It was the page who brought the ill news to the knights who, incidently, were the last to be informed. Years ago, and in a different situation, they would have been the first summoned. That was a time, however, when the term knight meant more than being a talented actor or singer. The knights were sitting around their oblong table talking about the victories of their soccer teams when the page walked through the doors. He was a small lad of sixteen and despised each and every knight in the room. The look on his face revealed there was trouble afoot.

"Bloody hell, Nigel," growled Sir Rosis, a man in his early sixties, "if you are going to persist on wearing that mournful face every time you enter this clubhouse, I shall revoke your membership."

Sir Rosis paused from his tirade and poured himself a martini. At one time he had been a handsome and talented actor. His career had started to blossom until he fell in love with the bottle. Years of hard living and hard drinking had taken their toll on both the man and his career. Things were not going well for the actor until he was knighted shortly after a performance of A Midsummer's Night Dream in which he had portrayed Oberon as a drunken cockney sailor. After that he became the toast of the town and the American talk show circuit.

"Begging your pardon, Sir," Nigel trembled as sought the courage to continue. "I'm afraid I've some rather bad news."

The entire room fell silent. The bad news in question could only mean one thing. Sir Rosis was at an age, however, where he no longer cared.

"Which one of us has the tabloids roasted this week? Another bloody great scandal, eh?"

"No, Sir," whispered Nigel, "it's something far worse than that. It has nothing to do with any of you."

"It's the prince then," laughed Sir Cuss, the latest conjurer to have the title of knight conferred upon him, "What has our bonnie lad done now?"

"It's the Princess Gloria," corrected Nigel.

"She hasn't become engaged?" asked Sir Jen, a tall, handsome doctor who had been knighted after a painless removal of a royal cyst. "Please say that it isn't so. I've had my eye set on her for some time now. King Jen has a nice ring to it. Don't do you think?"

There was a loud snort from the back of the room as a rugged-looking knight was no longer able to contain his disgust. The man stood over six feet in height and ramrod straight. His face bore the scars of many battles and he carried himself with a quiet dignity which the other knights lacked. The rest of the knights rolled back their eyes and waited for the same old speech.

"You have become too familiar in your speech, good doctor. I have told you on many occasions that your free talking ways will lead you to trouble. No doubt if the groom hears this talk he will challenge you to a duel."

"Oh give us a break, Real," growled Sir Rosis as he poured himself another drink. "You really should learn how to relax."

"That's Sir Real, if you please," snapped the knight, "but I am a stranger in a strange land. I have had the title of knight bestowed upon me for brave and heroic deeds, rather than by playing Hamlet or making a large donation to a royal charity. I guess you will have to excuse me if I cannot comprehend your common natures."

"Can't we get a court order to keep Iron Britches out of the clubhouse?" asked Sir Jen. "And that's another thing. We should at least establish a dress code; nothing less than Ralph Lauren. That suit of armour really doesn't do a think for you Sir Real."

"This armour has been in my family for fifty generations, ever since the time of the crusades. A time, no doubt, when your ancestors were tuning their medical skills by applying leeches, or when they were learning their acting skills by performing Punch and Judy."

"Oh, go slay a dragon you pompous idiot," snapped Sir Rosis.

"That's it! That's it!" yelled Nigel in great excitement.

"I say there Nigel, bad show," admonished Sir Render, a small, thin man who had been knighted for designing the King's nightgown. "A knight-in-waiting should show more restraint. Now what is this 'it' you're talking about?"

"A dragon," answered Nigel, as he watched Sir Render cut out a row of paper dolls with pinking shears, "the princess has been kidnapped by a dragon."

Sir Real was on his feet in a second and darted over to where Nigel stood. He quickly grabbed the lad around the collar and lifted him effortlessly off the ground. "If you are lying to me, Worm, not even your father the magistrate will be able to save you."

"Put the poor lad down and let's see what he has to say before you run him through or whatever it was your ancestors did to the lower class," suggested Sir Render.

Sir Real reluctantly relaxed his grip and allowed the frightened page to slide to the floor. The knight stepped back and glared at the youth.

"I'm telling the truth, Sirs," Nigel whisper hoarsely. "It happen early this morning. The princess was preparing to cut the ribbon at the opening of a new supermarket when this beastly dragon flew down from the sky and carried her away. The army scrambled a few Harriers but they were destroyed by the beast. The king requests your help.

There were a few moments of awkward silence as the full meaning of what was being asked of them took affect. They had been given the gift of knighthood by the king and it looked as though he was expecting the favour to be returned. Knight looked to knight and exchanged worried glances. Finally Sir Rosis addressed the assembly:

"Gentleman, it looks as though action is required of us and I for one am not about to shirk my duty to the crown. I will commission a play about our wonderful princess; a play in which I will act. Who will likewise respond?"

