Outside Castle Camelhot, a large collection of humans and dragons was hanging around, all of them holding notebooks and pencils. Sir Loungelot leaned out of an upstairs window, shaking his fist at them and yelling, 'Go away, you infernal people! Isn't the Royal Family entitled to its privacy?'

'No!' someone shouted up to him. 'Tell us the latest news, sir knight!'

Scowling blackly, Loungelot pulled his head in through the window and said, 'Squire, run down to the kitchen and fetch a large container of water for me to throw on all these journalists.'

Crackle, the kitchen-boy-turned-squire whom Sir Loungelot had poached from Chef Turnspit some time ago, trotted obediently out of the room. Still frowning, Sir Loungelot went and took his place at the Square Table, where Sir Blaze, Sir Burnevere, Sir Hotbreath, Sir Galahot and Sir Charash were already seated.

'You could just breathe fire at them, Loungelot,' said Sir Burnevere. 'That would soon see them off.'

'Too much effort,' said Sir Loungelot. 'There are swarms of them out there! Besides, a good drenching will be more amusing.'

'I can think of a hundred ways I could be amusing myself at this moment,' said Sir Blaze, 'and not one of them involves getting anybody the slightest bit wet. Why did the King call this meeting if he's not going to turn up for it?'

'Sir Flicker is late as well,' said Sir Charash. 'That's not like him. Do you suppose it's got something to do with... well, you know...?'

'With the Princess's interesting condition?' said Sir Burnevere. 'Why don't you say what you mean, Sir Charash?'

'Why don't you?' muttered Sir Loungelot.

'I'm just being superstitious, Sir Burnevere,' said Charash. 'I don't want to mention it in case... you know... something goes wrong.'

'Maybe they're late because something went right,' said Sir Blaze. 'Do you suppose...?'

Just then Flicker came into the room, looking tired but happy. Sir Blaze leapt to his feet, saying excitedly, 'Flicker, is there a reason why you're late? A special reason, perhaps?'

'Yes,' said Flicker, his smile broadening. 'You guessed it. Flame laid the egg last night.'

Almost all the knights rushed over to Flicker, pouring out their congratulations and shaking his hand vigorously. The exceptions were Sir Loungelot, who remained in his seat and smiled secretly to himself, and Sir Blaze, who jumped up and down exclaiming, 'Oooooh, I'm starting to feel like a favourite uncle already!'

'Try an only uncle,' said Sir Hotbreath.

'And not even a blood uncle,' added Sir Burnevere.

Blaze frowned, until Charash put his arm around him and said, 'What does blood matter? My brother Sir Agraflame's blood didn't mean a thing in the end, did it? Sir Blaze will be the child's uncle, and I'll be its cousin, and Aunty Griddle will be its grandmother. We're all one family!'

'Well said, Sir Charash!' exclaimed Sir Galahot. 'Why should not we all be the baby's uncles, sir?'

'No,' said Sir Blaze, 'that doesn't count!'

'Oh, come and sit down, why don't you?' Sir Loungelot said irritably, and they all came to sit down. 'And stop counting your dragons before they're hatched. What has become of good, old-fashioned anxiety when it comes to a royal birth?'

'What do you mean, Sir Loungelot?' asked Flicker, clearly alarmed.

'Well,' said Loungelot, 'for instance, what if it's a girl?'

'If it's a girl,' said Flicker, 'then Flame and I will have a daughter, obviously, straight from Heaven for us to love.'

'Come now, Flicker,' said Sir Burnevere, elbowing him in the ribs. 'That egg didn't come straight from Heaven, now, did it?'

'Those journalists will be disappointed if it's a girl,' said Sir Hotbreath.

'They are both young, sir,' said Sir Galahot. 'Sons will no doubt follow.'

'It doesn't matter a bit what some silly journalists write about our baby,' said Flicker. 'Most of the masses are illiterate anyway.'

'That reminds me,' said Sir Loungelot. 'Where is that squire with my water? CRACKLE!'

It so happened that Crackle arrived at that moment, struggling with another young dragon under a vast cauldron of water. Flicker stared in amazement as they took it to Sir Loungelot, almost dropping it the entire time.

