William Wright and the Dragon's Treasure

William Wright and the Dragon’s Treasure

By

Uriah Szilagyi

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Uriah Szilagyi on Smashwords

William Wright and the Dragon’s Treasure

Copyright 2015 by Uriah Szilagyi

Credits to LordHannu for the amazing cover background. Website for this talented artist is: http://lordhannu.deviantart.com/

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

*****

Chapter 1: Arriving Late

It was another freezing day in the small town of Hopscotch. As the townsfolk awoke early to defrost their car windows and ready themselves for work, the students of Harsly were dressed and lining up for morning classes. All except for one, William Wright. He had forgotten to wind up his old clock the night before. As William slept-in, he dreamt of a place far away from the strict boys’ boarding school he had spent the last three years of his life, a place where he wouldn’t be yelled at by his skinny grade four teacher, chased by overweight school bullies or be bored to death with rants of bravery from the toupee wearing headmaster. Maybe, just maybe, today was going to be different than the rest.

I haven’t slept that good for ages, yawned William, getting out of bed and looking out the window. Another miserable --

Suddenly, William realised something, he wasn’t woken up by his clock’s alarm. A cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he looked at the hands of his clock. They weren’t moving.

Can’t be late, can’t be late, panicked William, frantically dressing himself in his stringent school uniform.

Before his bed sheets even had time to cool, William had grabbed his bag, flung on his blue knitted scarf and taken off for class.

Maybe everybody’s just sitting down, hoped William, pelting down the corridor leading to class. I’m probably only a second behind.

Once he had arrived at his classroom’s door, William quietly put his ear up to it and tried to hear if anything was going on inside. With a bit of luck, he’d hear the students still unpacking their bags, but there was nothing, only deathly silence.

Might as well get this over with, sighed William to himself, and he softly knocked on the door.

From the other side of the door came the high-pitched voice of William’s teacher, Miss Peebottom.

Come in, she squawked.

The thought of seeing Miss Peebottom sent shivers down William’s spine, but what could he do? There was no escape.

With a gulp, William opened the creaky door and was instantly welcomed by Miss Peebottom’s cold stare. William didn’t know what to do. The only thing he could think of was to try and explain why he was late.

S-sorry Miss, stammered William, but I-I --

Shut up! I don’t care for your wretched excuses, screeched Miss Peebottom, peering over the top of her sharp-edged glasses. You think you can just waltz in here whenever you like and get away with it? Well, not today, Mr Wright.

As William looked on with despair, Miss Peebottom wrenched a ridiculously thick mathematics book from her desk and began scratching questions from it onto the blackboard.

Arriving late to Miss Peebottom’s class wasn’t anything unusual for William. Most times, he was held up trying to avoid two fat bullies. They were named Trevor and Albert, but William always referred to them as the Twins.

The Twins were brothers in grade five who took exceptional pleasure in picking on William. Why? William wasn’t quite sure, maybe it was because he was brainier than most students. As for the Twins’ appearance, you couldn’t imagine two boys looking more like little piglets if you tried. Both were grossly overweight, had extremely short brown hair and funny looking piggy noses. William, on the other hand, looked quite different. Having missed so many lunches trying to avoid them, he was far from overweight. He had loose fair hair, a slim face, light-blue eyes and could run like the blazers. Being able to run fast was, on many occasions, the only thing that had saved William from a fate worse than death, being wedgied in front of the whole school.

By the time Miss Peebottom had finished writing up the questions for William, the whole board was covered, and it wasn’t just covered with simple additions or multiplications, either. It was covered with advanced algebra.

OK, Mr Wright, said Miss Peebottom, a smirk visible on her thin lips, let’s see if you can forgo any of my class time in future, shall we? Drop your bag and answer those questions on the blackboard, pronto!

With the other students sniggering to each other, William slowly walked over to the blackboard, picked up a stubby piece of chalk and began writing up the answers.

Hurry up, barked Miss Peebottom, as William desperately tried to work out the moon’s gravitational pull on Pluto, we don’t have all day.

Miss Peebottom always took joy in making William look like a fool in front of the class. Whenever she could, she would ask him the hardest questions in an endless quest to trip him up, but why … why would a teacher be so interested in making a student suffer? William had a good idea that it had to do with Miss Peebottom’s own lack of brain matter. Going by what he overheard two gossiping teachers say about her, Miss Peebottom wasn’t even smart enough to pass her exams to become a properly qualified teacher, and it was only because her brother knew the headmaster, Mr Boil, that she was allowed to teach at Harsly at all. Whether it was true or not, William didn’t care. Miss Peebottom had it out for him, and that was that.

After William had completed half of the questions, Miss Peebottom began getting immensely irritated by his ability to answer the questions correctly. She had been referring back to her mathematics book on a regular basis to check his progress. With her frustration building, Miss Peebottom slammed the book on her desk with fury.

Get on with it! she shouted at William, trying to pressure him. Stop wasting my class time with your feeble attempt to answer those questions.

Ignoring Miss Peebottom’s rage, William continued on, determined not to let her get to him. In a short period of time, William had finished all the questions. Symbolically, he placed the chalk down and turned to face her.

OK, Mr Wright, snorted Miss Peebottom, her eyes darting up and down the blackboard. Since you think you’re so clever and know so much, perhaps you would like to go to the headmaster’s office and explain your late attendance. Pick up your things and head there immediately!

Yes, Miss, replied William, and he picked up his bag and left, satisfied he had shown her up once again.

