Ned stared up at the conjured globe in awe. It floated, spinning slowly between his Papa's hands. He reached out as Africa rolled past and tried to touch it. His little hands passed straight through the image and his eyes flickered to where Mallos was pointing. "Si-bee-ree-ah," he repeated slowly, nodding his head, "Niber dragons in Si-bee-ree-ah!" Ned paused and tipped his head thoughtfully to one side. "Is this a Niber dragon?" he asked, tapping the red-eyed creature on the page. It didn't look very ice-like. Ice was see-through and went in your glass when you were thirsty on a hot day. It wasn't black and it certainly didn't have red eyes. The globe flickered and died and Mallos dropped his hands back to the floor. Ned kept looking up at the space it had been for a while, trying to remember the blocks of blue and green.

"King Arfur!" he enthused suddenly, grabbing for the book again. He flicked through the pages and opened it up on a double-page spread. A man in armour and a red cloak stood triumphantly as its centre, and around him stood a ring of armoured knights. Each one of them had noble but notably friendly faces. Most of them also had beards. "Is that him?" Ned asked, tapping the figure in the centre with his index finger. "Did he fight Niber dragons in Si-bee-ree-ah too?" He scrutinised the faces. He looked like the kind of person who could tickle dragons. He also had a big sword which Ned was sure helped. It was a good idea to take a sword to a dragon fight even if you were a competent tickler like Papa.
"If he's your friend..." Ned mused, "can I meet him? I'd like to learn dragon tickling too! So would Sir Hugs...wouldn't you, Sir Hugs?" He scooped up the bear and helped him nod.

He starting to laugh again as Mallos manoeuvred him up onto his shoulders. It was a long way off the ground, but he wasn't scared. He kept a tight hold on Sir Hugs' paw. "Dad's are taller than ponies," Ned declared, looking around. The floor really did feel very far away. Mallos didn't give him much chance to dwell on it. Soon they were trotting across the floor and out into the corridor beyond. He squealed when they slid down the staircase, holding onto his Papa's neck. He waved merrily at the smiling cook as they trotted past her on their way out of the back door.

The garage was dark and cool. It smelled of oil and rubber. Sometimes Papa smelled like that too.
"Mustang, mustang!" Ned enthused, clapping his hands. "They're wild ponies," he informed Mallos knowledgeably, "they live in Am-eer-ica and don't let people ride on them." He smiled, and peered over the rooves of the cars, "what colour is yours Papa? I'll try and find it for you!"