'I can't carry that enormous thing, you dolt!' said Loungelot, who was at least twice the size of both young dragons put together. 'Take it to the window!'

The two boys obeyed, scuttling towards the window as fast as they could. Sir Loungelot followed them at a more sedate pace. Once the two young dragons had the cauldron propped against the windowsill, Loungelot put both hands on it and began to tip it away from him.

'This is what we do to journalists!' he shouted, before emptying out the entire quantity of water.

There came a cacophony of shrieks from below. Smiling with satisfaction, Sir Loungelot let the weight of the cauldron fall back onto the two boys, and went back to the Square Table.

'They've gone,' he said. Then his smile dropped. 'Oh. Good morning, Your Majesty.'

'It certainly is, Sir Loungelot!' beamed King Allfire, who had taken his seat at the Square Table. 'No doubt Sir Flicker has told you the good news?'

'Indeed he has, sire,' said Loungelot. 'We are all in ecstasies of delight. Aren't we, men?'

'Yes,' said Sir Burnevere, shooting Loungelot a look across the table. 'We are.'

'I say!' Allfire called out to the cauldron that was wobbling precariously across the room. 'Put that down, squire – I'm sure the kitchen boy can manage it. Did you hear the news?'

'No, Your Majesty,' said Crackle, not letting go of the cauldron. 'I was fetching the water.'

'Princess Flame has laid her egg,' Allfire told him. 'I want you to pen a letter to our friends at Singetagel Castle telling them of this joyous news, and then bring it to me to sign.'

'At once, sire.'

Crackle slowly let go of the cauldron. It wobbled even more precariously in the arms of the small kitchen boy, but he managed to steady it and hobble out of the room. Crackle then went off in a different direction.

'What a fine lad young Scuttle is,' said Flicker. 'He didn't have to help Crackle carry the water up, did he? I expect you'll thank him later, Sir Loungelot.'

'An excellent idea, Sir Flicker!' said King Allfire. 'Make a note of it, Sir Loungelot.'

Sir Loungelot scowled.

'Now then,' said Allfire, 'speaking of our friends at Singetagel, we have received word this morning that Sir Wick and Princess Solder have hatched their second egg.'

'Oh, that's wonderful news!' said Flicker.

'Is that why you're so keen to write to them with our baby news, Your Majesty?' asked Sir Blaze. 'I expect Mumsey's anxious for them to know we're catching up, isn't she?'

'Well,' said Allfire, a little awkwardly, 'she is certainly eager to share the joyous tidings. That's why I asked your squire to make a start, Loungelot. Cinder and Clinker are busy cleaning up their midwife garb, you see, and Queen Griddle would rather not wait.'

'What news of the new baby, Your Majesty?' asked Flicker.

'Eh?' said Allfire. 'Which one? Oh yes, the Singetagel baby, of course. It's a healthy and happy little girl. They have called her Scarlet.'

'Good thing they already have a son, isn't it?' said Loungelot. 'No more faffing about with an heir presumptive for them, once Princess Solder inherits Singetagel. Everyone always seems to feel much happier when there's a prince waiting in line, don't they?'

'Ah, yes, about that,' said King Allfire. 'That is one of the reasons I called this meeting. Sir Flicker, you have already discussed the issue with my daughter, haven't you? What do you make of it?'

'I approve wholeheartedly, sire,' said Flicker. 'How can I not, when my own wife stands to inherit? I don't believe any man could rule a kingdom better than she.'

'Ah, but what if she were unmarried?'

'I'd feel just the same, My Liege.'

'Then you will vote yea?' asked Allfire.

'Well,' said Flicker, 'that's confidential, isn't it?'

'What are you talking about?' Sir Loungelot asked irritably.

'Oh yes, I still need to tell the rest of you,' said King Allfire, just as Crackle trotted in with a scroll in his hands. 'Princess Flame has proposed that I change the law to say that oldest children will inherit the throne, regardless of gender.'

There was a pause while this piece of information sank in. Then everyone except Allfire, Flicker, Crackle and Blaze burst out laughing.

'Preposterous, sir!' said Sir Galahot.

'Girls can't rule kingdoms,' said Sir Hotbreath. Then he let out one of his fiery belches.

'Well,' said Sir Blaze, 'it won't be much of a vote with that attitude, will it?'

