffed, unhappily.

“Indeed.”

“Wait!” Lizzy looked excited, “the haystack! That’s close to the barn.”

“She’s right! We should check the haystack,” Patrick followed the pale rabbit as she bounded off towards the wall of hay.

Mortimer caught a flash of light in the corner of his eye as the pale November sun hit the roof of a four-wheel-drive vehicle towing a horse trailer, turning down the narrow country road past the field boundary.

“Let’s hope you’re right! Trouble’s coming. Toothed, scaly trouble!”

They pulled at tough coated string, dragging and heaving at the heavy cubes of hay, working their way towards the middle of it all. In the mud beneath them, thin tubes were revealed that snaked out of the earth leading towards the core of the hay bales. “This is it! This is exactly it! Keep going, we’re almost there!” Mortimer urged.

“Good job I’m used to all this heavy lifting,” Lizzy huffed, sending bales sprawling as she worked her way through them

“I see something!” Patrick cried, squeezing with difficulty into the narrow gap they had created, his arms grabbing.

Mortimer clapped him on his back, “well done! Give it to me, pass it over.”

Patrick held up a small clear cannister and frowned, “I don’t see anything.”

“What?” Lizzy panicked, “no, surely it’s just hard to see. Give it a swirl.”

He did. There was no magical glittery substance. Only dust falling from the surrounding hay. He passed it over anyway.

Mortimer tipped it up… and down, and sideways. “Fuck,” he muttered.

There was a polite yet firm cough.

They froze.

As one, they slowly turned to face the well-dressed man they had seen earlier at the horse auction.

He did not look happy. Incandescent was a word you could use. Bloody furious were others.

“What,” he spat in deep, icy tones, “the HELL do you think you are doing?!”

Mortimer shuddered at the sudden cold. Frost sprang up around his feet.

Lizzy flinched.

Patrick thought fast on his feet, “Environmental Health,” he blurted, “we’ve had reports of illegal toxic-waste dumping on these premises.”

There was a horrible pause. “I see,” the stranger growled, “and you thought to look in my hay bales, did you? Government agencies always send their brightest.”

“Er, yes, well, have to go over these things with a fine comb, don’t we? Won’t find glowing barrels out in the open.” A bead of sweat sprung at Patrick’s wrinkled, weather-beaten brow and stayed there, turning opaque as it solidified into an icicle.

The stranger took another step closer, “I see you have a sword,” he snarled, “a rather unusual accessory in your line of work, wouldn’t you say?”

The human’s mouth opened and closed, “it’s dangerous in the country,” he reasoned.

Sharp teeth flashed in a grin, “oh, isn’t it just?”

“Nothing to see here, we’ll just be off to wrote our report!” Patrick nodded to his friends, motioning for Mortimer to put down the empty cannister.

“And what exactly is your report, Warlock?” the name was spat with venom, warning of clear ill-will.

Mortimer stood firm as his friends backed away, slowly; facing the man with a raise of his head to show his lack of fear. “I know what you are,” he said, calmly. “And I know what you hoard in this barn.”

The man’s fingers flexed, fingernails lengthening, “then you should be very afraid, Warlock; not only do you not have your legendary magic – you also lack your precious Nightmare steed. I will give you this opportunity to leave, a most generous offer in the circumstances. Leave and never come back.”

“Come on, Monty!” Lizzy hissed.

“No.”

Patrick threw up his hands, “bloody aardvark!”

The suited man loomed, growing taller by the second, larger, even, as terrible teeth jutted in a spreading snout that turned icy blue as snowflakes gently fell around them, “you come here, to my lair, unprotected?!” he raged, “defenceless?!” With a creak, large leathery wings sprouted from his shoulders, the mirage of the fine, dusty blue Italian suit fading away to reveal dazzling azure scales, a thick, spiked tail whipped round to slash at Mortimer’s face, sending the old mammal reeling.

“Mortimer! Christ! Run, you daft sod!” Lizzy begged.