One by one the knights pledged themselves of their services. Sir Jen offered to do the post-mortem at no charge while Sir Render vowed to name his latest design after the princess. As the litany of promises was being made, Sir Real grew more and more angry until he could no longer remain silent..

"I believe what the lad is trying to tell us is that the king wants us to rescue the princess."

There was a roar of laughter throughout the room at this suggestion. Sir Rosis clapped Nigel on the back as he managed to stop his laughing. "Is that what the king wants, Lad?"

"I believe so, Sir," the frighten lad responded.

"Outrageous," roared Sir Mise a political studies professor who had been knighted as a favour to his grandfather, the Royal Gardener, "the monarchy is nothing more than a hold over from a long-dead society and has no real powers. Where does this figurehead get off with such a suggestion. I have a half a mind to report him to my MP. If he wasn't a member of the Labour Party, I would. I might just have to go to the Prime Minister with this complaint."

"I shall go with you," volunteered Sir Tax, "Parliament still owes a few favours."

"You can all go to blazes," shouted Sir Lee, the oldest and most hateful of all the knights. "as long as you shut up. I can't hear Coronation Street."

"I am ashamed to be associated with you the likes of you," yelled Sir Real. "Knights are supposed to be brave and honourable. "Nigel, saddle my steed. I must be off."

"And that's another thing," interrupted Sir Mise, "keep that silly nag at home. I'm tired of getting manure on my Bentley's tires. The lads down at Oxford are asking me if I've become a farmer."

"Fear not about thy tires, Sir Mise." Real stopped before going out through the door, "I am off to rescue the princess and perhaps win her hand in marriage."

"You can risk your fool life to save her," warned Sir Jen, " but remember that she's mine."

Sir Real shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he searched the cloudless skies. He concede that the dragon had indeed picked a lovely day to kidnap the princess and he allowed the fact that she might be hard to find. Still a quest was a quest and his family had never walked away from one before. Granted, his ancestor Sir Name had once crawled away from the Quest of the Holy Grail, but that had been because he had lost both his legs in a crooked card game.

The traffic was rather heavy and Sir Real and his faithful steed Toby managed only a fair speed. He was greeted by many jeers and insults from the punkers, who spent their days on the street corner, and with many cheers from the tourist, who merely thought that he was an extension of Euro-Disney. Finally the palace loomed ahead. The guards who stood in front of the gates broke a 1500 year tradition by laughing uncontrollably as Sir Real passed by them and headed for the front door.

Once inside the garden, Sir Real found the king sitting on a bench and searching the skies. King Fred the Third was short man with long white hair and a beard. At five foot two, he was easily tripped over and to prevent such accidents, the crown had been extended an extra two feet. The knight dismounted and went to kneel before his king.

"Arise, good Sir Knight," ordered King Fred, "I assume that you are merely the vanguard of the many knights who will join in this quest."

"Alas my liege," responded Sir Real, "I am the only knight who has volunteered his services. The rest are now consulting their lawyers to see how much their titles legally oblige them to help."

There was a deep sigh from the aged monarch. "This is indeed dire news, Sir Real. But know this. Since you have responded to Our need in Our darkest hour, you shall be rewarded. If you rescue the fair princess, any reward you name shall be yours. That is with the exception of a title above duke and any crown lands. Those have to be voted on by the House of Lords and Parliament and they have been pretty miserly lately."

"The only reward I ask, my Liege is that you allow me to take your daughter's hand in marriage. It has always been the reward for rescuing a princess from a dragon."

"Yes, I suppose it has," agreed the king. "Princess Gloria, how shall I say this, is rather untraditional, though. You have my permission to marry but I'm not quite sure you're her type. She is quite strong willed and she has many strange ideas. She will have the last say in the matter. A word of warning to you though, Sir Knight; under no circumstances should you ever open a door for her."

"Have you any idea of where this dragon might have taken the princess?" asked Sir Real. "It might help narrow the search."

The king sadly shook his head, "I'm afraid that I cannot be of help. If I were you, though, I would contact the Chief Inspector. He is personally looking after this case."

After a two hour ride, Sir Real was seated at Scotland Yard and was talking to the Chief Inspector, a man in his mid-fifties with thinning hair. He peered at the knight with some curiosity.

"You escape from a museum, Mate?"

"I've come to rescue the princess from a dragon," answered Sir Real. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"Ah," replied the police officer. "I believe that I can be of some assistance in this matter. We were going to call in the swat team, but if you prefer to do it on your own, who am I to stop you? We believe that a professor from Oxford, a Thomas Grimes, was upset at not being knighted. He was doing work on cloning and we believe that he has succeeded in cloning a dragon."

