The Last Dragon - Chapter 31
Fear the physiotherapists, for they know your weak spots, and they're not afraid to poke them!
Chapter 30 or if you please Chapter 1
“Fear me, peasants, for I am the ‘Swedish Masseuse’!”
“Who?” popped out of Torrens’ mouth before he could rein in his curiosity.
Lucy was caught in the same honey trap of stunned fascination, and couldn’t restrain her line of questioning, “I always thought masseuse was feminine and masseur was masculine.”
The elegantly hunting leather-clad but filthy dwarf coughed up a remaining bit of chimney soot, which had been tickling the back of their throat since they’d completed their somersault out of the fireplace and surprised their prey, who all thought it was a dreadfully fat and overlarge possum who’d fallen down the chimney.
“Don’t you flagrant humans judge me on my gender! That’s a very private thing, from where I’m from. We don’t just go about sharing that sort of stuff with just anyone you know.” The ‘Swedish Masseuse’ sniffed in disdain and then coughed up another lung full of soot before continuing. ‘Just because you humans are a bunch of flagrant hussies doesn’t mean Dwarf kind are! We like to keep our bits to ourselves, thank you very much!”
Zorro leaned forward and gave the poor Dwarf a glass of water, which was drained in one go. “Thank you, obscene fiend!”
“Pleasure.” Smiled the werewolf.
The ‘Swedish Masseuse’ then looked around at the dining room occupants, who were not reacting in the way they had imagined when climbing down that damn chimney and fighting off the psychotic pigeon who wanted to lay an egg in their beard.
Clearing their throat, the ‘Swedish Masseuse’ chose to clarify once more in the hopes of everyone submitting to their talent, skills and threats.
“I am the Swedish Masseuse, bringer of squeals, screams and bellows. Finder of the sore spots that bring you to your knees. User of the deadly dry needles that will make you cry for your mummy and regret your life choices. Heed my warning, you dull-witted, imbecilic, trollops! Don’t mess with me unless you WANT to be a mess! Hand over the wanna-be wolf, so I can claim his tail, and then I assure you, you’ll all be as safe as safe can be.”
Beatrix spoke up quietly, her eyes glowing a deep blood red, “And if we don’t?”
The ‘Swedish Masseuse’ paused and pridefully inspected their short fingernails. “Well, let’s just say no one has ever taken on my physiotherapy skills and lived to tell the tale, because I, the ‘Swedish Masseuse’ own you and all your tight tendons, poor posture and wonky knees.”
And just to prove their point, the physiotherapist reached out and drove a hard, calloused thumb into the hip of Bogdan, who just by bad luck happened to be standing in reach.
The rotund and chubby barkeeper, squealed like a little schoolgirl who’d just been told there’s a puppy waiting at home for her, fell to the ground with his foot and wheel upright in the air and spinning hard enough to cause sparks and then spasmed for a moment or two and, sadly to everyone’s discomfort, farted.
“See,” declared the ‘Swedish Masseuse’, “I’m not one to be mucked around with. Give me the ‘Endogamic Whippet’, so I might cut off his fluffy tail and drape it across my shoulders to keep my cervical spine warm in the cold winter winds, proving to all in my tribe that I have graduated to Masters of Physiotherapy and am ready for the marriage market.”
“Will’s you be wearing a suit or a dress on ya’s wedding day?” Mr Geezer politely enquired.
“Ha, I’ll be wearing my chainmail like all good Dwarfs do!” The ‘Swedish Masseuse peered hard at Mr Geezer before commenting, “Does your neck hurt?”
“Of course it bleeding does, I’m an old man!”
“Do you find it difficult to turn your head to the right?”
“Of course I bleeding does, I’m an old man, ya silly bugga!”
“Here, let’s try this.” A long, thin needle with a copper-wired top shot out from the masseuse’s fingers and landed smack bang in Mr Geezer’s right elbow.
The recalcitrant old-aged pensioner bellowed like a wild pig on a truffle hunt, then his head fell forward onto the table, just missing his plate but landing on a nice soft pile of napkins, because Mrs Tipsy, being a kind soothsayer, had already removed all hard and sharp objects from the vicinity and placed a pile of napkins as soon as the ‘Swedish Masseuse’ had appeared out of the chimney!
“Oh no, Mr Geezer is dead, what a shame.” Announced Torren with just a hint of monotone glee.
“No, I’s alright!” came muffled from the tabletop. “Bloody hell, that lil’ fella’s good! All me pains is all gone!”
