Steven George & The Dragon
The Humble Haberdasher
PERHAPS HE SHOULD have paid the tinker for his story with one of his own right away and set off at a more brisk pace to put steps behind him, Steven thought; but the tinker was such good company and Steven had so many questions that it was difficult to part. Steven spent the entire walk the next day asking for more details. While others he had met confessed to have heard of a dragon, the tinker was the first who actually knew a story about one and may have even seen the impossible pot at some point in his life.
“What color was the dragon in your story,” Steven asked.
“Well, mostly green,” answered the tinker. “Didn’t I mention green? Although she was encrusted with jewels from lying on her hoard. You knew dragons had a hoard, didn’t you? They collect treasure all their lives. The man who masters a dragon is a wealthy man indeed.”
“Did this dragon change to a damsel only at night, or could it happen at any time of day?” Steven continued to probe.
“The dragon was more inclined to human form when in human company and kept her dragon form as her natural state. Armand loved the lady and feared the dragon. So, naturally the creature stayed a lady most of the time they were together,” the tinker answered.
“What happened after the seven years?” Steven asked next. “Did Armand Hamar stay with the dragon lady or go back to being a tinker?”
“Now that is a puzzle to most people,” said the tinker. “Some have said they see him wandering the roads to this day. Others that it is seven years with and seven years without kind of romance; he goes back to her after he has wandered seven years away. But the stories all seem to agree that his time with the dragon gave Armand an exceptionally long lifespan. Some say he even turned to a dragon.”
“Do you mean one could become a dragon?” Steven asked, astonished. This thought had never crossed his mind. Perhaps his dragon had once been someone else. Perhaps even the missionary who had come to his village eons ago.
The tinker simply nodded and said, “Some say.”
Before Steven realized it, the bulk of the day had passed and there lay ahead of them a sizeable mountain village. Banners streamed in the afternoon sun from the town’s main street, for as they drew nearer, Steven could see that this was no one-road town, but that more buildings than he had ever seen leaned into each other along twisting cart paths through the town. Steven was in awe.
“I’ve never seen so many people. This must be what is meant by a city,” he told the tinker, keeping close to the cart.
“Not so large as a real city,” the tinker said. “But this is the main trading center for many days journey around. I’ll set up shop in the market and do a sharp business tonight and tomorrow. I’m afraid I’ll have to wait to hear your story until tomorrow night.”
At this Steven chafed a bit, but a deal was a deal, and just because he could not tell his story around the fire tonight, he still owed the story to the tinker and was bound to pay him. It was only fair. He helped the tinker open his cart for the customers who already had lined up with broken pots, furniture, and even a dog with three legs and a wheel. Steven soon found that the tinker had made the extraordinary contraption for the dog, which got around almost as well as a normal dog. The tinker oiled the wheel and petted the dog.
Steven also found that some of the buildings were shops where goods were bought and sold. Having never seen or used coins before, Steven was at a loss for how he could trade for food or supplies. The tinker came to Steven’s rescue, buying each of them a meat pie from one vendor and a tankard of ale from another. Steven was reluctant to be any further in the tinker’s debt, but the tinker seemed to think that Steven was performing a useful service by keeping people in an orderly line as they brought their things to be mended, or sought to buy a new pot or have a talk with the tinker about mending a roof.
The two worked well into the evening around the tinker’s fire and Steven proved himself worthy by mending a cane chair himself. He discovered that many of the tasks the tinker performed for others in town were things that people in his village did for themselves. When they were too tired to go on, they slept with the donkey, leaning up against the cart.
They were awake before dawn, and soon were working side-by-side. Steven went off to mend a thatched roof for the tinker and returned with coins that the tinker said were for his labor. Steven was remarkably proud of the coins and placed them in the same pouch with his precious herbs where they jingled merrily when he walked. Late the second day, as they were cleaning up the remains of the work they had to do, a man dressed in fine clothes came up to the tinker.
“The master asks you and your assistant to join him at the manor for the evening meal,” said the man.