'You're not going to vote yes, are you?' Sir Loungelot asked scathingly.

'I can't possibly decide on the spur of the moment,' Sir Blaze said with dignity. 'I think we all need some time to think about it.'

'Sir Blaze is right,' said King Allfire. 'I want you all to listen to what Princess Flame has to say on the matter. And Queen Griddle too – she's arguing on the other side.'

'Mumsey doesn't think girls should inherit?' asked Sir Blaze.

'She thinks it's an appalling idea,' said King Allfire. 'But whatever happens, we must decide before the egg hatches, or things could get unnecessarily complicated. Well, squire, I see you have my letter. That was pleasingly quick. Give it to me, please.'

Crackle approached King Allfire and handed him the parchment.

'What do you think of this proposed law, Crackle?' asked Flicker.

Sir Loungelot frowned. 'Why should it matter what he thinks?'

'Because he's the young generation,' said Flicker, 'and he's got something to say. Crackle and his contemporaries are going to inherit this world after we've gone. They should have some say in how it's run.'

'You'll be saying we should ask that kitchen boy next,' said Loungelot.

'Maybe we should,' said Flicker.

'Raging plague, Flicker, I wasn't being serious!'

'I know you weren't, Sir Loungelot. But it's hardly fair if the only people to vote on this idea are upper class men, is it? We should let everyone in the castle vote.'

'That's the most ridiculous notion I've ever heard in my life, Flicker,' said Sir Burnevere.

'They're mostly men anyway,' Sir Blaze said, 'and the no camp even have Mumsey on their side. It's not going to be a very fair vote either way, is it?'

'We'll just have to do the best that we can,' said King Allfire. 'Squire, go down to the kitchen and let the servants know what's been decided, will you? There's a good chap.'

'Is everyone going to vote, then?' asked Sir Hotbreath. 'Even the plebs?'

'Certainly,' said King Allfire. 'I think Sir Flicker is right about everything.'

'So I noticed,' Sir Loungelot muttered, grabbing Crackle's arm as he walked past. 'While you're at it, Crackle, try to canvass their opinions. If Flicker and the Princess are going to start implementing their revolutionary ideas already, I at least want some warning.'

'Not a fan of progress, Sir Loungelot?' asked Crackle.

'Just set in my ways,' said Loungelot. 'I'm more than happy for this sort of thing to go on after I retire, when Mr Progress over there is the Prince Consort. But we're not there yet!'

'Isn't that a bit selfish, Milord?' said Crackle. 'I mean, this inheritance law affects that baby for the rest of her life. Er... or his. Well, if it's a boy, I suppose it won't make a blind bit of difference...'

Sir Loungelot frowned. 'You're getting even worse about having an opinion than Flicker was, Crackle. Watch it!'

'Yes, Milord,' said Crackle, and he went scurrying off.

'Oh, look, Loungey's back with us,' said Sir Blaze, when Sir Loungelot returned his attention to the Square Table. 'What was that all about?'

'I was just thinking,' said Sir Loungelot, 'that if this law is passed, those journalists will be very disappointed if the baby's not a girl.'

'Who cares about the press?' said Flicker. 'This is an important political issue. I hardly think we need worry about how it affects the people who tried to sell newspapers by claiming that Sir Blaze faked his bottom at Flame's and my wedding.'

'I ask you!' said Sir Blaze, flaring up suddenly. 'How does one fake one's bottom? Why would it even occur to one to do so, wedding or no wedding?'

'All right, settle down, everyone,' said King Allfire. 'While you and your squire were having that little chat, Sir Loungelot, we were discussing the other thing that made me call this meeting.'

'And what is the other thing?' asked Sir Loungelot, sounding not the slightest bit interested.

'Don't be thick, Sir Loungelot,' said Sir Charash. 'The Christmas party, of course!'

In the kitchen, Chef Turnspit was stirring a vat of sauce while Cinder and Clinker knelt on the floor, slaving over a basin of soapy water and a washboard.

'Wonderful news, isn't it, Chef?' said Cinder.

'Yes, wonderful,' said Turnspit. 'It's going to mean a lot of work for us, of course, when they start getting people over to celebrate.'