Sir Real shook his head in amazement. "Where on earth did he get the dragon DNA?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential information. But since it's your neck on the line, I can tell you that a rather disgusting part of the anatomy of the dragon St. George killed, has been kept by Oxford."

"Are you telling me that the Dragon is at Oxford?" asked the knight. "Wouldn't that cause a panic?"

The inspector shook his head. "We believe that dragon is living on the Grimes Estate. On horseback it could take you several days to get there. Are you sure that you wouldn't want a drive instead? It could save some time.

It took awhile to convince the knight that Toby would do little good in battle. It was only after the Chief Inspector explained that horses usually ended up as Dragon Chow anyway, that Sir Real agreed to be transported by helicopter.

The Grimes Estate consisted of a large manor, thirty acres of forests, and an extremely large barn with a large hole in the roof to allow smoke to escape. Sir Real signalled the pilot to land near the barn.

"I'd be willing to bet that we found the beast," Sir Real yelled over the noise of the blades. "You had better take off before the dragon spots you."

The pilot heeded the advice and quickly left the area as Sir Real withdrew his sword and clanked his way to the barn. He open the door an inch and peered inside.

If the dragon wasn't as large as Sir Real had feared, it was not as small as Real had wished either. The beast was thirty feet in length from its head to its tail and weighed in under two metric tonnes. It was a green, scaly creature, not unlike a lizard or some of the lawyers who hung around the Old Bailey. The wings were large but made of a thin membrane that look like it could never lift the dragon off of the ground; let alone fly. The beast was asleep, snoring smoke as Sir Real had seem them do in countless cartoons. And, yes, next the dragon was a large bucket of water.

Creeping as quietly as one can while wearing armour, Sir Real moved closer to the fiery beast and quickly seized the bucket of water. As the dragon open its mouth in mid-snore, Sir Real poured the contents of the bucket down the throat of the beast. The dragon awoke at once and gave a might snort. As the knight dove for cover, he made a mental note to write to various cartoon companies and inform them that water does not keep a dragon from spouting flames.

The fire was all around the knight as he crouched behind a large barrel of oats. The armour was beginning to heat up and Sir Real began to fear that he would be cooked alive if he didn't escape soon.

"Bloody 'ell," swore a tremendously deep voice, the like of which Sir Real had never heard before. He raised his head to look straight into the eyes of the huge beast.

"What was that for, guv'nor?" asked the dragon. "You got somethin' against the workin' class? You upperclass blokes are all the same ain't ya?"

"See here," responded Sir Real as he stood up to face the dragon. "you have committed an act of treason by kidnapping the princess."

"It might be a felony," snapped the dragon, " but it ain't treason. Britain is now a democracy. Not like when that bloke Sir George did me in."

"Saint?" corrected Sir Real.

"Saint?" gasped the dragon. "They made him a bleedin' saint for killing me, an 'elpless dragon. I even 'ad bad case of gout that day. It makes me wonder what's the sense of even going to church anymore."

"Look, beast," interrupted Real, " I'm in a bit of a rush. So what say I just kill you and rescue the princess."

"Looking for 'er 'and in marriage, eh guv'nor?"

"Not that it's any of your business," replied Sir Real as he withdrew his sword, "but it is the custom reward."

The dragon laughed as he signalled the knight to lower his sword for a moment. Sir Real was a bit cautious but he had to obey the decorum of battle. The dragon finally caught his breath.

"It was the common reward in fairy tales, mate. That's because the princesses were beautiful, eh. They weren't the product of years of intermarriage from a limited gene pool. If I were in your shoes, I'd be shuffling off. This bird ain't worth killin' or being killed for. If you catch my meanin'."

"Princess Gloria is a very handsome woman," replied the knight.

"That she might be," the dragon responded. "but in my day, 'andsome was not an adjective we used to describe our womenfolk. In my day, no self-respectin' knight would dared to have tried to rescue an 'andsome woman. So why don't you get out of 'ere before I decide to toast you on general principals."

The fair offer only seem to anger the knight and he quickly withdrew his sword and lunged into battle. He trudged out from behind the barrel of oats and swung a mighty blow at the slender neck of the beast. Of course the dragon had plenty of time to move out of harm's way as the knight's moves were slow and awkward at best, consisting of three steps, including a right angle turn. The sword cleaved through a beam and the momentum of the swing carried Sir Real headlong into a pile of hay.

"They sure don't make knights like they used too," sneered the dragon as he wrapped his tail around Sir Real and lifted him from the floor. "Look, Mate, I've made you a fair offer and I think you should take me up on it."

