The Last Dragon - Chapter 27

Where witches dance... not at midnight but around the office desk. Love abides in death. And the puzzle pieces fall down together.

Chapter 26. or Chapter 1

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“Good morning, Constance. I hope you slept well.”

This was a strange greeting coming from the overlord of Bone Valley, because Mother Heggerty only ever hoped people woke in severe discomfort or dead.

Contance’s heart beat a rapid tattoo as her mind precipitously went through the following internal conversation with herself and her will to live.

…

She knows!

Of course, she knows.

But what does she know?

She knows everything, even before the people she knows stuff about know themselves.

This is not good!

No shit, Sherlock!

Do you think she’s going to kill me?

Do dragons poop in the air?

Oh… good goddess! She’s gonna kill me!

No, actually, do they? Or do they land and use a bush? Or in our case, a rooftop?

What?

Sorry, lost my train of thought. We’re only going to die if you give Heggerty the chance to kill us!

…

Seeing that Constance was in panic mode, her sheer will to live stepped in and filled the young witch’s gaping mouth with a bit of banality, all in the hopes of giving herself time to scoop her “dragon’s droppings” into a pile from wherever they may be found.

“Well, err, actually, Mother Heggerty, I have some good news.”

“Yes, and what would that be, dear?”

As he scooped up her blonde hair into a stunning, alluring Chinoise bun, Mother Heggerty ignored Constance and watched her nervous hairdresser, like a famished vulture watches a fat, slow and trusting bunny.

The nameless hairdresser glanced at Constance, smiled, and winked. It unfortunately… or fortunately, as the case may be, looked as if his ritualised morning torture was going to be redirected today.

Steadying her nerves, Constance spoke as nonchalantly as she could. “The troupe of idiots and the blue turncoat spy haven’t yet found the inventor’s daughter.”

“Haven’t they?” Mother Heggerty smiled at her hairdresser. “Now that is a shame, isn’t it, Bertron?”

Even though his name was Sage, the hairdresser nodded sympathetically as he knew what fate had befallen Bertron, and he certainly didn’t want to endure the same fortune.

Just a side note, in case you want to donate, the Bone Valley league of hairdressers had started up a ‘Go Fund My Expenses’ because ‘I’m recovering from Mother Heggerty PTSD, and I can’t even look at a brush without having soul-crushing flashbacks’ page, for poor Bertron.

Secretly, all those donating coiffures and coiffeuses hoped that some wonderfully gentle-handed surgeon would be found and would remove Bertron’s hairbrush set and its leather wrapping case, from his… um...

Anyway, in doing so, they hoped to make the old man’s life more tolerable… or at least let him walk a normal gait. Mother Harper had offered Bertons a brush set with a bottle brush and her dunny plunger, but Bertron wasn’t that desperate, as yet.

Also from this terrible occurrence, a susurrus of discontent had grown within the ranks of hairdressing salons. Quietly, hidden by the noise produced by each salon’s hair-drying dragon, terrible words were spoken of just how awful Mother Heggerty was and how dreadful her reaction had been, and did the other hairdresser know it was all over a couple of loose strands of hair! Oh, to end poor Bertrons’ career with one swift application of ‘her party trick’, it was simply uncalled for.

The Coiffures had secretly gathered in darkened salons after closing time to form a hairdressers’ union, in the hopes it would protect them against the terrifying reign of Mother Heggerty’s bad temper.

But when they found their newly elected union rep naked on the common, shaved bald from head to toe, stuttering he’d been forced to drink his own sterilising fluid whilst begging someone with petite fingers to help remove his hair roller set, including their case. Everyone decided that a union was probably a step too far, so they would instead vote for sacrificial lambs, who would work with Mother Heggerty but whose families would be taken care of when the inevitable happened.

Constance had found that rather amusing when she first learned of it.

She was not amused at the moment, though.

“Yes, Mother Heggerty… it is a… shame…” She replied, measuring her words as carefully as if they were powdered gold. Wishing she’d worn her running boots, but still feeling reassured that, by not doing so, she was maintaining some semblance of fake normalcy. Constance calculated that at least the false belief may give her a second or two’s head start in the race to see who would survive the morning.

“You know, Constance,” Mother Heggerty gave the thumbs up to Sage/Bertron, who bowed and scraped his way backwards out of the room, and who, by not exposing his buttocks, ensured some form of self-protection occurred.

At this point, it must be noted that it was rather impressive that Sage was able to open the door without looking or turning around, with both hands full of equipment! Hairdressing school had, in the light of poor Bertron and the Union Rep, revised the curriculum and devised a whole new set of skills to be mastered.

Continuing her slow but toxic attack, Mother Heggerty wearily turned to face her gilt-edged dressing table mirror and sighed, “It’s very hard being a benevolent ruler. It’s very taxing on one’s resilience.”