Mortimer staggered back, wiping a bloody cuff across his cheek, “no! I’m done running! I’m not defenceless! I’m not unprotected! Free the Nightmares, Lizzy, I’ll deal with the dragon!”

The scaled creature inhaled deeply and roared, a bellowing thunderous burst of rage spewing forth a wave of ice that splashed the ground in shimmering chunks.

Lizzy dashed for the barn door, trying not to slip on the way, her sturdy booted feet smashing through the frozen water as she grasped for the padlocked door bolt, looking around for a blunt implement to bash it with.

Patrick swung the sword from his belt, “I knew it!” he bellowed, springing to his friend’s side, “you always get into trouble and I have to save your hide!”

Mortimer was coated in a thick layer of frost that clung to his tweed jacket and froze his face. The tips of his slender fingers were numb. “Ice, is it? How very fortuitous for me!” He watched the dragon lunge forward and closed his eyes, calling out with his heart and his mind for his magnificent steed – his Nightmare – his Flamed.

Air whipped past his snout as the dragon’s claws swiped with deadly intentions only to miss their mark as a burning bright ball of light barrelled into it at speed, sending it sprawling into the snow-covered ground with an almighty thud and crack of ancient bone.

The Nightmare brought its hooves down upon the long, monstrous horned head, landing in sickening crunches while the dragon angrily snapped and lashed out in retaliation.

Steam rose from the dragon’s flesh as Flamed burned like the sun, every touch of her body against his melting him away in dirty puddles.

“You cannot kill me!” It screeched, “you cannot win this fight!”

Flamed tossed her head, a slim white spire protruding from the star upon her forehead, “I can send you back where you came from!” she neighed.

The dragon kicked out at her flank, pushing her back, “I will return! You will be mine! A dragon always gets what it wants…”

Loud clangs rang out from the barn; Lizzy had found a chunk of rock and was smashing at the lock on the door, crashing it down upon the sturdy casing.

“NO!” the dragon screamed, throwing its weight against the fire-horse despite the burning pain to its ice-hide.

Patrick lifted his sword in warning, protecting Lizzy as she worked; “don’t even think about it, foul wyrm!”

Another thick stream of freezing cold coated him, making his teeth chatter.

“I am NOT a wyrm! I have limbs, you foolish ape!”

Claws raked at the barn, too close for comfort to Lizzy’s fluffy body; he would have got closer but Mortimer had leapt up on Flamed’s back now and was sending her charging at him, spiralling horn digging into thick, scaled muscly thigh.

“The Nightmare’s of this world shall never be yours, dragon, not while a Warlock is here to protect them!” Mortimer warned, hanging on with fistfuls of mane and years of equestrian experience.

A cold green eye locked onto his own, “you? YOU? You are nothing, nobody! Not a drop of magic in you! I will cleave you in half, aardvark!” to prove the point, the dragon reached out with a long forelimb again, catching Mortimer’s leg with its curved talons, dragging down in crimson stripes.

Mortimer sucked in chill breath, clutching at the wounds as they stung.

Patrick burst out of his frozen shell and slashed back, the old sword (not quite as sharp as it used to be) hacking at smooth scales and rebounding with metallic clangs, “you’ll pay for that!” the old man bellowed, not relenting in his attack.

“I am a dragon! Immortal, unmerciful! Monster of legend!” his teeth snapped as he spoke, chill spittle falling on the bald human’s bare head as he tried getting him in his wide-open jaws.

With a crash the barn door slammed open, smashing against the interior panelling from the force of Lizzy’s thumps.

“Immortal, eh?” Mortimer said through clenched teeth, still bleeding profusely, “we’ll see about that!”

The dragon let go of poor Patrick and twisted on the ground, avoiding the Nightmare’s horn and hooves, its cold eyes locked onto the open barn, a fear springing to its chest, “No!” it gasped, “no! I am eternal! You will die for this, Warlock! Nobody takes a dragon’s treasure and lives! THIEVES!” it roared, “trespassers and thieves!”

