The Heavy Baggage

Barnaby didn't wait for the dragon to change his mind. He scrambled toward the exit, his bells jingling a victory march.

"Farewell, beast!" Barnaby called out as he stepped onto the Crumbling Ledge. The air was sweet and cold. Below him, the kingdom spread out like a tapestry. He had done it. He had escaped the inescapable hoard. He would write a memoir. He would double his rates.

"Wait for me!"

The voice was so loud it nearly knocked Barnaby off the cliff.

The ground shook violently. Stones tumbled down the mountainside as Grandfather Cinder squeezed his massive bulk through the exit. The dragon shook himself like a wet dog, sending a cloud of dust and ancient mites drifting over the valley.

Barnaby froze. "What are you doing?"

"I am coming with you," Cinder announced happily. He stretched his wings, which sounded like old sails tearing in a storm. "I have spent three hundred years in that hole waiting for a knight to stab me. It is so dull. But you! You are fascinating."

"I am?" Barnaby squeaked.

"Yes! The way you fall down but pretend you didn't? The way you make noises that hurt the ears but unlock doors? It is a new form of magic!" Cinder lowered his head until he was nose-to-nose with the jester. "Teach me this 'slap-stick', Master Barnaby. We shall tour the world. I will be your apprentice."

Barnaby looked at the dragon. He looked at the kingdom below. He imagined trying to check into an inn with a fifty-ton fire-breathing lizard who didn't understand knock-knock jokes.

"I... I work alone," Barnaby tried.

"Nonsense!" Cinder roared, nudging Barnaby with his snout. Barnaby stumbled, nearly falling off the edge again. "We are a team now! To the village! I want to try this 'chicken crossing the road' maneuver!"

The dragon leaped from the ledge, unfurling his wings and gliding clumsily toward the town below. He looked back, waiting.

Barnaby sighed. He adjusted his cap.

"Well," he muttered to himself, starting the long walk down. "At least he's a captive audience."