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High up in the mountains that dominate so much of the northern part of Wales, Biggles and his usual co-conspirators spread out to investigate the site of their unplanned landing. Rain drizzled down at a typically British pace, not quite wet enough to justify an umbrella and yet still bad enough to make one feel decidedly miserable when stuck outside.
“I call this taking the piss,” said Ginger, with unusual feeling. “And it just had to happen when we’d finally finished that mess up in West Lothian.”
Biggles privately agreed, but it wouldn’t be very politic of him to express that when Ginger and Algy had been sniping back and forth at each other ever since Ginger accidentally tripped Algy into a cowpat after they made it back to their airfield under a covering blanket of rain.
The plane was forced down after the fuel line sprang a leak mid-flight, which was irritating but repairable, and then on inspection revealed itself to have melted into a flat puddle of rubber. If they’d been struck by the lightning which occasionally flashed as they cruised over Snowdonia then it had been a very forgiving bolt. It was a regular mystery, and not one Biggles wanted to have on his plate.
“I think I can see light in the distance,” said Algy, after a moment. He pointed upwards through the wreath of fog, where there was indeed a light visible through the murk. It had an odd, flickering quality.
“Up for a hike, old man?” Ginger asked Algy, with a light touch to his shoulder. Biggles decided to ignore the tone in which the remark was delivered.
“More than, lad,” said Algy, in a similar tone. “Let’s hop to it. I’d like to find some civilisation before we have to eat Biggles.”
“And why exactly am I the one being eaten in this situation?” Biggles asked, as they began to climb hand over hand up the nearest crag.
“I’d never eat Ginger,” Algy explained. “He’s too scrawny. And you can’t eat yourself, that’s onanism.”
Biggles struggled to resist hitting his oldest friend over the head with a blunt object. There were so many rocks to hand.
It took some time for the three of them to summit the crag, during which time the light continued to flicker, occasionally disappearing and then reappearing with a dramatic plume. Biggles wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Ginger was the first to notice something out of the ordinary. He had taken a position slightly ahead of Algy and Biggles, and dropped into a low crouch as he followed the high stone ridge that led them higher above the sweeping valley below.
“What is it?” asked Biggles, his voice low and urgent.
Ginger shook his head, staring intently. Suddenly, the light once again bloomed – and at this distance, it was clearly a plume of flame several feet long. A strange noise accompanied it, loud and sharp.
“Not civilisation after all,” muttered Algy. He put a hand on Ginger’s shoulder, their quarrel clearly forgotten and leaned forward for a better look. Biggles, stuck behind them both on the narrow pathway, crossed his fingers.
Another plume of flame illuminated the night. Algy hopped backwards, teetering slightly, before righting himself.
“You’re not going to like this,” he said to Biggles. “But I think that’s a dragon.”
“Of course it is,” said Biggles. He glanced at Ginger, who had a look which Biggles assumed mirrored his own - flat disbelief. “Do you suppose a cyclops is around the next bend?”
Algy railed at him. “If you’d like something better to do than to make ironic comments, perhaps you could come up with some other creature with horns and a tail that breathes fire?”
Biggles shook his head and sidestepped carefully to join the rest of his team. He craned his neck so that he could see whatever it was - and was sorely disappointed when he realised that Algy was right. There was no other word to describe the thing besides ‘dragon’.
It was also looking right at him. Biggles met the giant emerald eyes with a feeling of resignation. “Noswaith dda,” he said, because he thought good manners were probably not a bad idea. And, given the location, there was reason to assume a slight language barrier.
“Noswaith dda,” said the dragon. Its voice was high and lilting, as Welsh as the hills in which it currently resided. “Sut dach chi?”
Ginger stifled a curse. Biggles gave him a sharp look, then took a careful step towards the giant reptile. It was a magnificent thing, really, even from just the glimpse of neck and part of a wing that could be seen besides the gigantic head. Bright red scales gleamed despite the clouds.
Biggles looked to Algy for assistance, who shrugged in reply. “I’ve barely enough Welsh to order a sandwich and coffee,” he said, mournfully. “Let alone negotiate with a dragon.”
“Oh, that’s no worry,” offered the dragon, still in that high, lilting voice. “I speak English quite well.”
“Well, in that case,” said Ginger. “We happen to be in a bit of a bind at the moment.”
“What’s the matter?” asked the dragon, head dipped to one side. Biggles could see thin trails of smoke still emerging from its nostrils. “I did think it was a bit strange, like, that you were climbing this particular mountain so late at night.”
“If we’d known you lived here we might have stayed away,” said Algy. “We try not to infringe on property lines and such, you know.”
The dragon laughed at that, snorting tiny bursts of flame from its snout along with the sound. “Oh, it’s no trouble. Truth be told it gets a little lonely when the nesting season is done. Lovely to have some visitors for once.”
Biggles nodded in understanding. This was a situation in which thinking about what was happening for more than a moment might make him go mad, so he decided it was best to barrel on regardless. “We had an issue with our ‘plane,” he explained. “We were forced down nearby, and when we saw the light we thought there might be someone camping up at the peak.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” said the dragon in a mournful sort of way. Then it perked up, its wings ruffling. “I’ve got a bit of an idea for how I might help you out, though. Usually I can't have passengers - it's too hot, you know, when you sleep in a pool of lava. But in the rain I cool down a little, so it might be alright for you to ride on my back down to the village."
It was only a few minutes later that Biggles, Ginger and Algy found themselves clinging to the neck of the dragon as rain began once again to fall over the mountain range. The beauty of the land that spread out beneath them was staggering from this height, and without the necessity of focusing on flight they were able to appreciate it anew. The rolling hills and sweet green valleys swept past as they flew across the country, tiny clusters of houses and the occasional farm with cows sleeping out in the meadows punctuating their journey.
The dragon - Idris, as he introduced himself - flew them down towards a small village which would have taken hours to walk to in a matter of minutes. His talons scraped against the roof tiles of the church before he managed to land in a station yard beside a small train platform.
“Thanks awfully,” said Ginger, once they’d slithered their way off of Idris’s back and onto the gravel. Biggles took a moment to steady himself on solid ground before offering his own thanks, echoed by Algy.
“You’ve saved us a miserable night’s hike,” said Biggles, as Idris dipped his head in what must have been embarrassed pride. “And I have to say, you give a ‘plane a run for its money. I couldn’t turn on a dime like that for all the tea in China.”