'They'll be wanting their Christmas party soon as well,' said Clinker. 'And who do they expect to supply the paper chains?'

A small, self-conscious cough came from the doorway.

'Oh, it's you again,' said Chef Turnspit, when he saw Crackle entering the room.

'Yes, hello, it's me again,' Crackle said sheepishly. 'Sorry to bother you, Chef... fellas... only I'm supposed to tell you that we all have to think about whether or not we want princesses to inherit before their younger brothers. There's going to be a vote, you see, before the egg hatches.'

'A vote?' said Cinder.

'Which includes us?' asked Clinker.

'Yes,' said Crackle. 'Everyone in the castle is to vote, even Scuttle. Is he here?'

'Obviously not,' said Turnspit. 'He's hardly likely to be hiding in the bread bin, is he?'

'Chef Turnspit,' said Crackle, 'I really am sorry about quitting the kitchen so soon. But I worked out my notice, didn't I? I helped you find a replacement, didn't I? And Scuttle's a hard worker, isn't he?'

'Yes, he's certainly that,' said Turnspit. 'He's quick, and he knows where everything is, and if I give him any prep to do then it's always done just as I want it.'

'Well then,' said Crackle, 'it sounds like he'd make a very good kitchen boy.'

'He does,' said Turnspit. 'And just you keep it under your hat. Good kitchen boys are hard to come by, and I don't want this one getting poached.'

'Don't worry, Chef,' said Cinder. 'I'm sure Scuttle's a keeper.'

'Speak of the Devil,' Clinker added, as Scuttle entered the room with a large sack slung over his shoulder.

'Are those the right potatoes, Boy?' Turnspit asked sharply. 'Remember, only Maris Pipers will do!'

'Of course they're Maris Pipers, Chef,' said Scuttle, heaving the sack off his shoulder and onto the floor. 'You can trust me.'

'So it would seem,' said Turnspit, peering suspiciously into the sack. 'All right then, get peeling them. Crackle, you'd better give him your message, hadn't you?'

'Yes, all right,' said Crackle. 'You see, Scuttle, it's like this...'

Merle the Wizard was in a dark and dingy lair somewhere, peering eagerly into her cauldron, from which emanated the sounds of dramatic music and bad acting.

'Brad!' a female voice said.

'Lauren!'

'Oh, Brad! We can never tell Terese.'

'But what you two don't know,' said Merle, 'is that Paul has a picture of you kissing in the yard!'

'Merle!' a female voice said, and Merle looked up to see a middle-aged dragon walking towards her. This dragon was wearing a dark cloak with the hood pulled down, so Merle could see her face, which had on its muzzle a horn like that of a rhinoceros.

'Well, well, well, if it isn't Volcana Le Flay,' said Merle. 'Go away – I'm watching my soup operas.'

The dragon raised her eyebrows. 'Is that any way to greet an old friend?'

'What do you want?'

'I've come to tell you that a dragon egg has been laid.'

'You mean those Singetagel Castle dragons?' said Merle, still peering into her cauldron. 'Forget it, sister. I heard about that months ago, and I don't feel like it.'

'I'm not the slightest bit interested in Singetagel Castle,' said Volcana. 'I'm talking about Camelhot!'

Merle looked up, thoughtful for just a moment. Then she shrugged, and said, 'Haven't you heard? I have no power against Camelhot now.'

'Yes, I did hear about that. I don't quite understand it, though.'

'That's too bad, because I'm not explaining it to you. I got better things to do.'

'So I see,' said Volcana, frowning at the cauldron. 'Merle, listen. I think I understand that you can't use magic against Camelhot anymore, but if I were to bring you the egg...'

'I don't think so,' said Merle. 'Something could go wrong if I tried to use it. Besides, I'm through with dragon eggs. They're more trouble than they're worth.'

Volcana frowned, and said, 'I wish you'd decided that before I laid mine!'

'I was the one who made sure there was an egg!' said Merle. 'And it wasn't worth the trouble. Was your boy useful to me in the end? Was he heck!'

'I'd say the blame for that lies at your own door. You were the one that raised him for the task.'

'Listen, sweetie. Need I remind you that you wanted us to bring down Camelhot? Why am I even arguing with you anyway? This stuff is all way back in the past. It doesn't matter now.'