Another fountain of ice was melted by the flapping of Flamed’s beautiful crimson-tipped wings. The dragon bore scorch marks over it massive, bulky hide, along with a few hoof-shaped indents upon its face and flank.

A stream of pale, thin horses trotted out from their metal prison onto the muddy ground, snickering and tossing their heads.

“Get back!” the dragon howled, “stay away!”

They circled around the scaled creature, trots turning to canters. Round and round…

“Magic flows both ways,” Mortimer warned the beast. “Patrick, be ready!”

“You got it, me old mucker,” the man nodded.

Lizzy walked out, rubbing her arms from all the effort of breaking the dragon’s lock with a rock and watched, awestruck as the herd of horses swept around her friends in a building whirlwind of crackling energy; everything sparkled and glimmered, tiny spots of illumination rising up in a wall of invisible magic that was coming from the dragon at its centre. The dull sound of hoofbeats filled her large, furry ears. A steady war drum, beating in a building rhythm.

Wings sprouted, horns grew, bright vibrant manes flowed out from once-dull and matted forms.

The Nightmares were absorbing the dragon’s magic, pulling it out of him in a steady flow.

More and more joined the herd, bolting from their steel cages, the call of their brethren bringing hope and a desire for vengeance against their cruel captor.

“Is it just like your books?” Mortimer asked Patrick with a pain-filled smile.

The man, nodded, dumbly, he too bleeding from being locked in the dragon’s strong jaws.

“I have fulfilled my family’s oath to protect them,” he said, softly. “But the last part is down to you, dear.”

Patrick glanced up to his aardvark friend atop his firey steed, “you just say when,” he replied, gripping his sword tight.

The dragon writhed and hissed, growing smaller and frailer as its life essence drained away, the bright colours fading from its scales, the intensity of its eyes growing dim. It growls turned to pitiful whimpers.

The last dazzle of magic vanished upon the November breeze and Mortimer glared at the almost transparent and withered creature before them. “Now!” he commanded.

Two hands lifted the blade high, its double edge outlined in light from the magnificence of the gathered Nightmares, pausing aloft for one suspenseful moment before coming down with a finishing strike; driving deep into the dragon’s sunken chest.

His body trembled from the exhilaration of it all; “I did it,” he marvelled, “I killed a dragon,” he looked at Mortimer to check; “it is dead now, isn’t it? Only it was saying all that business about being immortal and all.”

The aardvark rider nodded, “without magic, they are nothing. Empty vessels. Mortal empty vessels.”

He stepped back and wiped his brow, now soaked in sweat that was no longer turning to icicles. He pointed to his friend, “like Perseus and Pegasus,” he remarked.

“I wouldn’t know; Greek mythology was never my thing. But I shall take it as a compliment.”

The horses slowed down back to a trot before shaking themselves and whinnying in delight; they had their magic back! They had their Warlock protector. They were safe… and free!

“Your nephew wasn’t kidding when he said you’d have an adventure,” Lizzy marvelled, looking around at the sea of fantastical animals and down to the shrivelled dragon corpse. “Wow. That’s… not pretty.”

Flamed flapped her wings once more, embers drifting down to the ground in a firey flow; burning what remained of the evil creature. In a smouldering minute all that was left was an empty patch of scorched, disturbed soil, containing an upright blade.

Patrick carefully extracted it, hot as it was, and slid it back to his hip. “I finally have my own wonderful story to tell,” he sniffed.

“It’s a fine feeling, isn’t it?” Mortimer added. “And we have the scars to prove it!”

“My goodness, yes, look at the pair of you!” Lizzy gasped, “chamomile tea and an early bedtime is in order, I think.”

But Mortimer and Patrick only grinned with mischief.

“I don’t know about chamomile tea,” the aardvark smiled, “but I do have a nice vintage Dom Perignon in the larder.”