“Ah,” said the tinker. “And what might the master want with a poor tinker?” This was said with a slight lilt and Steven caught a devilish wink from the tinker.
“Naught but your company, and perhaps a story,” said the man. “There will be clean straw for your bed and a hot meal in return.”
“Tell the master that his humble servant will attend him after the sun has set,” answered the tinker. The man was satisfied and went off with his message. The tinker turned to Steven and said, “It seems the story you are to tell me must be shared with others tonight. I do hope it is a good one!”
Dinner at the manor was the most elaborate meal Steven had ever witnessed. There was as much food as at any village feast, and in addition to the master, many townspeople were in attendance. The tinker introduced Steven George the Dragonslayer to the master and Steven then sat at the table.
“That is a spectacular hat you are wearing,” said the master to Steven. “I dare say we have never seen anything like it in this part of the mountains.” Several young women who had heard the comment hid their faces, but Steven could hear their laughter.
“It is a badge of honor to wear this hat,” said Steven. “Many there are who would have it, but it is the only one of its kind in the known world.” Steven spoke as though he knew all the known world rather than just the two hundred sixty-eight thousand seventy-four steps he had journeyed from his home.
“Perhaps,” said the tinker, “if it pleases the master, you will take my place to pay for our meal and beds with the story of that remarkable hat.”
“Yes, yes,” said the master. “If it is as unique as you say, it will be a story well worth the meal.”
“This story has been passed down for generations along with the hat,” Steven improvised as he stood to address the assembled dinner guests. Though still smiling at Steven, the maidens were no longer laughing.
ONCE UPON A TIME, many steps ago, there lived a humble haberdasher named Kasimar Caciula, known to all his customers as Kaz-in-a-Hat. Kaz made clothing, hats, belts, and even boots. The place where he lived was very hot in the summer, so people came to Kaz from far away to get the light summer hats and sandals that he made from straw. The place where he lived was also very cold in the winter, so people came to Kaz from near and far to get boots and the warm winter hats with earflaps that he made from sheep’s skin to warm them in the cold. Kaz made beautiful hats, and functional hats, and all his hats were warm in the winter and cool in the summer.
One day as Kaz sat at his milliner’s bench molding a particularly fine sheepskin hat, he spied a rat creeping along the wall looking for scraps. Kaz threw a wooden hatblock at the rat. The rat neatly sidestepped the block and continued calmly to investigate a site it seemed particularly interested in.
Kaz threw a hammer at the rat, but the rat again neatly stepped aside and continued foraging. Looking for another projectile, Kaz pulled the not-yet-finished hat from the table and flung it at the rat. Because of its unique shape, the hat floated gently through the air and settled cozily over the surprised rat.
Now the rat was alarmed. It scurried left and right bumping into table leg and chair. But since it could not see outside the hat, it could not tell that its doom approached on the feet of Kasimar Caciula. Kaz followed the hat around the room with the rat’s tail protruding from one edge. As the rat ran into a blank wall and was for a moment dazed, Kaz snatched it up by the tail, removed it from the shop and drowned it in a pail of water.
Satisfied that his home and shop were once again free of vermin, Kaz recovered the hat and proceeded to finish it. As he worked, he absent-mindedly hummed a little ditty to himself that he made up as he went along.
“With this hat
I killed a rat.
Through the air it lightly flew
If there’d been another, I’d killed it too.
And if a third had come to see,
With this hat, I’d have killed three.
You ask if my hat could handle four;
I say to you, bring more, bring more!”
Kaz was incredibly pleased with himself, both for having been clever enough to catch the rat and for the ditty he had made up celebrating the fact. But little did Kaz know that his youngest child had wandered by as he sang his song. The child, always in awe of his father and his splendid hats, went to his playmates and—as children are prone to do—proceeded at once to boast of his father’s amazing accomplishments.
“Oh yea?” said the little one “My papa has made a magic hat that catches rats.” The child’s playmates were suitably awed. They went to their homes and told their parents about the magic hat that could hunt by itself.