'It matters to me!'

'Well,' said Merle, 'not to me. I'm through with Camelhot, and I'm through with dragons! Anyway, I taught you a little magic, didn't I? Why can't you use the egg yourself?'

'Maybe I will,' said Volcana. 'I'll have my revenge on those dragons, Merle, and then I'll have my revenge on you! It'll be no good saying you're too powerful for me when I have an unhatched dragon egg!'

Merle glared at her for a few seconds. Then suddenly she raised her arms above her head and wiggled her fingers, muttering under her breath. As she did so, the substance in her cauldron began to bubble and turn red; it then rose up out of the cauldron, took on the form of a terrifying monster and began moving towards Volcana.

Volcana gasped, pulled her hood over her face, turned and ran up the stairs to the door. Merle cackled happily to herself, then turned back to her cauldron, which of course was now empty.

'Aww, rats!' she said, kicking it in frustration.

'Where are you taking me again, Flicker?' Sir Loungelot asked irritably, as he followed Flicker along one of Camelhot's numerous corridors, with Crackle at his heels. 'I'm in the middle of trying to work out a very serious problem, you know.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Flicker. 'Can I help?'

'Certainly not,' said Loungelot. 'My squire is thinking it over. It is constantly on his mind.' He looked over his shoulder. 'Isn't that right, squire?'

'Yes, Milord,' said Crackle.

'So I wouldn't dream of asking you, Flicker,' Loungelot went on. 'Even though you always were rather good at this sort of thing. You see, Crackle is more or less adequate as a squire, but he doesn't invent. Hasn't got the brains for that – have you, Crackle?'

'No, Milord,' said Crackle.

'You mean you need something inventing?' asked Flicker.

'It would be a help,' said Loungelot. 'I'm planning the most spectacular surprise Christmas present for the Queen, only I haven't quite worked out all the details yet.'

'And that's a very serious problem, is it?' Flicker asked, with some amusement.

'It most certainly is,' Loungelot said with feeling. 'It's not easy to top you these days, Flicker, with that egg brewing away so nicely.'

'I'm sure you'll manage,' said Flicker. 'A trivial gift might be just what the Queen wants at the moment. Waiting for this egg to hatch is quite, well, stressful I suppose. I mean, I'm over the moon about it, of course...'

'Of course,' said Loungelot. 'Anyone can see you're as happy as a pig in mud. Why should you think otherwise?'

'Well,' said Flicker, 'if I should come across a little, well, anxious... that's because I am. I've never been happier in my life, Sir Loungelot, only I can't help thinking... what if I can't do it? What if I'm no good as a father?'

'Flicker,' said Loungelot, 'some men don't earn the respect of their sons. I don't see you having that problem.'

'Well, I hope you're right. But you know, it might be a girl – you said so yourself.'

'So I did, in which case, the same principle applies. All the same, I'm willing it to be a boy.'

'Would that have anything to do with this referendum, I wonder?'

'Yes, actually,' said Loungelot. 'I'm not being sexist or anything. It's just that whatever the result, there can't be any hard feelings either way if it's a boy, can there?'

'But, Milord,' said Crackle, 'I thought you said –'

'Shut up, Crackle,' said Loungelot.

'Actually,' said Flicker, 'that's why I've brought you to see Flame. She asked for you because she hasn't given you her campaign speech yet. Look, here we are at our bedchamber.'

'So we are,' said Loungelot. 'You know, it really isn't seemly for her to receive visitors in there.'

'You can go somewhere else with her,' said Flicker. 'It's my turn to sit on the egg.'

'How this world is leaving me behind!' said Loungelot. 'In my day, that was women's work.'

'Things change, Sir Loungelot,' said Flicker, as he pushed open the chamber door.

'Sir Flicker, there you are!' said Queen Griddle, in the utmost delight. 'You mustn't leave a wife on her own for too long, you naughty boy. I mean your wife, of course – I wasn't talking about me! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, I must have my little jokes. But seriously,' Griddle added, stepping close to Flicker and speaking quietly into his ear hole. 'She's just told me she's not sore anymore. BYEEE!' she finished loudly, right into Flicker's ear, then she trotted off laughing ecstatically to herself.