“Yes, Mother Heggerty, I’m sure it is, Mother Heggerty. Is there anything I can get you, Mother Heggerty, to make your day better?” Internally, Constance’s mind added, ‘Like a quick and painful death, you horrible skinny torturous cow?’

As death, like her greasy and handsy old uncle at the family’s midwinter celebrations, sidled up to her salivating and wiggling its bushy eyebrows, Constance slid her hands behind her back and summoned her magic.

An act she had always previously suppressed, or which had failed her in her time of need. Except when Uncle Fabio had tried to grab her on the bottom and ended up slapping himself in his unmentionables. For a month. Even whilst wearing restraints. Apparently, nowadays, he was a reformed individual.

A pale light blue glow trickled faintly over her fingertips. If she were going down, the junior witch would go down fighting.

With her highly manicured red claw-like nails on show, Mother Heggerty leaned forward, dabbing at her red lipstick-covered pouting lips. “As you know, Constance, I don’t ask much from my people. Just because everyone is aware that I’ve done so much for them in making sure Bone Valley is safer and more prosperous than it ever has been before.

Constance’s mind yelled, ‘Liar, Liar pants on fire. Everyone lives in holes under the ground because we burnt the city down!’

Then another part of her whispered, ‘Actually, you burnt the city down when you got airsick on your maiden flight, landed on that flat roof building for a quick wee, was startled by the howling of a mad dog, which made you throw up fire on the roof, setting the whole city alight.”

Mother Heggerty continued, unaware of the silent mind smothering that was occurring within her secretary’s mind. “Bone Valley has, under my glorious rule, moved towards its bright new future. Everyone knows I am doing what no other ruler has ever achieved before me, and doing it really well, like the best that has ever been ever done!”

Reflected blue eyes stared at Constance, who still seemed to be internally wrestling with a thought… or constipation. Mother Heggerty didn’t care, but she measured her secretary’s micro-movements in case she needed to fire her… literally. “No ruler before me, Constance, has ever achieved so much, in so little time, for so many!” Her cold blue eyes bore into Constance’s freckled face. “And I ask for so little in return.”

“Oh, you are so correct, Mother Heggerty, you’re amazing and wonderful and clever and such an inspirational leader.” As the bile rose in the angry young witch’s throat in response to her forced sycophant behaviour. Behind her back, the blue magic swirled over Constance’s fingers, deepening with every eddy, showing her magic’s growing intensity and power.

“You know, Constance, I only ask for a little time off to pursue my hobbies in private. To put the heavy burden of leadership to one side and let my hair down, so to speak.” The despot ruler gazed at her reflection in her dressing table’s gilt mirror as she patted her perfectly quaffed hair, and in doing so, almost seemed disappointed she could find no fault.

“Yes, Mother Heggerty.” The magic’s hue was now as deep as the ocean’s depths.

“I’ve been told you went to visit my… well, the monks’ work area.”

“Yes, that’s correct, Mother Heggerty. Was that wrong?” There was no point in lying; what was going to go down was going to go down.

“Well, yes, Constance, because the Monks’ work area is my private relaxation space and I felt very…” the cold blond turned with a friendly smile on her lips, spoilt only by the raging fire in her eyes, “invaded by someone who should have known to keep her big fat, freckled nose out of my private hobbies.” A tone of sad girlish moroseness swept over Mother Heggerty, “Because I was having them make some very special presents for you and your coven sisters.” A speck of invisible dirt was flicked off her black designer skirt. “And now I’m afraid you might have gone and spoiled my lovely surprise.”

Mother Heggerty’s right hand’s fingers danced, hidden by her thigh, in a complicated manner, enticing the strangling, darkness hidden in every forgotten corner to do her bidding.

“Oh, you mean the Monks’ glass swords. One made for each one of us?”

“Yes, Constance. …Dear.”

“Those swords that are sharp enough to cut through dragon hide? But which will only remain sharp enough once? Those swords?”

Mother Heggerty smiled like a hungry shark eyeing the delicious legs of a fat and lazy surfer. “Mmmhmm!”

“Oh no, Mother Heggerty, I haven’t told anyone, why would I. That wouldn’t be of benefit to anyone.” Truth rained from every one of the junior witches’ words, making Mother Heggerty relax and her hands still.

“Good Constance, very good. I knew I’d trained you well.”

“Yes, you have, very well.”

*

When Sage/Bertron was asked almost a year later by Lucy, and a strange man who walked around his salon investigating all the sprays and lotions, what had happened after he left the depot office, he recounted the strange set of events and watched as Lucy diligently recorded everything he said into her little blue police notebook, which when he received his copy, read as follows:

Mr Sage Parrucchiere was interviewed by myself, Lieutenant Lucy Ehrlich, in the presence of his Lord Harold Ersteg Boren Der Ärzte at Mr Sage Parrucchiere’s shop called ‘Sage’s Emporium of Beauty and Style’ on Trasandato Road.