As he walked through the dilapidated school to the headmaster’s office, William remembered how good life was before his parents had abandoned him at Harsly. At his old school, William had many good friends and got along extremely well with his teacher. If it wasn’t for his parents’ bizarre change of behaviour after winning big one day, he’d still be going there. That was in the past now. He was here and his parents were off, travelling the globe. Their selfish minds only concerned with how much joy they could squeeze into each day. It seemed so unreal that people could be changed so much by money, but there was no denying it, William’s parents had changed, and it wasn’t for the better, either.

After making his way down a long corridor, William had arrived at the headmaster’s office. He knocked on the army green door in front of him and waited.

You may enter, boomed Mr Boil from behind the door.

William opened the door and stepped inside to see Mr Boil sitting behind an expensive mahogany table, cleaning his beloved Vietnam War medals.

Mr Boil was a short round man with tiny mole-like eyes who never went anywhere without covering his baldness with a scruffy toupee. The toupee itself looked ridicules and was the bud of many jokes as it never seemed to sit squarely on his head.

In Mr Boil’s office, there sat a proud assortment of military memorabilia: guns, helmets, flags. You name it, he had it. None of it, however, meant as much to him as his beloved Purple Heart medallion. It was polished and cleaned hourly and was locked away in a secure glass cabinet. Some students at Harsly believed Mr Boil to be a brave man with the way he talked about charging into enemy fire and taking people out with his bare hands, but not William, he had seen Mr Boil sulking over little things like paper cuts and itchy jumpers more than once. After such unusual scenes, William had often wondered if Mr Boil had actually received any of the medals adorning his office. That was one mystery, assumed William, which would never be answered.

Once Mr Boil had finished cleaning the second layer of polish off his medals, he glanced up at William and groaned. He then rose from his desk and placed the medals on a shelf before sitting back down, looking irritated.

So, it’s you again? he said to William.

Yes, sir, answered William humbly. Miss Peebottom sent me here to --

Let me guess … explain your late attendance?

Umm, that’s right, sir, replied William.

Mr Boil, once again, rose from his seat, but this time, he casually walked around his office, staring up at his medals and slowly nodding to himself. This indicated to William that the usual war hero speech was just around the corner.

You don’t have a clue how good you’ve got it, Mr Wright, began Mr Boil, his chest pushed outward. When I was back in those leech infested jungles of Nam, soldiers who showed up late for inspections were sent to the front line. He slapped his chest. Only tough men like me could deal with that sort of harshness, a boy like you wouldn’t last one day. Is that understood?

William couldn’t help but find the sight of Mr Boil standing proudly with a comical looking toupee resting on his head funny. He looked completely absurd.

Yes, sir, sniggered William.

Detecting William’s less than serious tone, Mr Boil squinted at him and said angrily, Because this is the third time this week you’ve been late to Miss Peebottom’s class, I’m going to make sure you won’t forget this punishment anytime soon. Maybe then you’ll understand what it was like for me in Nam.

William instantly knew this didn’t sound good. Most times, all he’d been forced to do is clean the blackboard after class for a week or two.

Looking extremely cross, Mr Boil sat back down.

The punishment is as follows, he announced to William. At the end of each day and for the period of one month, you, Mr Wright, will go to the kitchen and clean every single dish Mrs Dumpling tells you to -- no questions asked. If you ever show up late to Miss Peebottom’s class again, your punishment will be increased to the remainder of the year.

But it’s not always my fault I’m late, retorted William, being shocked by the severity of the punishment. Trevor and Albert hold me up at lunchtime.

Mr Boil looked William in the eye and answered back sharply, I don’t like slackers like you. If the cane was allowed, I’d give you a good whopping for your disobedience. Now get out of my office!

Knowing not to push his luck, William left Mr Boil’s office without saying another word.

Along the way back to class, William’s mind once again drifted off to the happier moments of his life. The happiest being his seventh birthday. On that day, he had received a present from his great-grandmother. The present was a scarf. On a card his great-grandmother had attached to the scarf, she wrote:

Dear William

This scarf has been passed down through our family for countless generations. Please take care of it and wear it with pride.

Wishing you the best birthday ever,

Great Granny Lucy

William did exactly what his great-grandmother said and wore the scarf with pride. In some strange way, William always felt an attachment to the scarf. He felt it was from a distant land, a land he would be visiting one day.

Before William had realised it, he had arrived at the dreaded door leading into Miss Peebottom’s class. After the formality of knocking, William walked in.

Ah, look who’s finally showed up? remarked Miss Peebottom sarcastically.

William didn’t say anything and headed for a vacant seat at the back of the dusty old classroom.

I hope you’ve learnt your lesson, she continued. You don’t want to have to see the headmaster again, do you?

No, Miss Pee-bottom, replied William sarcastically as he sat down.

Miss Peebottom looked annoyed by William’s cheeky response, but she didn’t say anything for fear of the other students picking up on it.

As William unpacked his things, Miss Peebottom made an announcement to the class.

There will be a maths quiz going around shortly. I’ve scaled it to match our brightest student, Mr Wright.

After a helpless student had finished handing out the quizzes for her, Miss Peebottom peered up at the classroom’s clock and sneered, You’ve got five minutes to finish the quiz. Oh, and I forgot to mention, anyone receiving a mark lower than ninety-nine percent will have detention at lunchtime.

William knew Miss Peebottom was trying to get back at him for mispronouncing her name, but he felt confident he could handle any exam she could throw at him. As he opened the first page, it struck him that the questions were from grade six exams!

Smarty pants. Look what he’s got us into, William overheard students mumbling to each other, as they opened their quiz papers.

What am I supposed to do? pondered William. If I don’t pass the quiz, Miss Peebottom will put me in detention, but if I do, the rest of the students will hate me because I’ll be the only one that does.

A moment or two later, William realised what needed to be done. It would be hard. It would push