'Humph,' said Sir Loungelot. 'She didn't even notice me!'

'She will next time, I expect,' said Flicker, rubbing his sore ear.

'Hardly,' said Loungelot. 'She's expecting you to produce the spare to the heir already!'

'Don't let her get to you, Flicker,' said Flame, who was sitting at the foot of the bed. 'She's just very excitable at the moment.'

'I suppose that's better than before,' said Flicker. 'I really thought she was starting to go off me.'

'Oh yes?' Loungelot sniggered. 'Afraid you were gouty and impotent already, was she?'

'Well,' Flicker said awkwardly, 'I don't know about that.'

'Don't take any notice of him, Flicker,' said Flame, holding out her hand to him. 'I expect he's afraid that Stepmother Griddle thinks he's gouty and impotent!'

'Well,' said Flicker, taking Flame's proffered hand in his, 'we can't have that, can we? If you can think of anything a healthy and virile knight might give a queen for Christmas, Flame, then perhaps you could let Crackle know.'

'It's a nice thought, Flicker,' said Loungelot, 'but I might as well give up on that idea. What better present is there than a first grandchild and the future of Camelhot all rolled into one?'

'Well,' said Flame, 'she is all about the baby at the moment, Sir Loungelot, er, Crackle.' She looked at Crackle, who was hovering in the background, and smiled at him. 'It's best to bend with the wind, I'd say – get her something a grandmother would like.'

'Yes, well,' said Loungelot, 'I'll leave it with you, Crackle. Now, I believe Princess Flame wants to try and drag me into the Sixth Century.'

'So I do, Sir Loungelot,' said Flame, getting to her feet and waiting for Flicker to take her place on the large, golden-speckled egg. When he had done so, she planted an enormous kiss on his lips before leading Sir Loungelot out of the room. Crackle began to follow them.

'Wait, Crackle,' Flicker said, smiling, and Crackle waited. 'I was just wondering how you were. Not working too hard, I hope. And you're not lonely at all, are you? A squire could go mad in this place without a friend to talk to. That boy Scuttle is your friend, isn't he? Didn't he come here on your recommendation?'

'Sort of, Milord,' said Crackle. 'He and I were tolerably well acquainted when he came here. If anyone's working too hard, Milord, it's him. He says he wants to be a head chef in four years. But will you excuse me now? I have a few errands to run for Sir Loungelot, and then I suppose I'd better go Christmas shopping.'

The village was white with snow and bright with garish Christmas decorations strung up between the little thatched roofs. The serfs were out in force peddling their wares, with many of the market stalls bearing signs that boasted a free gift-wrapping service. Crackle and Scuttle worked their way through the throng of shoppers, Scuttle anxiously consulting a shopping list.

'I'm glad I ran into you here,' Crackle was saying. 'It's nice to have some company, isn't it?'

'Chef doesn't know how quickly things are snapped up in the lead-up to Christmas,' said Scuttle, not looking up from his list. 'He thinks he's left plenty of time, but it'll be my fault if all the best turkeys are gone, you mark my words!'

'Even the best turkey is a bitter turkey in my opinion,' said Crackle.

'That's why we'll cover it in butter and wrap it in bacon,' said Scuttle. 'Then it'll be delicious. Not that the likes of you and me will get any, mate. I need to get the bacon too, and the butter, and that's nothing to the ingredients for the chocolate log. I'm even supposed to get a thing to make robin footprints in the icing sugar!'

'That's ridiculous,' said Crackle.

'Well, to be fair, that wasn't Chef's idea – it was that pedantic busybody Sir Blaze.'

'I like Sir Blaze.'

'At least I don't have to worry about the Christmas pudding,' Scuttle went on. 'That's been under the bed in the spare room for months. What about you? Are you really going to be able to find this spectacular, totally original baby-related gift for the Queen?'

'Oh dear, I don't know,' said Crackle, looking worried. 'I don't even know what I'm looking for!'

'What about finding a portrait painter or something like that? Of course, it would have to be a cut above the rest – free miniatures for all the family and a personalised rattle thrown in, or something.'

'But what if the egg hasn't hatched by Christmas?'

