Western Walkabout: The Witch, The Wood Elf And The Dragon - 6
...“Swanfire,” she said. “You have been living with Woodward and me for nearly a month now. It’s only a question of time before your presence is noted and that could lead to a lot of problems.”
The dragon held up a five inch talon glistening with Skye’s latest pink nail polish, and looked at it through narrowed eyes. It was razor sharp. “Nothing I can’t handle, darl,” she said...
Richard Harris continues his love story for children over 40.
To read earlier chapters, along with more stories and articles by Richard, please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/western_walkabout/
TRANSFORMATION
This was a tricky negotiation and Skye new she would have to handle the dragon with skill and tact.
“Swanfire,” she said. “You have been living with Woodward and me for nearly a month now. It’s only a question of time before your presence is noted and that could lead to a lot of problems.”
The dragon held up a five inch talon glistening with Skye’s latest pink nail polish, and looked at it through narrowed eyes. It was razor sharp. “Nothing I can’t handle, darl,” she said.
“Oh, I realize that, but I have a proposition for you, which will give you a career path and the prospects of superannuation,” said Skye.
“What’s the deal?” said the dragon.
“As an A grade witch, with responsibilities for the proper conduct of all spells on the western rim of the Great South Land, I’m eligible for a federal grant to employ support staff,” said the witch.
“I had in mind appointing you as my Personal Assistant, with a special allowance for PR duties. In short, you would be my bodyguard.”
“PR – what’s that?” said the dragon.
“Keeping my image clean and bright using sub-lethal force where necessary. You can’t kill anybody – at least, not while anybody else is looking. Character assassination through the media is ok, of course.”
“What sort of weapons can I have?”
“We’ll need to transform you. You cannot go around with me looking like a dragon but there’s a spell I could use to remake you into a look-alike personal trainer to the rich and famous.”
“I like it,” said the dragon. “I’d just look like a tall girl, wouldn’t I? Do I get blue eyes?”
“Blue eyes, you keep your gorgeous eye-lashes. You get a toned body, and long, dark hair. We’ll pass you off as an Afghan refugee, from an obscure Muslim sect, and put you forward for Australian citizenship. We can speed things up by suggesting to the authorities that you would like to represent your new country at the Olympic Games in view of your mastery in unarmed combat and your fencing skills with edged weapons. That way, any time spent practicing with weapons won’t draw any undue comment.”
“How you going to transform me?”
“I’ll make up a potion. I’ve got the herbs. I’ll need a drop of fresh blood, 0 positive is best. It’ll have to be mine – we can’t use Woodward’s because he’s thalassemic. His Mother had malaria a few years before he was born. Pity about that. He gets giddy at heights. My blood will be fine.”
“What about clothes, weapons and stuff?”
“Leave that all to me. The potion will fix it.”
The transformation was immediate and spectacular. The dragon presented as a beautiful, athletic woman in a dark grey trouser suit. The round buckle on her belt was detachable as a circular throwing knife, as were the large buttons on her coat and sleeves. Her hair was pinned up with two sharp darts.
“You realize what this means?” said Woodward, watching from the doorway.
“What?” said the witch and dragon together.
“It means we can have late dinners at Northbridge on Saturday nights, without a care in the world.” They all laughed and Skye poured three glasses of Naked Owl merlot.
“A toast, Happy Days,” she said.
They clinked glasses, with broad grins.
“While we’re changing things around, I think I’ll take a new name,” said the dragon. “From now on, I’m Sapphire.”