The parents spoke to other parents and soon the whole city was abuzz with the news that Kasimar Caciula had made a hat that could feed them all during the winter. A soldier overheard two peasants talking about the miraculous hat that could protect a village from bandits. He went to the king to tell the king of a hat-maker who had made a weapon that could defeat all their enemies.
The king was deaf to the stories the soldier told, for his only daughter had been recently kidnapped and was being held by a fearsome dragon high in the mountains. He could not send an army to rescue her because the paths were so narrow in the mountains that the army could be ambushed and destroyed. His magicians had professed ignorance of dragon magic. He could only think that he must offer a great reward to get a hero to go rescue his daughter.
Then what the soldier had said sank in. Perhaps the king had a hero in his kingdom.
“Go to this hat-maker,” said the king. “Summon him to my presence and let us see if his magic is a match for the dragon.”
When Kaz went to his shop the next morning, he found the doorway crowded with people who wanted him to make one of his magical hats for them. They crowded into the small shop and Kaz was overwhelmed with the number of requests that were made. At last, a soldier shouldered his way through the door and demanded that everyone leave; the king had need of Kaz-in-a-Hat. Kaz was told to bring his magical hat with him and appear before the king.
Kaz snatched up the hat he had dubbed Ratkiller and followed the soldier to the castle. He thought perhaps the king had an infestation of rats and had heard that Kaz could catch them. But when he knelt before the king and heard the actual command, he quailed.
How was he to defeat a dragon and rescue the princess? And why? He certainly didn’t need a princess to marry, as he was happily married with a family. He didn’t need a king’s ransom because he had a business and many customers. And he certainly didn’t need the squadron of soldiers sent to accompany him up the mountain to the place where the path narrowed and there was no way to go but forward. Here the army halted and Kaz was sent on his way alone.
The way twisted and turned and Kaz would have been certain he was lost, but there had been no branching in the path and no place he have could stepped off it. At long last he began to see signs of a mighty beast. The tops and the trunks of some of the trees were scorched. Other trees had simply been broken off like matchsticks. The foul breath of the dragon permeated everything that was around Kaz, and at last he had pity on the princess who must be suffering with the awful smell.
Then Kaz saw the dragon. It was a fearful beast with a spiked tail and three horns growing from its head. Its wings were feathered in leather and its skin was encrusted with jewels. Razor-sharp claws protruded from its limbs and Kaz was certain that he had met his death. Clutched beneath one wing like a new prized treasure was the princess who shook beneath the dragon’s paw, tears pouring from her eyes.
“Save me!” cried the princess. This had the effect of alerting the dragon to Kasimar’s presence. The dragon swiveled its head in his direction and began at once to take the breath that would roast the haberdasher where he stood.
Kaz’s only weapon was his hat and he reacted instantly with the same accurate throw he had used on the ill-fated rat. His hat sailed through the air distracting the dragon for a moment. In that instant, the hat settled on the dragon’s nose.
The dragon belched forth fire, but it was a vain attempt, for the hat held and the fire was forced back into the dragon’s lungs. The dragon’s fire was quenched and as it struggled to dislodge the hat from its face, Kaz rushed forward, drew his sewing shears, and thrust them into the dragon’s heart. The dragon faltered, looked at Kaz out of one mournful eye and fell dead at his feet. Kaz immediately used his trusty scissors to snip a hole in the wing so the princess could crawl out. She took one look at the fallen dragon and at Kaz and ran crying from the clearing down the mountain path in the direction from which Kaz had come.
For his part, Kaz retrieved his smoking hat from the dragon’s face. When it was dislodged, he discovered the inside had been charred. Dragon feathers clung to the fur outside the hat. Kaz proceeded to pluck more of the dragon’s feathers and decorate his amazing hat, then cut a strip of the leathery hide to wrap around the brim. He took a talisman from the dragon’s gem-encrusted belly and fastened the skin in place. Then using scissors as sharp as a razor, he cut a finger-bone from the dragon’s claws and fastened it to the side of the hat.