'One problem at a time, mate,' said Scuttle. 'There's no guarantee this miracle portrait painter even exists. Have a look round – maybe you'll find something else. Shall we split up? I need to go and find this stupid turkey, and if I see anything for you while I'm at it, I'll let you know.'

'Okay,' said Crackle. 'Meet you back here in an hour?'

'Fine,' said Scuttle, looking at his list again as he went wandering off.

Crackle stood for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he went to browse the various market stalls. He wandered for a little while, before stopping and saying to one of the stallholders, 'Is that a robin footprint maker for icing sugar?'

'Not just icing sugar,' said the serf, proudly holding up the tiny plastic bird's leg between finger and thumb. 'You can make robin prints in any kind of powder or pliable substance. You interested?'

'Yes, I'll take it.'

'You want it gift-wrapped?'

'Oh, well, I... yes, all right then. Thanks.'

A very short time later, Crackle was walking away with his almost microscopic parcel, looking rather bewildered by the whole experience. He slipped the tiny thing into his pocket, then approached a stall hung with baby booties and soft toys.

'You're a little young to have gotten some girl into trouble, aren't you?' said the grumpy serf who was running the stall.

'It's for a friend,' said Crackle, looking irritated. 'The royal baby at Camelhot, if you must know. Do you have anything fit for a prince or princess?'

'Don't you know anything?' said the serf. 'That baby won't have the title of prince or princess yet, because it's descended from royalty through the female line.'

'I don't think much of your customer service skills,' said Crackle. 'Don't you want to make a sale?'

'I don't care if I sell something for the royal baby or not,' said the serf. 'I'm so sick of hearing about the thing! All those singers walking through the village with the news that the kid still ain't hatched yet. Give me a break!'

'I can see how that might be annoying,' said Crackle. 'But it's not the baby's fault. Or mine.'

'Yeah, well,' said the serf, 'I just got the usual stuff, kid. Booties, pacifiers, teething rings...'

'BABY PORTRAITS!' a voice yelled somewhere nearby, and Crackle turned towards it. 'Quality baby portraits! Royals, dragons and royal dragons a speciality!'

'Are you serious?' Crackle asked incredulously, as the owner of the voice came into view. She was a dragon in a dark cloak, with all sorts of artistic equipment hung about her person.

'Why would I lie?' the portrait painter answered. 'I know just what a sitting dragon wants from a baby portrait. If you commission paintings of the unhatched egg and the newly-hatched baby, I throw in one of my very special three-in-one frames absolutely free!'

'Why three?' asked Crackle.

'Two for the pictures, and a tiny one to display the egg tooth when it falls out. Most parents want to keep those, but they're so small, they usually end up getting lost.'

'What about the royal aspect?'

'Tiny orb and sceptre,' said the artist, producing these items from somewhere inside her cloak.

'Well,' said Crackle, 'Queen Griddle would certainly like all that. In fact, it seems too good to be true.'

'Why should that be?' the painter asked defensively. 'I'm just trying to make a living!'

'So am I,' said Crackle, 'and I'd be a fool not to take you to see Sir Loungelot.'

'Sir Loungelot... of course. Well, why shouldn't this person commission me? You said yourself, I'm exactly what he's looking for. Why don't I come back to Camelhot now? You are from Camelhot?'

'Yes. You want to come now, you say? I can't go right now – I'm meeting someone. I've had this fake robin's leg wrapped up for him, and... well, never mind about that. Don't you want to carry on trying to flog your services until the market closes?'

'Oh, well,' said the artist, 'I don't suppose there are many other royal dragon babies around, do you?'

'But those are just specialisms,' said Crackle. 'You paint other babies as well, surely.'

'Oh... yes... so I do. Well, I've got enough work to be getting on with. This is a busy time of year for me. I'll just wait with you for your friend, and then we can all go back to Camelhot together.'

'Who goes there?' Clinker called down from the battlements.

'It's us, fellas!' Scuttle called back up to them.

'Who's your friend?' asked Cinder.

'She is a portrait painter come to see Sir Loungelot!' called Crackle.

'Sounds all right,' said Cinder, and they lowered the drawbridge.

As the painter followed the two young dragons into the castle, she kept her head down and self-consciously tried to tug her cowl over a very obvious rhinoceros horn.