The dragon tightened his grip on the knight, popping a rivet or two from his armour. Sir Real managed to swing his sword towards the beast and smote him with the flat edge of the weapon. Enraged, the dragon threw the knight through a window. Sir Real's momentum carried him several hundred feet until he came to rest beside a huge elm. He looked up in terror as the dragon came galloping towards him. He quickly got to his feet and ran like mad for the door of a nearby house. Luckily the door was unlocked and Sir Real managed to shut the door before the dragon could catch him.

Once he regain his breath, Sir Real looked around the rather tacky decorated room. The velvet oil painting of the king appeared to be the highlight. In a corner, tied up and gagged, sat the princess. Gloria was by no means an attractive person. She had inherited her father's height and her mother's personality. Her bright red hair, freckles and overbite made even the description, plain looking, a compliment. Sir Real quickly rushed over to the her and untied the ropes. The princess stood up and stretched.

"I suppose I should thank you," began the princess as she looked the knight over. "but, I don't feel like it. So where did they find you?"

"Your Majesty, my name is Sir Real and I have been sent by your father to rescue you."

"Really, and what did Daddy promise you in return?"

"Your hand in marriage," answered the knight. "But first we have got to get pass that infernal dragon. Begging your pardon but no pun was intended."

"Marriage?" asked the princess. "I don't think so. I'd rather take my chances with the dragon than be seen with an outdated fossil who thinks that women are unable to defend themselves. Just wait until I get back home. I 'll tell Daddy a thing or two."

Sir Real was momentarily taken aback by Princess Gloria's attitude and tried to think of something to say. He was about to mumble a contrite apology, not that he felt he had done wrong, but rather he didn't know what else to say. He was saved from further embarrassment as the dragon knocked down the door. Sir Real was almost glad to see him.

"C'mon out guv'nor," the dragon seethed through clenched teeth, "and I'll promise to make it painless."

It was no whipped cur that the dragon now faced, however, as the years of ridicule had culminated, with the rebuke from the princess, into the knight's breaking point. He withdrew his sword and brought the pommel straight down on the dragon's head. Shrieking in pain, the dragon quickly withdrew from the house.

Sir Real paused only a moment to grab a decorative shield from the wall then quickly left the building to continue the battle. His sword flashed in the sunlight as it slashed down and bit into the dragon's arm. Scared and angry, the dragon went for a tail sweep only to have Sir Real stomp on the end of the massive appendage. Whimpering, the dragon drew away from the fray.

"Just because you've been rejected by 'er," whined the beast, "its no reason to fight dirty, mate. Besides, I told you the wench is no great prize. She'd drive you crazy in no time with all that talkin' she does. Why do you think I put the bleedin' gag on her. I couldn't sleep from all the racket. So what do you say we call it off right now?"

"It's too bad that Grimes didn't clone you some courage when he was at it," roared Sir Real as he charged the dragon. He knew the animal was right but someone was going to pay for his embarrassment.

The dragon fell over himself trying to get out of the way and struggled to get to his feet, Before he could manage, however, Sir Real jumped onto the chest of the beast with the sword raised. The dragon closed his eyes but the blow never landed as twenty thousand volts lit up Sir Real like a Christmas tree. Screaming in pain, he fell to the ground and through the slits in the visor saw twenty Greenpeace protester surround the dragon. One was holding a gun-like device with a wire attached. Sir Real had not seen one before but he was willing to bet that it was the electronic gun known as a Taser.

"You will not harm this animal," shouted the leader as he ran his hand over the dragon's head in a loving gesture. He's number one on our endangered list and we will protect him at all cost."

"You've got a bleedin' funny way of showing it," complained the beast, "in case you're not aware of it, armour conducts electricity. You almost fried me."

Fighting dragons was one thing but fighting environmental extremist was another. Sir Real placed his sword in his sheath and slowly walked away. As he neared the house the Royal Limo pulled up and the princess hurried inside. The limo drove slowly down the driveway and stopped next to Sir Real. He was about to climb inside when the Royal Lawyer rolled down the window and handed him a restraining order to keep two hundred yards away from the princess at all times.

Back at the clubhouse, Sir Real sat in the corner and sulked. It had taken him nearly two days to hitchhike back to town and he was still angry with how the events tuned out. Sir Rosis and the other knights had made great sport of him. Sir Jen was about to make another joke when Nigel came into the room, dropped of the paper and quickly fled.

"Congratulations, Real," laughed Sir Rosis as he looked at the paper. "the press has named you the biggest threat to wildlife since Sir Cuss stopped dumping the mercury into the river."

"It's a pity I can't invite you to the wedding when I marry the princess, old boy," apologized Sir Jen, "but the wedding hall isn't large enough to comply with my your restraining order."

And with that, business started going about as usual in the clubhouse.