“We’re one short for bridge though, unless you have plans to teach your Nightmare how to play!”

The magical herd were restless; longing to be anywhere but here in this cursed place.

“You can go,” Mortimer told them, kindly, “wherever you wish. There will always be a home for you at Warlock Court, my friends.” He dismounted Flamed as graciously as his wounds and arthritis would allow, “and the same is true for you, my sweet,” he cupped Flamed’s muzzle in his hands, tenderly, “we Warlocks are always more powerful when you’re by our side.”

She snorted, blowing his sparse grey hair back, “you did well, my lord. I shall stay with you and enjoy that field you were telling me about.” She pushed her head into his open hand and whinnied, “when you call, I shall answer. No matter the distance.”

He turned to his friends; “the invitation was not only for the Nightmares, you know; you are welcome to come stay at my home, Patrick; it will save me from talking to a painting, at least.”

The human man watched the Nightmares alight, vanishing as if merely a dream; gone to places unseen and beyond the realms of his worldly knowledge. “We need a moat, you know,” he sighed, “can’t have a castle without a moat.”

“If one more person mentions that blasted moat…” Mortimer grumbled.

“We can discuss it over dinner. No rush. Rome wasn’t built in a day, dear.”

“Rome didn’t have my builders! It’s a damn good job I’m not footing the bill for this restoration.”

Patrick paused behind his friend as they headed back to the horse van, “what? Well, who is paying for your building work, then?!”

Lizzy turned, “is it your nephew who’s in space?”

“His nephew is in space?”

“Or is it the Underworld?” she mused, “it’s one of them.”

“The Underworld? Like Hades and…”

“Enough with the ancient Greek mythology, Patrick! My nephew was in the Underworld, yes, but now he’s in space. And no, he isn’t paying my bills,” he explained, “a dragon is.”

Patrick exploded, “another ruddy dragon?! Are you leading me up the garden path?”

“No! I’m leading you back to the horse van so we can get home and put some TCP antiseptic on our cuts! I’ve come this far I am NOT dying of bloody sepsis, thank you very much. If you behave, I’ll show you the portal device that the dragon built up on the third floor of my house.”

Patrick blinked, mulling this over, “yes, of course, I should love to see such a thing. You really had a dragon visit you? Wasn’t he evil? And dangerous? Can you trust him?”

“Those are all excellent questions. All I will say for now is that my nephew trusts him and that’s good enough for me.”

“Your nephew from the Underworld?” he mentioned with heavy tones of scepticism.

“My nephew was a GOOD lad! Too good for that cursed place. I’m glad he got out. I am sure he had many adventures down there; I’d like nothing more than to hear about them some-day so that I may add them to our family’s book.”

“Ah, the Book of Warlock. Now that I have seen with my own eyes,” Patrick nodded.

Mortimer climbed into the passenger seat, Lizzy squeezed in nice and tight beside him, her warm fur bringing with it a cosy security, “funny coincidence, that the dragon whom I met is also the dragon who wrote it. Another good reason for trusting the odd fellow.”

Lizzy sat in quiet contemplation beside him, her ears occasionally flicking with the beat of the music lilting from the speakers, coming direct from Classic F.M. Eventually she spoke; “do you think the Nightmares will be safe, now? Wherever they are?”

Mortimer creased his old forehead, choosing his words; “no creature of magic is ever safe, not when there are those who wish to exploit them… or are fearful of their existence.”

Patrick made low mutterings under his breath.

“Yes,” Mortimer agreed, “the Council especially. One day they will be brought to justice; for all the pain they have caused in the name of public safety; magic as a substance is not dangerous – it has existed since the beginning of time itself; dragons are the proof of that. Maybe they are the key to everything, maybe there would be no life without them, we will never know unless we ask them and nobody has thought to do that… yet. Scientists are always publishing their theories in New Scientist about anti-matter or dark matter, but what if it is the very essence of magic itself?” he shrugged, “I don’t know the answers. All I learnt from university was that I hated essays and never wanted to be in a lecture ever, ever again. The Nightmares have what they need to survive. The rest is up to them.”