“Oh… what a shame, Mr Geezer is alive,” mumbled Torren.
The tone of the room changed as soon as Beatrix began speaking in her ‘I’m about to rip your throat out’ voice. “Well, Mr Swedish Masseuse, let me introduce myself.”
The young witch stood slowly, whilst the glow of her red eyes cast a threatening tone upon the skin of her cheeks. “My name is Beatrix Le Tapis, and I am just an ordinary witch who’s a reluctant coven sister to Mother Harper and Mother Merryweather. I can deliver babies, patch up broken legs, disinfect most wounds, and even if I have to say so myself, I’m quite good with herbal remedies. I am also a creature of magic and am discovering that part of me is quite capable of shoving a stick so far up your bum and barbecuing you so quickly that you’ll very soon resemble a kebab from one of those cheap, horrible shops on the main street of Bone Valley.”
Everyone in the tavern cherished their own memories of those kebab shops, whose horribleness was fortnightly addictive and felt sorry for the physiotherapist and what was about to happen to them.
“So, regardless of your therapeutic thumbs or physiotherapy skills,” continued Beatrix contritely, “I would back the hell away from me and mine before I reduce you to a small pile of ash. I am tired, I am dirty, I am hungry, and I want a good meal, a wash and a sleep before I go back to Bone Valley and deal with another round of ridiculousness which seems to hang around us like an unclaimed fart.
Beatrix leaned on the Tavern’s table and stared directly at the Swedish Masseuse, who was now internally considering how many exits the Tavern actually had and where they were located as the witch whispered, “Go ahead, make my day… I dare you!”
From the floor, Bogdan announced, “Oh, my good goddesses, the pains are gone. It actually feels much better now, that’s amazing!” The tavern keeper sat up on his nice, once clean but now sooty floor and smiled broadly at the physiotherapist, “I’ve got a bit of a pain with my stump, do you think you could have a look at it?”
Before the dwarf could speak up, Mr Geezer stole the limelight, “Well, if youse is gonna look at ‘es stump, could ya do a bit more of ya physi-ho-o-ferapees on me bum? I can show you right now, if youse likes. It’s always throbbing, is likes I’ve got a bone poking outs or somfing. Hang on, just let me stand up, and I’ll drop my draws.”
The Swedish Masseuse stood to their full height and announced angrily, “Are you people insane?”
The tavern fell eerily quiet as everyone scrambled for an argument to rebut the accusation, but the best they could come up with was, “Only on occasions!”
“I find the moon plays havoc with my mental health, my friend, but I also find that yoga and stretching help. That and very stretchy underwear. Did you know, I’ve got a girlfriend?” Zorro held up his occupied hand.
The ‘Swedish Masseuse’ stepped forward and drew out a small, long bow and loaded it with a silver-tipped arrow. “Die, you poor excuse for an inbred unicorn-loving dancing poodle.”
A growl that seemed to have a life of its own bounced off the walls and into the hind brain of everyone in the room. It literally said, ‘Poodles are one step away from wolves, and wolves are one step away from werewolves, who are one step away from humans, who are the most dangerous predators of all.
…Well, actually, it said, ‘I’ve got big teeth, and I’m not afraid to use them on your leg, bum, or other inconvenient private bits’, but you get the general deep socio-morphic hint.
Zorro was beginning to swell in size and ferocity; a golden glint tinted his eyes as his large K-9 fangs began to reveal their sharpness to everyone. “Don’t you dare point that thing at my girlfriend! You already killed a person, I’m aware of.”
“Sir Richard smiled, “He means me, he’s a good friend of mine, what ho!”
“Yes, that’s right, he’s someone I know of in a distant roundabout way!”
Sir Richard looked confused, “No, we’re good friends, very good friends in fact. What ho, besties, some would say.”
“Yes, that’s right, he’s been seen near a lot of my best friends.”
Sir Richard stood up, releasing Sangrey’s grip, “Now look here, you ran into the dark forest to take revenge for my death and hunt down the horribly bad shot who shot me and not you…”
Before the ‘Swedish Masseuse’ could let go of the silver arrow, Richard swept the tablecloth off the nearest table, well, from underneath the table setting, and no nothing was left standing, but that didn’t matter because he was busy throwing it over the physiotherapist and sweeping him up into an upside-down bundle. Sir Richard then bellowed, “ Hazar, I’ve got you, my fine fellow, what ho.” Then looked around the quiet room for his applause.
