CHAPTER 1

Sir Dante Allegro gallops through the time gate in search of his squire. He leaves the sound of Medieval Norfolk waves behind him, the hot sand, the explosions. There's a brief transition as he's sucked into the Gate — like piercing a towering plate of the King's Jelly, in all its stickiness — and then he's through.

His unicorn's hooves skid to a halt in the sand. Dante's bathed in cool air. Whenever this is, it's darker, and clouds knot themselves into a blanket under the sky, suffocating barren dunes. Swinging off his mount, Dante traces the curvature of the plain until he spies the hill on which his castle overlooks the sea. But his castle isn't there. Clumps of stone poke out of the earth like dislocated ribs.

"Jorge," he calls, sinking into the dune under the weight of his chainmail. "Jorge, where are you?"

Dante's got a big booming voice, like thunder, and it rumbles out in all directions, but the landscape's static and dead. Even the sea seems to have just rolled out one day and never rolled back in. A haze claims the horizon in the distance, stinking of an unknown soporific.

A row of dainty footprints lead in the direction of the castle. Jorge always was a dainty squire. He likes poetry, but Dante can't blame him, because Dante likes poetry too. He likes to read it to his courting partner, Ermengard, on their picnics in the marshes. Curse those tourists for cutting their most recent outing short, right when he and Ermengard were starting to get to the really sordid acts like grazing each other’s cheeks with gloved hands!

Really all of the problems started last week, when the tourists rode the lightning into his field and erected that spring steel wagon of theirs. But now that Dante's in their land, all armoured up with his polearm raised triumphantly to heaven, he accepts life for what it is. He jumps back onto his unicorn and speeds off, following Jorge's footsteps. The time gate behind him closes.

It's a lonely ride through the dunes, the thudding footfalls of the unicorn the only sound of animal life, and even those are deafened by the wind. It howls through Dante's armour, snakes its tendrils through the gaps and saps at his courage, trying to tease him away from his upright posture. It's bracing. Occasionally he crashes through a thicket of brambles, their leaves desaturated so much as to be grey, their stalks all thorns and no berries. Occasionally he plods through a quagmire, loses the trail and has to hunt along a perimeter of barbed bulrushes until he finds it again. Those spikes, at least, his armour keeps out.

Jorge's footsteps lead to Chateau Allegro, highest of hills. Sir Dante's overcome with emotion as he matches all the lumps of rock to memories. There's the gatehouse, which his hundred-strong elite cavalry charged out of during the Battle of Norwich to turn the tides. A worn-away pillar suggests the balcony, atop of which he'd stare out over churning waters while penning something that was sure to make Ermengard feel wet. The library — gone. The armoury — gone. Even the kitchen's massive clay ovens have crumbled to dust.

But there's a new sign in the middle of the courtyard, some kind of glossy wood with fine printed writing.

“CHATEAU ALLEGRO was the home of renowned feminist writer and strategist Sir Dante Allegro during the reign of King Arthur, preserved for your enjoyment by the National Trust. Construction began in...”

"Egad!" cries Sir Dante. "What devilry is this? What goodness permitted evil to print these unchivalrous falsehoods? I am no woman!"

He smashes it to pieces, then cuts up the pieces with the sharp edge of his polearm until the insulting words no longer exist. His unicorn whinnies with bloodlust. What does this National Trust think it’s doing, spreading lies about him being feminine? Even his rival lineage, the Larghetto Family, wouldn't stoop so low.

Now that he's up here, he can get a better look at the area — of his lands. The first thing that catches his attention across the vast expanse of greying fields and bogs is an array of lights that twinkle like stars, but far brighter. They're red and white, mostly, scuttling around like ants, though decidedly more ghostly.

Next to the light looms a tower-like beast, a rod made of metal that gleams threateningly under the low light. Its blades spin on the wind in a menacing thrum. It's rotated exactly as to be leering at Dante — and who should he see running distantly towards it but his squire Jorge, pink plume in his cap?

Dante's never seen a dragon before, but he's seen the destruction they leave in their wake — burning, salted lands where nothing will grow and nothing will live. He's heard tales of fire dragons and ice dragons and cupid dragons... but never metallic dragons. The state of his land now makes perfect sense.

"Wait, Jorge!" he calls. But the dragon's putting out too much noise. It leans down as it turns, coming ever closer to the squire as it spins its blades.

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Dante leaps onto the unicorn and digs in his spurs. They thunder down the hill. He's clinging to the horn with one hand for balance, and thrusting forth his polearm with the other. They dip down into the break outside the castle, and when they crest the next ridge, upon which sit a row of glossy warning signs, Jorge's disappeared.

"Jorge!" cries Dante. "God take you, dragon!"

It's hard riding. Everything's a blur. The thud of the unicorn's hooves batter his body, his chainmail rattling, but he's getting closer, and the dragon's stooping down to meet him. Its blades hack away the shrubs at its feet, casting more life away on the wind.

"For Jorge, for Ermengard, for Norfolk!" Dante screams.

