Queenie is going through an interior design phase and keeps inviting me round. Ostensibly, it is do a fixer upper on her shelving requirements (she has a lot of books and shoes), but no matter how ingenious, quirky, or downright bitchin’ my designs are, we generally defer any decision-making with a bottle of wine and a bit of what she calls intellectual dragon-slaying. I suspect she really just wants someone to listen to her, but she’s too proud to admit it.
Unfortunately, Percy gets quite confused when we do this. One night, we were shooting the breeze about the war in Iraq when he appeared dressed to the neck in rusty chain mail wielding what I can only describe as seven foot spiked lump hammer, screaming “Where is it, Where is it?” I got quite agitated and there was a bit of confusion while Queenie found my Xanax, confiscated the lump hammer and persuaded Percy an attack was NOT imminent, and to put his pyjamas back on. Then she decided we should sort out Percy’s dragon confusion. Personally, I find rationalising with a man attired in pink girl’s pyjamas and a large, red-plumed helmet a bit unnerving (I don’t care what Wallpaper* says, pink and red never work together), so I sat back and let the Xanax warm me up and left it to Queenie.
Percy had accepted Queenie’s offer of shelter and assistance in his Quest very gratefully. As a knight and a hero he was obliged to return the favour. Besides, he liked Queenie and Narrator had told him that she was under siege from many dragons. However, he was having a lot of difficulty understanding when they attacked and how to slay them.
He explained to Queenie that previously, for centuries actually, when he came across a terrified maiden bound to a tree, he dismounted from his trusty steed and offered his services. Usually, the frightened villagers would point to the trail of destruction left by the marauding creature and show him a spot to lay in wait. Then when the dragon appeared Percy would slay him. Sometimes it took all day and he was quite tired afterwards. But exhilarated. Usually, the maiden offered him all kinds of inducements to stay on in the village and protect her, but Percy always felt pulled onwards by a deep urge to pick up the trail of his Quest.
Queenie said that might work with some chicks, but she was NOT a terrified maiden, and besides, she didn’t believe in the use of force, no, not even to slay dragons. Besides, she remarked, in that supercilious tone she used when she suspected Percy was trying to protect her, that one on one combat with dragons was not possible nowadays because they sit in their caves and rampage from afar with sophisticated technological devices.
She was adamant that Percy could not go and beard them in their caves because, she said, nobody is sure where they are, or indeed what dragons look like anymore. All we know of them is what they want us to believe, she added. It’s all about the brand nowadays, dude, she said, ‘old economy’ tactics won’t work on these guys.
Percy disagreed. When she was at work he watched television and saw many examples of ‘old economy’ dragon slaying, even though the battles were a little different to what he was used to. He had even seen one where the heroes looked like him, although generally, they were horse-mounted heroes called cowboys, or paint-streaked giants called Special Ops commanders, or rugged men called cops. But he argued that they were all on a Quest, and that despite their differences in battle tactics, they were all excellent dragon slayers.
Queenie started getting impatient with Percy then and tried to explain that there are many, many dragons in the world now, of all types with all kinds of agendas, and they are working together, which makes them almost unbeatable. Percy felt a surge of usefulness then. If what Queenie said was true, he argued, if the dragons were gathering strength again, maybe he should ride out and try to marshall a fellowship of heroes.
Queenie looked at him sadly, and was just about to speak when suddenly, Sean Bean jumped out of the man cupboard, where he had been sat listening with his pointy elbows* on his knees. To Percy’s consternation, he knelt at his feet and breathlessly mumbled an oath of allegiance to ‘my brother, my captain, my king’. Percy tried to wrestle him to his feet, but Sean Bean clung to him, sobbing. Narrator fainted. Clive Owen sniggered and continued playing Cotillion. Queenie swore at them all and went to bed.
* A badger told me this, so it must be true.
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