“Damn, now I have to be nice to him”, mumbled Zorro.
The Grand Dame’s laughter echoed through the dining room paraphernalia as she doubled over, trying to control her mirth. Taking a deep breath to speak, she spluttered, “I don’t know if I’m shocked that my daughter thought your little band of heroes could be a threat to me or whether I should be shocked that you don’t get how clever she is in sending you all to your deaths.”
“Oh dear, here we go!” was Ruby’s mumbled comment as Beatrix stepped forward, eyeballing the Grand Dame as she mopped at her streaming eyes and attempted to quell her chuckles. The youngest of the two witches had decided her best chance of survival was siding with Beatrix… for the time being, and so she felt sympathy for anyone who was stupid enough to annoy her senior colleague.
Quietly, with red eyes blazing, Beatrix lifted up her sleeve and revealed three golden scales, which caught the light from the newly clean lamps and candles placed haphazardly around the room. The scales glinted in a way that melted the smirking smile from the Grand Dame’s face.
“Oh, I see.” She looked closer at the scales and then up at Beatrix. “I see the jokes on me.” Taking a deep nasal breath, she pocketed her hankey and stiffened her spine. “Well, all I ask is that you do it quickly and as painlessly as you can. I’m sure my daughter will reward you handsomely when you give her my head.” And because she couldn’t help herself and just needed to be highly organised and neat, she suggested, “I’m sure Mr Barkeeper will have a nice burlap sack you can put it in.”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m not going to cut your head off. I’ve got a fate much worse than that in mind for you!” Beatrix whispered like the devil’s notary, explaining gleefully to their employer she’d missed a page in the contract.”
“I see!” spat the Grand Dame, “It’s going to be like that, is it?”
“Yes, it certainly is!” Beatrix smiled, “The last thing your daughter expects is for either one of us to make it back alive. So, I can’t wait to see the look on her pointy-nosed, bleached-blond face when we both turn up and knock on her big, overly tarted-up office doors!”
The Grand Dame’s laughter hit her so hard that Torren was forced to grab a chair and help her sit down.
Her laughter was soon outstripped by, “How dare you put me in a tablecloth! I have never, ever been treated with such disrespect.” The ‘Swedish Masseuse’ wriggled, squiggled and squirmed within their linen chamber.
Sir Richard held the tablecloth out and gave it a little shake, then enquired politely, “What ho, do you promise to lay down your weapons and not threaten, shoot, shove, stab, impale… What ho, I am rather a lot stronger than I remember being… Ah where was I? Ah, yes, jab, poke, prode, skewer, harpoon, lance, gore, bayonet or puncture any of us in any way with anything which maybe harm to us?”
The tablecloth remained silent and still for a moment before the ‘Swedish Masseuse’ replied, “I guess stick it in you is also out?”
“Yes, most definitely!” answered the vampiric knight of the rehelm.
“You didn’t mention piercing. Is piercing also out of the question?”
Sir Richard vigorously shook the tablecloth above his head, then slammed it on the ground and once again held it out in front of him. Looking around at his companions as he spoke over the groaning and moaning of the ‘Swedish Masseuse’. “My, what ho! This is rather jolly fun, isn’t it?”
Not being a turncoat or a fair-weather type of friend, Zorro clapped with encouragement, “Yes, my friend, yes, it is. Do the whizzy dizzy thing again. I loved the funny sounds the little person made; it was very humorous indeed!”
A dreadful sound came from within the tablecloth, which changed in colour and dryness.
“No, I think that’s enough.” Interceded Lucy, “Prisoners have rights, which we must observe.”
She then addressed the poor soul still recovering from his whirlwind experience. “When we let you out, Mister, Master, Miss, Ms or Mrs Swedish Masseuse, if you do anything to annoy me in any way, shape or form, I shall ask my friend to put you back in this tablecloth and swing you for half an hour. Is that understood?”
“Yes.” Came a sickly reply.
“Fine. You are now under the protection of Sergeant Lucy Ehrlich of the City Patrol Division 27 of Bone Valley. Don’t mess with me, or I’ll introduce you to my truncheon.”
The ‘Swedish Masseuses’ groaned, “I need a chiropractor.”
Thank you for reading my madness.
I am currently busy turning The Last Dragon into a podcast - simply because a friend wants to knit and listen instead of read - and so she shall! x
Man, this is the weirdest thing (but in a good way)...