Kaz made his way down off the mountain and discovered that the army had escorted the princess home. The captain who had blocked Kasimar’s retreat had been praised for delivering the princess and she had already agreed to marry him. Her father gave them a king’s ransom as a dowry. No one seemed even to recognize Kaz, and so he simply left and went home.
Kaz continued his simple life and lived to a great age, but never again was he called upon to make a magic hat or to rescue a captured princess. But Ratcatcher, the amazing hat, was passed down through the ages with the story of the haberdasher who slew a dragon and sits on this head before you now.
APPLAUSE RIPPLED through the manor house, led by the master himself. The tinker looked at Steven coolly.
“I can see the truth in your story,” lauded the master. “Good Tinker Hamar would have us all believe that dragons are benign and not a serious threat to our villages, our crops, and our families. Your story puts the beast in perspective. They should be hunted down and destroyed.”
“I say the dragons hold no innate malevolence toward humanity,” the tinker clarified. “However, I would also say that they do not brook mockery, nor do they hesitate to defend themselves.”
“I mean no disrespect,” said Steven. “I’m sure the dragon is a noble beast and worthy of respect.”
“More so than many nobles you will encounter on the road you have chosen,” the tinker finished. “Good master,” he addressed the lord of the manor, “I thank you once again for your hospitality and trust you have found the story I brought for you to be satisfactory. Steven, your story-debt to me is well-paid.” The tinker seemed much lighter now and Steven ceased fearing he had offended. He, in turn, bade goodnight to the master and followed the tinker back to their camp.
“Are you the real Armand Hamar?” asked Steven excitedly when he caught up to the tinker.
“I am the only one I know by that name, but if you ask for more detail than I have told you about the impossible pot, I must decline to answer. Perhaps it was an ancient ancestor. Certainly, you don’t think me so old, do you?”
“Not at all, sir,” Steven replied. “I have enjoyed your company these few days and would gladly stay with you and learn more if it were not for my quest.”
“Ah, yes, young Dragonslayer. There is always the quest to think of,” Armand responded. “I would give you a gift if I may.”
“I would be a poor guest if I refused the hospitality of my host,” said Steven.
“Well spoken. Be sure you remember that when you find yourself the guest of a dragon,” said the tinker. “Now let me see that knife you carry.”
Steven was surprised at the request, but pulled his knife from his belt nonetheless and handed it to the tinker. The tinker rummaged in the back of his wagon and pulled out a whetting stone. He drew Steven’s knife along it slowly, then more quickly. Steven watched in fascination as the tinker sharpened his knife for him.
But the tinker was not satisfied with merely sharpening the blade. He unwrapped a small leather pouch and withdrew several pointed instruments. By the light of the fire the tinker worked to engrave the blade of the knife as Steven watched silently fascinated.
The tinker handed Steven a hand bellows and had him stoke the coals in the fire as the tinker held the blade in the fire until it turned red, then blue, and then white hot. Much to Steven’s horror, the tinker then removed the knife from the fire and plunged the blade into a pail of cold water.
“My knife!” Steven exclaimed as the steam rose from the bucket. “It will be broken!”
“Never fear,” the tinker said. “I promised you a gift, not to take away your defense.” He pulled the blade from the water and wiped it down with a soft oiled cloth. “Unlike iron, good steel is tempered by the flames and becomes stronger with a plunge into the water.” He held the knife out to Steven. “Steven George, Dragonslayer, wear this knife at your belt. On the day you meet your dragon, it may save your life.”
Steven accepted the gift and looked at the engraving on the steel. What he took at first for a snake proved to have wings and flame burst from its nose. The bluing that the tinker had wiped on the blade made it glow in the firelight.
Steven had never owned anything so beautiful, nor had he ever thought to.
“I will treasure this always,” Steven said. “Perhaps people will start asking for the story of this wonderful knife instead of my ridiculous hat.”
“You will do yourself a favor to keep telling the story of the hat, and save the knife for your dragon,” the tinker responded.
Comments
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