We are investigating both Mother Heggerty and. her secretary, Constance, to gain a clearer understanding of where the city’s gold reserves may have been hidden.

Mr Parrucchiere states he had been busily packing his brushes away in the outer reception chamber and recalled hearing a giggle that sent chills up his spine and made him wish he’d become a milkmaid instead of a hairdresser.

Mr Parrucchiere states that this laughter was quickly followed by a blinding blue light, which made the air feel hot, cold, and tingly at once. After which, the office desk ran out of the office with the chair galloping close behind it, and all his brushes and combs sang the national anthem.

Then, Mr Parrucchiere stated, before he knew it, Mother Heggerty had opened her own office door and smiled a genuine, happy smile, one he had never seen before and hoped never to see again. The following conversation was relayed by Mr Parrucchiere.

“Oh, you’re still here…”

“Yes, Mother Heggerty.”

“Would you like to be my new secretary?”

“Not bloody like… I mean no thank you, your grace.” Sage/Bertron had at this point felt a little trickle run down his leg. Though why he had to tell us this is beyond me.

“No, I didn’t think you would. But can you do me a favour on the way out?”

“Yes, Mother Heggerty, certainly Mother Heggerty.”

“Do you think I’m sexy?” Mother Heggerty had apparently sauntered around the office, showing off all her best sides, according to Mr Parrucciere.

“No, Mother Heggerty.” Mr Parrucchiere stated that he had been brought up to be an honest man. (Stupid, but honest… to a point.)

“NO!” Mother Heggerty had replied, with what Mr Parrucchiere described as rage burning in her blue eyes, like a volcano about to explode.

“No… I’ve been making eyes at your secretary for the last two weeks, and I think she has the most beautiful red hair. It’s kinda my thing.” Mr Parrucchiere commented that he was stunned at the revolution of Mother Heggerty’s mood.

“Oh. Is that what you were doing?” Mother Heggerty replied, then went to run her fingers through her hair, then stopped and awkwardly patted her bun. Further commenting rather happily, “Oh, really, you actually like Constance? Like… “like, like” and not just you would like her to crawl up and die… like?”

Mr Parrucchiere stated he was shocked by the thought and went on to further explain that Constance was a fine specimen of a woman and that he was planning on asking her out when she didn’t look like she’d kill if he did.”

Mr Parrucchiere then stated Mother Heggerty giggled and said she would pass on the good news to Contance and encourage her to call around and have a chat with Mr Parrucchiere at some stage.

When asked whether this relationship with Constance had developed further, Mr Parrucchiere seemed quite nervous and unsettled. He relayed that he never, ever, ever… ever saw Contance again and was heartbroken that Mother Heggerty had killed her soon before Beatrix killed Mother Heggerty.

His Lordship corrected Mr Parrucchiere in stating that it was, as it is a well-known fact, the Lieutenant, with the help of her men, who killed the dragon.’

To wit, Mr Parrucchiere clarified by saying, “Oh, yes, that’s right, I forgot.”

*

But that is to come, whereas this is now!

*

Mother Heggerty looked at the city of Bone Valley’s gold reserves piled high in the deepest of the castle’s dungeons and smiled.

Life was good.

As she ran a necklace of pure gold and pearls through her fingers, and marvelled at how you never knew what a day would hold, who you would meet and who you would part with. But as she felt her magic course through her veins like an intoxicating spasm, she released a deep and guttural laugh, which, if Sage/Bertron had heard, would have done more than create a little trickle down his leg.

Mother Heggerty breathed a sigh of relief; now the gloves were off! Now none of her enemies were safe. She giggled again as she reached down to the pile and plucked a silver diamond-encrusted tiara from the huge golden mound and placed it on her head, knowing all those who had opposed her were about to rue the day they became her adversaries. She would take the jars… Constance’s jars, and put them to good use, along with the swords.

The coven would be… permanently disbanded in a very final but enjoyable way. And then, when Beatrix returns to the city, she would end her too. In a really bloody and gory squishy humiliating way that no one would ever, ever forget.

Mother Heggerty smiled a smile she’d never smiled before. Watching herself in a golden mirror, which had been thoughtfully placed on a gold ornate desk, she decided the smile looked good on her. “Mmmm, Yes, I do look good!”

After spending most of the morning sliding down the piles of gold, exchanging one tiara for another, she decided it was time to move forward with her plan. But first, she thought, she would release Contance and allow her to go on a date, because today had been such a turning point, her poor, devoted, hardworking, unassuming secretary deserved a little fun. And even though she had never noticed Sage, he had noticed her, and that meant something.

You may be wondering… did Constance die this fateful day? And the answer is simple.

She did.

But so did Mother Heggerty.

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