“But Nightmares are dangerous,” she reasoned, “we’ve seen first-hand what they can do. Especially when prompted.”

“True; they are intelligent creatures capable of taking action, like we all are. But we’ve all worked with equines; magic doesn’t play a part when you’re reeling from a hoof to the gut! I stand by what I say; magic itself isn’t dangerous – it’s when and how you use it that determines the intent. If the Nightmares use it to find a safe haven where they can spend their days in happy sunlit meadows, then more power to them.”

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she sighed. “Sometimes I wish I was a horse.”

Patrick nodded, driving down busy roads.

“Tell me about this other world you saw,” she begged.

“No,” Mortimer said, “words can’t do it justice. I want to show you. Both of you. Maybe you’ll see a dragon. Maybe you’ll see my nephew!” the aardvark’s eyes glazed over in wistful whimsy.

“Must be a very special kid,” the human remarked.

Mortimer only smiled; his head full of stars and wonder.

The horse van turned down the long, hedge-lined drive to Warlock Court; either side surrounded by acres of green, lush fields rolling away to the forest in the distance. The hum of traffic on the highway was muted here; somewhere beyond the trees the ancient landscape fell away, leading to the famous standing stones of Salisbury plain.

As gravel crunched below the tyres, a low thunder began to roll despite the clear autumnal sky above and Patrick rolled down his window thinking they had maybe developed a puncture on their journey. But the travel was smooth. The sound was coming closer to them and he braked, gently, confusion filling the cabin; was it the workmen? Was something not right at the old house? What was waiting for them at the end of the long, straight driveway?

A riot of colour flashed before them as the Nightmares galloped up to meet them; a whole herd of winged, horned, beautiful beasts neighing and stamping, tossing their heads with flowing luscious manes, reeling to turn sharply as they drew up level to the vehicle, eagerly racing them back down again.

Patrick stamped on the accelerator, caught up in the riotous energy of it all, wheels spinning and stones spitting from beneath them as he tried to match their speed, muscled equine haunches rippling as his diesel engine chugged.

He yanked on the handbrake as they launched through the wide, decorative wrought-iron gates to the posh residence, leaving deep marks in the pale grit around the circular drive at the front of house where the fountain gurgled, sparkling in the pale sun.

“Ha ha!” he laughed, “it’s been a while since I was at the Nürburgring with my old Ferrari, but I still got it!”

Mortimer and Lizzy finally exhaled after holding their breath a little too long, fingers and paws dug deep into battered, creaky seats. That had been an exciting two minutes! One wrong move and they’d have been a permanent part of the driveway, or hedge.

“Well, we found the Nightmares,” Lizzy said, slowly, desperate to exit the van that had moved deceptively fast for its age.

“You both look surprised,” Patrick chuckled; “my nephews added a few modifications. In my line of work you never know when you need to make a fast exit, not everyone is happy to see the RSPCA turn up you know!”

“I always preferred luxury over speed,” Mortimer frowned.

“Well, that was why you kept my old car under tarpaulin. I hope your nephew is getting more out of it than you did,” the man sniffed.

The aardvark’s ears pricked, “maybe you’ll see it again, after all these years! Come, come follow me. To the dragon’s lair!”

The third floor of Warlock Court was not under reconstruction; it had been left as it had always been, a little draughty and sun-bleached, with threadbare rugs and moth-eaten curtains. Mortimer had not wanted to impose any modernity on a piece of history that was not rightly his. This piece of England belonged to the dragon. One day he may return. Until then, Mortimer would tread respectfully.

The mysterious metal room beyond the broken door was still a queer sight to behold, even after all this time. The star charts upon the walls, now covered in a haze of dust, promised of worlds beyond their own at the end of far-flung galaxies. The slim, steel console connected to a sturdy platform lit up at the touch of a button; strange symbols leading to alien planets glowed incomprehensibly on the chunky keypad at its top.