Knight meets dragon. The dragon’s blades whir overhead, scything through the air, but Dante clears them, then drives his spurs into his steed. Horn glowing, the unicorn shoots forward like a cannonball and in a burst of speed, Dante impales the dragon. It's a clean hit that tears off and crumples the outer layer of its skin, revealing an array of infernal twinkling lights within.

One more should do it. The knight guides his mount around in a wide circle across the clear land. Looks like he's going for quite the run up.

"WARNING," says the Dragon, and her voice sounds servile with a forced cheer. "YOU HAVE INCURRED DAMAGE TO A SINTECH TURBINE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. PLEASE DON'T RESIST."

Alongside hissing steam come a swarm of flying metal birds, twenty in total, each sparking with lightning. They arc up to the clouds and then plummet towards him like hail.

"As long as there is breath in my body," says Dante. "I shall fight for clean air and beautiful countryside! For marshes, forests and fields! Yah!"

He darts off. The birds streak after him, bombarding him with arrows of thunder, but he does a good job of weaving away. With a sudden, sharp turn, he charges in amongst them and cuts their number to half. Each bird explodes once it hits the floor, just like the tourists' technology, and Dante leaves the flock in the dust as he gallops towards the dragon, faster and faster.

"YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO RESIST," chides the dragon. "RELEASING ALL GUARDIAN DROIDS."

Hundreds more of the birds stream out of its shaft and fire upon him. It's a thick barrage of electric daggers, and there's no avoiding it. They stab him clean through the arm, and the pain arcs over his entire body, burning him everywhere, sizzling every inch of his skin. He presses on. They get him through the leg. He wants to scream. He presses on. Squints his eyes, grips the reigns tight, and guides his steed through the space between the daggers, like he's dodging rain.

The unicorn's horn glows again, brighter than any of the artificial lights in this shrouded land. It whinnies. The dragon sees what's coming, and stoops its rigid frame all the way down to cover its weak spot, guarding it with those fast spinning blades. Fast, but not fast enough — with a leap, the unicorn speeds forward, squeezing through the tiny gap between rotations, so fast as to shake everything with a sonic boom. Carried along, Dante thrusts his polearm into the circuitry with all the force of a freight train, and this time cleaves it in twain.

He can't turn to watch it fall, he still has to get away from those raining daggers — but there's too many of them. The birds shoot the unicorn through the leg, and it stumbles in a mist of blood, throwing him off. Dante eats dirt. At the same time, the tower-like dragon ceases spinning, creaks metallic whines and topples over like an ancient redwood. The whoomph when it splinters into pieces, displacing the air, is deafening.

"Jorge," cries Dante, pushing himself upright. "Jorge, where are you?"

His unicorn's limping next to him, its wound oozing. Shit, shit, he hasn't got anything to stop the bleeding. There's a pink feather cap jutting out of a nearby rock — he pulls on it, and out comes Jorge, coughing and sputtering. A deep gash streaks across his chest, thick as Dante's wrist.

"Sir Allegro," sputters Jorge, choking on blood. "I always knew... you would slay one."

"Those infernal tourists and their dragon!" says Dante. "What an unhappy turn of events! Alas now this land is safe."

He looks over his shoulder and there are the birds, hovering in a neat line before himself, Jorge and the unicorn. Dante knows a firing squad when he sees one — can't dodge their knives at this range. He rattles his polearm, resolving to make one last valiant, chivalrous charge. The flaming ruins of the dragon cast dark shadows on his face.

"PLEASE, STOP RESISTING," chorus the birds, and the overall effect is that of a war-cry. "IT SHOULDN'T EVEN BE POSSIBLE TO CUT THROUGH A TURBINE LIKE THAT?"

Dante's unicorn whinnies knowingly.

"Get them good for me, sir." Jorge closes his eyes.

The time for words is over. Dante sprints at the birds, training the razor sharp polearm at them, and with his first and only swipe he cuts down fifty. They spark and fizzle out into the grey brambles. Now all he can do is wait for them to fire upon him, and hope that Ermengard hasn't married anyone by the time she gets to heaven.

"Hey, hey, easy," says a woman with a funny triangular cap on, stepping out from behind the flock. "Did you... do that?"

She gestures to the destruction behind him. Dante lowers his weapon — after all, how much trouble can one armourless woman cause?

"Fear not, grateful townsperson," says Dante imperiously. "I have indeed slain the dragon that was blighting this land. Mayhap now the sun should shine and the general quality of air improve."

She laughs, a little shocked. By the way she's looking him up and down, he imagines there mustn’t be many knights around here — which he finds a little unfair, considering he's not gawking at her dark skin.

"Cool... and what's your name?" She fingers a trinket in her palm.

"Sir Dante Allegro," says Dante. "And by my appearance, I believe you should relay to all you meet that I am indeed a most masculine knight."

"Mmm-hmm," she nods, and then places her palm on his shoulder and paralyzes him. He hits the floor eyes-wide, every part of him seized up. How an earth is this woman so powerful? She must be of the tourists' ilk!

"So, you're under arrest and stuff," she says, while other people wearing funny hats walk over to pick up Jorge and the unicorn. "From here on anything you say can and will be used against you in court. Alright guys, pick him up."