Christmas 1997 - Under The Bridge

Under the Bridge

Paul Brazier and Juliet Eyeions

As the dawn mist swirled in the Pool of London, the dragon that lived beneath Quicksilver Castle by the northern stump of London Bridge bellowed mournfully. The rising sun gleamed on the exposed flank of the wreck of the Belfast, and a heliograph began to flicker from the top of the remaining tower of Tower Bridge.

“A strange ship in Shadwell Reach!” Red Carlo was excited, although the flush in her cheeks was from being woken so suddenly. Big Boy Steve yawned and made calming gestures.

“We do have visitors sometimes,” he said. “This could be Frightened Brian, come early.”

“But it might be raiders!” squawked Red. “We must call out the men and be ready!”

“If it’s raiders, we hide in the tunnels. No one with any sense fights over money any more, and we haven’t got anything else.”

Within half an hour, the strange ship had deftly negotiated the remaining half-raised bascule of Tower Bridge, and was slipping slowly through the lingering mist towards London Bridge. The dragon moaned, and smoke drifted up around the assembled people, so it was hard to make out details, but the ship seemed to be all white except for a bright red figurehead. To the amazement of the onlookers, the ship now made a deft pirouette, then continued to move slowly towards them sternwards. Finally, as it drew level with the truncated road-bed, it came to a halt.

“Ahoy,” a fruity voice bellowed. “Permission to come ashore?” Big Boy stepped forward, but Red Carlo touched his arm, and raised her voice.

“Who comes a callin’, all unannounced?”

“Captain Stan Nicholas of the good ship Rudolph.”

“And your business, Captain?”

“A mission of mercy. Allow me to come ashore, and I will explain.”

“Very well,” Carlo called, “but we would be obliged if you would come ashore alone.”

“Agreed,” the voice called, and the ship moved sideways to make a gentle contact with the bridge. A gang-plank telescoped out from the side of the ship until it rested lightly on the tarmac before Carlo. Then, to a collective gasp, a large man clad entirely in red trimmed with white strode down it and clasped Carlo firmly by the hand.

The view from the sixth floor of Quicksilver Castle was awesome. The discontinuity event that had destroyed all the bridges across the Thames had also removed all other buildings on the north bank from the Tower to Southwark Bridge so that the road bed that was once Upper and Lower Thames Street was now the river bed. Other surrounding buildings had collapsed or subsided in the aftershock, leaving only Quicksilver Castle with its deep foundations and underground connections unblemished. The nearest standing building was The Castle of the Canary, a much taller structure, but without Quicksilver’s underground network. The last wisps of fog, tangled with dragon smoke, rose around the top yards of the Rudolph just beyond the window, and the Thames gleamed in the bright mid-winter sunshine.

“Please accept our hospitality.” Red Carlo indicated the meagre bread-and-ale breakfast laid out on the table. “I am sorry there is so little. We grow what we can, barter for luxuries. Trade is difficult. No one wants our money.” She turned away, gesturing with her tankard at the view.

“From here we command all approaches to the City, by water or land. It is impossible to take us by surprise.”

“Now, Carlo…” Steve admonished, but Stan Nicholas interrupted.

“Your hospitality is very welcome. This is indeed a wonderful feast. But be assured I offer you no threat. I come solely to put right a terrible wrong. Your bridges and the Belfast were destroyed by a reality discontinuity, a window that swapped matter between this and a parallel reality. Your enemies opened the window, enticed a living entity from the other side to enter it, then guided the window along the course of your river. The entity, as it drew itself through, was replaced in its continuum by any matter it encountered in this reality.”

“You mean our dragon?” Carlo said.

“I do. It remains here, out of place, slowly starving, and pining for its home.”

“The dragon is not as hot as once it was, but we have salvaged boilers, and find the heat they produce sufficient – and, as for the watch the dragon kept, our lookouts and our light signalling outreach him now,” Steve reflected. “We do not need…”

“You want to send our dragon home,” interrupted Carlo. “That is all I understand thus far. But can we believe you? Does the dragon really want to go home? And if it did, what would we get out of the deal?”

“Would you agree the dragon is intelligent?” asked Nicholas suddenly.

“Of course. How else would it be able to tell us that strangers approach?”

“Then let us ask it what it wants – or is it a captive, rather than a servant?”

“It serves only. Who would capture a dragon?”

Where the discontinuity window had sliced by the Castle, the Castle’s vault had been opened to the skies, revealing all the treasure stored there. All the paper had flown away or been burned, all the metal had been vaporized. But the dragon had seen the glitter of massed coins and had settled into the breach to claim the treasure for its own. Alas, the pile was entirely made up of indestructible ceramic emus, a currency worthless when invented and rendered permanently valueless by the war it caused. But the dragon didn’t know this; it stopped the river flowing into the hole and flooding the tunnels; and, as a bonus, it had warmed the building through several otherwise cheerless though not particularly cold winters – it had not snowed since the event.
Steve, Carlo and Nicholas stood on the foreshore steps, just by its gigantic head.