Patrick and Lizzy halted in the doorway, not sure what to make of it all. “I was never really into sci-fi,” Patrick muttered.

“Oh, pish!” Mortimer objected, beckoning them in, “there’s nothing to it, honestly. I just type in the handy code from the book and we’re away.” He tapped, neatly, on the keyboard. The dragon had left a destination code hidden in the Book of Warlock many hundreds of years ago and he had already used it once. Nothing bad would happen.

A thin haze descended upon the platform bolted to the floor and the words ‘Code Expired’ could be seen in rapidly flashing digital text.

“Bugger.”

“What does that mean?” Lizzy asked, tilting her head.

“It means,” a strange, well-spoken voice said from the doorway, “that you need a new code.”

They turned to see a human-sized, red, lizard-like creature standing there, wings folded at its back, a leather jacket upon its torso and a pair of sunglasses on its snout. It wore a pair of indigo denim jeans and laced motorcycle boots. A tail snaked around its ankle, ending in a spear-shaped tip.

“Sweet Jesus!” Lizzy yelped.

“I still have my sword!” Patrick warned.

The dragon opened its hands, smiling, “which is quite unnecessary, I assure you!”

“I killed one of you lot not half an hour ago,” he growled.

Mortimer physically pulled his big pal aside, “not what I would have led with, dear,” he chided. “This is the nice dragon, Valentino. My friend.”

“Humph!”

“You can tell that I am an ally,” the dragon explained, patiently, “because I have not tried to kill you yet. You are in my lair,” he looked around him at his old room, “with my permission.”

Lizzy folded her arms, “you collect weapons, don’t you?” she asked with a touch of accusation.

“Yes! Yes I do,” he admitted, still smiling, “and do you know why? Because there are people out there,” he nodded to the star charts, “who cannot fight for themselves. The oppressed. The abused. The downtrodden. I was offered mercy and aid when I was at my most vulnerable and I have never forgotten how that felt. My kind are known for selfishness and cruelty, but I… am an exception.” He turned to Mortimer, “I told you that magic had returned to Warlock Court; it has drawn the Nightmares here in all their glory like a lighthouse in the tempest. You are their safe harbour. It’s a big responsibility; it is not only dragons who desire such creatures.”

Mortimer patted his friends on the shoulders, “I’m not alone in my duties,” he promised.

The dragon bowed his head, “friendship is one of the few things money can’t buy. Good health is another,” behind the sunglasses rose a faint light and Mortimer felt a jolt in his old bones that took him by surprise. “I see Patrick is injured, too.”

“I’ll be fine!” he snapped, despite the obvious crusted blood on his head.

“Then I will not impose any healing upon you.”

The human man had a swift rethink, “I mean, if you insist…”

The dragon held his scaled hand up, playfully, “I wouldn’t wish to insult a strong, capable warrior such as yourself!”

Mortimer flexed his knees in awe and touched his toes; “look, Patrick! Think what he can do for your hypertension!”

“Ok, Valentine! You can heal me! I’ll allow it,” he begged.

The dragon laughed, “done. Now let’s get that portal open, shall we?”

“You’re right,” Patrick hissed to his grey friend, “he is a nice dragon.”

“What about me?” Lizzy asked, slightly miffed.

“Why, you are already perfect, my dear” the dragon purred.

She flushed blossom pink.

“Clean bill of health from a dragon? Must be good,” Mortimer winked.

Claws clacked quickly upon the console; a long string of data stored in memory summoning forth an intergalactic gateway in a moment; a blue, swirly portal opening up in the curious room before them.

Mortimer urged them onward; “you wanted to see other worlds, Lizzy, step through to the other side. I promise you won’t be disappointed. Patrick, there’s things there that you’ve always dreamed about; myth and fantasy – the stuff of legends!” Setting his jaw and standing tall, he spoke quieter, “and for myself, adventure,” he whispered. “I’m ready.”