The dwarf moved on to his own room, the abbot standing in the dimness, watching with bright eyes. Yet his old face was drained, like a sick man’s. Chudu called at the prince’s door, “Good night, Prince.” Christopher the Sullen was already sound asleep, still in all his clothes. “Good night,” said Chudu to the abbot.
“Good night,” said the abbot feebly, with a suggestion of a bow. Then the saintly abbot turned and, breathing heavily, just perceptibly dragging one foot, went his way.
Chapter Twelve
The following morning Prince Christopher the Sullen announced that he’d decided to fight the dragon. He spoke of going alone, but Armida wouldn’t hear of it, and since Armida insisted on going, the dwarf insisted that he, too, must go. The abbot ordered one of the monks to give Prince Christopher a map and said, “God bless you, my children.” Another monk was sent to bring up Boy. The horse, when he saw the prince sharpening his sword and battle ax and putting an extra fine point on his lance, was extremely uneasy, but he said nothing. He considered not allowing the prince to mount, and he was downright cross when he discovered that today he was expected to carry Armida and the Goat’s Son too; but it was a pretty day, with birds singing everywhere, and except for a stamp of his right front hoof he made no protest.
Armida, leaning toward the prince’s shoulder, said: “Did you bring your violin?”
“I always take my violin,” said the prince, twisting around in the saddle to look at her. “Why?”
“No reason,” said Armida, and smiled so stupidly that both Chudu and the prince felt vaguely suspicious. They kept their thoughts to themselves, however; the prince heaved a deep sigh, and poked the horse’s side, very lightly, with his spurs.
Speedily a tale is spun; with much less speed a deed is done. When they had crossed the first mountain, and then a second and a third, they came to a wide green valley surrounded by forest, and at the end of the valley, set among wildflowers and bones, they beheld a cave. There was a stink far greater than Chudu’s in the air, and though there were birds in every tree they were all of them as silent as fieldstones. The horse knew the cave of a dragon when he saw one, and he turned his head around and looked mournfully at the prince and wept a tear.
“Well, this looks like the place,” said the prince, and bit his lips.
Armida and the dwarf dismounted, and the prince sat awhile more, biting his lips and sighing. Armida stood combing her long yellow hair, her pale wrist so limp it was a wonder she could manage to pull the comb. “Have you a plan?” she asked casually.
“Not really,” said the prince. “I suppose when I get there something will come to me.”
Armida glanced at him, pursed her lips, and went on combing. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“Oh—” the prince began thoughtfully. But he changed his mind and said no more.
Chudu the Goat’s Son puffed at his pipe and batted his fists together nervously. He hadn’t quite realized how much he liked Prince Christopher, and how sorry he would be when he was dead. He began to feel cross, and then downright angry, at the world in general. Against his carefully nurtured better nature he began to feel an impulse to destroy things — blast trees out of the ground, make the earth open up, or maybe stomp on his hat; but he controlled himself — as he always did, or almost always, when these dark urges came: he started counting. By the time he reached seven hundred thousand — he was counting very fast — he was mad as a hornet. If it were possible for a dwarf to kill a dragon he’d have done so on the spot; but dwarfs are impotent against dragons, no one knows why.
“Well,” said the prince, and heaved another deep sigh, “I suppose I’d better get it over with.”
“Good bye, Prince Christopher,” said the dwarf, and he took his hat off and held it to his chest.
Armida burst out crying.
“Don’t cry, Armida,” said the prince gently. “It’s not as bad as you think. I’ll tell you something. It feels sort of good, to tell the truth. I would have said it was sentimental foolishness, but it feels really fine to be battling a dragon, with a beautiful maiden looking on. No fooling. It’s the kind of thing a prince ought to do. Violin playing’s all very well, and poetry, but I am a prince, after all, you know? I may not be very clever or very strong, but my heart at least is manly. I’m glad to have found that out.”
“I’m proud of you, Prince Christopher,” said Armida, trying hard to smile through her tears. “You will be careful?”
The prince laughed sadly. “How can a person be careful with a fire-breathing dragon?” He sighed one more time, gave them a wave, and started the horse toward the cave. A puff of smoke came out the entrance. Chudu batted his fists together, counting like lightning, and Armida made a kind of peeping sound, holding back sobs. When the horse had gone twenty paces, lifting his hooves high, like a parade horse, not from pride but because he was sick with fright and wanted to take the shortest steps possible, Armida called out, “I love you, Prince Christopher!” The prince turned and smiled and waved again and blew Armida a kiss. When the horse had gone forty paces, Armida suddenly threw down her comb and ran after him. “Wait!” she yelled. “Wait!”
The prince stopped and turned his horse sideways, letting her catch up. Chudu the Goat’s Son took off after Armida, putting his pipe out as he ran by poking his finger in the bowl, and reached the horse two steps behind her.
“Prince Christopher, I have an idea,” Armida said. Her bosom heaved, and in her embarrassment at having an idea she blushed scarlet.
“You do?” he said.
“Yes.” She brushed her hair back. “Let me kill the dragon.”
“You?” He looked baffled, then indignant.
“I know, I know, it’s not what the beautiful maiden’s supposed to do, and I’m ashamed of myself for suggesting it — you can see that for yourself. But think about it. No one will ever know except us three, and I’m stronger than you.”
“You are?”
“Watch,” she said. She glanced around for some suitable demonstration, then settled on the horse himself, took a deep breath, and picked up the horse in her arms with the prince still on it.
“Wow!” said the prince respectfully. The horse pawed the air and craned his head around to look.
She put him down again. “Also — I don’t want to hurt your feelings, because I do love you, you know I do — but the truth is, I might be, well, smarter. I’ve thought of a plan.”
The prince studied her, his expression so hurt they were afraid he might cry; then he turned away and picked at his beard, thinking. At last he said, “I can’t do it. I mean it, Armida. If it ever got out that I sat back and allowed a beautiful maiden to—”
“But it won’t get out! You know I’d die to protect your reputation. And you won’t tell. What would that make me look like?”
“Yes, but there’s the dwarf.”
Armida laughed, though her eyes were still teary. Now she knew she had him. “The dwarf, you silly goose, loves me. He’s even a little fond of you, I think.”
The prince looked down sternly at Chudu. “Is that true?”
Chudu the Goat’s Son bit his lip, then nodded.
The prince looked off for a long moment at the black entrance to the dragon’s cave. “Well son of a gun,” he said. After a while he said, “What’s your plan?”
“We’ll use teamwork,” she said. “We’ll gang up on him. Your job is to play the violin. That will lure him out into the sunlight, where his magic charm won’t help. And then the dwarf will go into a horrible tantrum and shape-shift and ruin things until the dragon charges him. And then I’ll gallop in from the side on the horse and mash, mash, mash, mash!” With two hands she swung an imaginary sword. When she’d mashed four times, she held out the imaginary sword as a pointer. “Dead dragon.”