Beginning

The Ismay Residence, Kinspit

‘It’s very bright’ said John, blinking up at the light.

‘Yes, sir’ responded1 Hardacre, ‘that’s the sun’

‘Of course it is’ smiled John, ‘lovely, warm sun…’

Hardacre kept the curtains open. He placed the breakfast tray on the bedside table. It had two boiled eggs on it in a tureen and some toast soldiers. It was a test of sorts.

John sat up and studied the eggs carefully.

‘Prolate spheroids’ John murmured

‘Not quite, sir’ Hardacre felt compelled to correct him. John didn’t seem to mind.

‘Can I pick one up?’ John asked.

‘Not at the moment – it is rather hot…’

John stared wild eyed at the eggs. His hand, which had been reaching out to the eggs, shot back under his blankets.

‘Why, Laurence, did you bring me strange slightly flattened spheres that are too hot to touch?’

‘They are eggs – they have an exterior shell and you can eat the white and yellow substances under the shell. I have taken the precaution of boiling them thoroughly so that the yellow and white bits are both quite solid’

John’s expression changed. The dark clouds over his head disappeared and he smiled brightly again.

‘I once saw a parrot born from an egg. It was so small – it didn’t look like a parrot at all’

He groped around for more memories.

‘And there were parrots that could talk – they spoke the old tongue amazingly well…’

Hardacre deftly picked the two egg cups from the tray, leaving just the buttered toast.

‘Yes, the Micropsitta. They are a  fine and noble race’ he confirmed.

John looked up at the eggs, now lying on their sides on a spare plate in Hardacre’s hand.

‘Keep them warm and we can have pet dragons…’

‘Sadly not, sir’ Hardacre murmured, straight-faced, ‘we don’t have room for them’

John looked sad.

‘Dragons have all gone away. They don’t like cities, you know’

‘There are dragons, sir – they have been enslaved by one of our enemies. They are way away in the east of the Western Continent’

John shook his head vehemently

‘No – they’ve all left us, because we loved them too much’

‘If you say so, sir…’

‘The elves loved the dragons more than gold…’

‘Those are just stories, sir. Real dragons are not very loveable’

John stuck out his lower lip.

‘So, you say…’

‘I do, sir – but I am always willing to be proven wrong. The real dragons are commanded by Yellowcloak,, but even they have not been seen for a long age of human time’

‘Let’s try to hatch a dragon anyway…’suggested John

Hardacre moved swiftly to hide the eggs behind his back.

‘Of course, sir – shall I prepare some porridge instead?

‘Porridge – no – that is spawn of the slime monsters…’ John said, without conviction

‘Are you sure, sir?’ asked Hardacre

John’s lips set themselves halfway between a smile and a frown.

‘Not entirely, Laurence…I am finding that I get a bit confused…

Hardacre tipped his head slightly.

‘As I have pointed out before, on the several occasions when we have had this conversation, even if your hypotheses were supported in any way I make sure that I boil the oats for at least four minutes, thus rendering the mixture quite sterile’

‘Of course’ muttered John, ‘you think of everything…’

‘Not everything, Mr Ismay… just enough’

John lay back on his bed and pulled the crisp white sheets over his head’

‘You can’t see me now’ he yelped, ‘guess where I am…’

Hardacre took this opportunity to retreat backwards from the room. He didn’t feel the need to answer.

He returned to the kitchen and put the boiled eggs in the larder. He would make sandwiches with them later. He pulled out a big bag of oats.