“Dragon,” said Steve, “this man comes to offer you passage home. He says you will die if you remain here. Do you want to go with him?”

“No,” it rumbled. “I will stay. It will be good to die, and feed the fish, as they have fed me.”

“Dragon,” said Nicholas, “To see the other side, see the sea red dry, and the sky red wet, and the land true blue and the wind blue too…”

“Cease!” roared the dragon, and the mud shook. “I know that spell, and it shall not be cast without my very wish.”

“But dragon, I only wanted…”

“More than meets the eye, fat man,” the dragon rumbled. But it was wrong. Stan’s only desire in life was to make people happy where they had been. The dragon rolled its golden eye around, hearing Nicholas’s feelings, and wondered what he could do for these poor humans…

“Dragon,” cried Nicholas,“hear me!” The pile you treasure is worthless; look up to the skies at night and see the true gems that you should treasure, the stars your destination…” but the dragon merely grunted sleepily.

“Dragon,” said Carlo, “we do not want to enslave you. You starve as we speak. Go home, if at home you can be as happy as a dragon; stay not here to feed the fish of a foreign flood.”

But the dragon had closed its eyes and appeared to be asleep. The subterranean rumble that was its snoring began, and they felt even the Thames mud beneath their boots tremble at the sound.

The next morning, the skies had closed and lowered forbiddingly above Quicksilver Castle. Stan Nicholas bid farewell to his overnight hosts, but, as he stepped onto the gang-plank, time seemed to slow down.

–Can it be true, Stan Nicholas, that you can see me home– came the dragon’s voice in his mind.

–Of course– he replied –for, unknown to these humans, your home is mine too, the land they usually only glimpse in dreams and children’s stories–

–Then take me with you, for I tire of lying in the mud. Take me, for I long for the red wet skies of home.–

At this, time slipped back into normal gear. Nicholas strode up the gang-plank and, as it retracted, the ship slid gently sideways until it was in mid-stream. And beside it, barely visible beneath the water, was the dragon. For a moment, the ship and the dragon kept pace in the river, and then the ship leaped into the air. About a hundred metres up it stopped, and the crowd saw clearly the reindeer painted along the hull, and the glowing of the figurehead – and then the dragon rose too, floating majestically up until again it was alongside the ship. Then, slowly at first but accelerating all the time, they rose into the sky until they were swallowed by the bellying clouds…

–’Tis a shame we could leave them nothing– thought Santa –for they are good at heart–

–Remember, fat man,– the dragon replied –that dragon magic is not all for dragons. They have been recompensed. Their treasure is treasure again–

As the crowd gazed awe-struck into the sky, suddenly Carlo’s gaze snapped downwards, to where the dragon’s lair had been.

“The tunnels!” she cried. “The tunnels will be flooded.” She turned and forced her way through the crowd, but as she arrived at the front of the castle, a ragged figure stumbled through the revolting door, his hands full of gold coins.

“’Tis a miracle,” he cried, “a murkin’ miracle!”

“What is it?” demanded Carlo, “and who are you?”

“I be just one of the ’umble boilermakers, ma’am, and they calls me Red Hot Brazier, and I’ve had an eye on that there dragon, and I was a-standin’ there a-watchin’ it and suddenly there’s a whoosh and a clatter and it were gone and I thought I were dead ’cos the water would rush in, and I weren’t ’cos it didn’t and instead there’s this glass dome across the breach in the wall, and I fell down on me knees in thanks and all them useless emus that the dragon’s been trying to hatch felt all soft so I picks one up and…” He proffered a handful of coins to Red Carlo, and she took one.

“Go on,” he said, “peel it.” She turned it over and saw a sort of seam along the edge. Grasping it firmly – it did give slightly to the touch – she slid a fingernail under the seam, and lifted. The metallic covering pulled away from a pale brown disc inside.

“Taste it!” croaked Brazier. In an agony of anticipation, he mimed laying the coin on his tongue. “Taste it!”

She peeled off the other side, and touched the disc briefly to the tip of her tongue. Neutral. Or… She touched it again. And then slipped the whole thing into her mouth and stood transfixed.

“Chocolate!” she cried. “Our hoard of coins is chocolate!” As some of the coins were brought out and distributed, she turned her eyes to the sky again. And a snowflake settled on her nose, twinkled and melted. All around her, the snow began to fall as the people rediscovered the pure luxury of chocolate, and Christmas at last returned to the world.

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