Photo by Brent Silveria

McGuffin’s Dragon

by Jeff Baker

“Have I ever told you chaps,” McGuffin said from his usual chair in the Billiards Room at the Club, “how I took on a dragon?”

My sprained ankle was propped up on a stool, Aubrey-Smith and Delmar were in the middle of a game and Old Man Plunkett was half dozing in his chair. None of us were getting away.

I waved at a waiter for a refill and McGuffin went on.

It was not long ago (McGuffin said) and I was in America on business when I stopped in San Francisco and, as I always do, stopped in Chinatown. As usual, the sights, the sounds, the smells were exquisite! I bought myself a souvenir and was soon standing in a crowd on the street watching a small parade. Traditionally-garbed dancers, brightly-colored streamers and of course, a dragon. In reality, a group of young men and women beneath a dragon costume consisting of a long, decorated cloth and a strong young man under the large dragon’s head.

There was plenty of cheering from the crowd as this dragon danced and snaked its way along the street. But suddenly a pair of beer bottles sailed through the air and landed perilously close to the crowd. A few feet away stood a small group of protesters, yes protesters jeering and holding signs with anti-Asian slogans.

One of the young men making up the dragon’s body bent down and peered out from under the long cloth. It would have looked quite comical except for those rabble-rousers who were becoming even more hostile and had started throwing rocks. Obscenities were being hurled as well and the scene had the potential to become even more ugly.

And at that precise moment the ground began to shake!

With my vast experience, I knew this was no ordinary earthquake. Within seconds a section of the street burst open and a large scaly green Dragon suddenly ripped up onto the street! The onlookers and the protesters were suddenly on the verge of panic! The people in the dragon costume stood petrified! I knew I had to act quickly.

I stepped up to the green Dragon and spoke to it in a firm, clear voice. The Dragon glared at me then glanced between the protesters and the parade dragon. It glared and snarled at the protesters and puffed a burst of fire at them. The cowards ran away down the street.

Then, in a blur of green, the Dragon spread a pair of wings and shot upwards and was a tiny speck in the sky a moment later.

McGuffin leaned back in his chair and gestured for a refill.

“Wait a minute,” Aubrey-Smith said. “How did you get a dragon to actually listen to you?” (In spite of themselves, Aubrey-Smith and Delmar had wandered over to McGuffin’s chair to listen.)

“It was simple, gentlemen,” McGuffin said. “Dragons are intelligent creatures and will listen to reason. With my knowledge, I identified the Dragon as not one of the Chinese variety or the skittish American breed, but one of the Ancient British Dragons. Doubtless, a stowaway in the hold of one of the abandoned ships which some of the city was built upon. Sleeping underground for over a century. I merely addressed the Dragon in Old English and explained the situation.”

McGuffin nodded thanks to the waiter who had arrived with his refill and took a sip, and then said, thoughtfully:

“I suppose I’ll never know why that Dragon chose that particular moment to awaken.”

—end—