‘Tornado.’
‘Correct. You have the knowledge. Now swear on the name of the Mighty Shandar and the Old Magic that ties you to your calling, that you will uphold every rule of the Dragonpact until you are less than dust.’
‘I swear,’ said I.
There was a crackle of electricity and a fierce wind blew up inside the building. Overhead I heard a peal of thunder and somewhere a horse whinnied. The Quarkbeast Quarked loudly and ran under the table as a globe of ball lightning flew down the chimney, floated across the room and evaporated with a bright flash and the pungent smell of ozone.
As the wind subsided, the old man became unsteady and sat on a nearby chair.
‘Is anything the matter?’ I asked him.
‘I am sorry if I have deceived you, my child,’ he murmured softly, the brisk energy that he seemed imbued with not more than two minutes ago having left him entirely.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, anxious not to leave my new friend and master.
‘I have been economical with the truth,’ he answered sadly. ‘Sometimes it is necessary for the greater good. You are not an apprentice, you are the Dragonslayer proper. I will not be joining you on Sunday; you will go alone.’
‘No—!’
‘I’m afraid so. You were late in arriving, my child; Old Magic kept me from the ravages of nature. I am not a hundred and twelve but almost one hundred and fifty—and I can feel the years advancing by the second. Good luck, my child, in whatever you do and however you do it. Fear not for me because I fear not for myself. Loyal Dragonslayers are always welcome in the Palace of Shandar. The keys to the Rolls-Royce are in that drawer over there; always check the oil and water daily, and...’
Here his voice started to falter.
‘. . . you will find living accommodation up those stairs. The sheets were clean on this morning. I have prepared for your arrival every morning for thirty years.’
If his face had been wrinkled when I met him, it was twice as wrinkled as the years poured on to his ancient body.
‘Wait!’ I urged him. ‘You cannot go now! Who is to follow me?’
‘No one, my child. Your name was the last on Shandar’s list. Maltcassion will die in your tenure. You are the last Dragonslayer.’
‘But I have much to ask you—!’
‘You are a clever girl.’ He coughed, his voice growing weak. ‘You will do well of your own accord. Be true to yourself and you will not fail. But please, do one thing for me.’
‘Anything.’
He handed me a scrap of paper.
‘I gave my watch to be repaired last Tuesday. Would you fetch it and give it to the serving lady named Eliza at the Dog and Ferret, with my love?’
‘Of course,’ I replied, tears welling up in my eyes and running down my cheeks. He beckoned me closer.
‘And it is prepaid, the repair,’ he added, ‘so don’t let the cheeky monkey charge you twice.’
‘I understand.’
‘One last thing,’ he murmured. ‘Will you fetch me a glass of water?’
I left him and went across to the sink. He must have been wanting to spare my feelings, for when I got back there was nothing left of him but his suit, hat and silver-topped cane lying in a heap on the floor among a fine smattering of grey powder. He was gone, home to the Palace of Shandar. I didn’t know what he would find there, but I hoped that he would be happy.
Thus it was that I, Jennifer Strange, sixteen years next month and loyal subject of King Snodd IV in the Kingdom of Hereford, took on the rights and responsibilities of the last Dragonslayer.
The Dragonlands
I looked around my new home. Upstairs was a bedroom with a good supply of books, and downstairs was a kitchen with a well-stocked larder. My friend, the previous Dragonslayer, had been a meticulous housekeeper. There was barely a speck of dust anywhere. I called Tiger.
‘It’s Jenny,’ I told him, ‘is everything all right?’
‘Everyone’s glaring at me and mumbling in low tones.’
‘You’re going to have to deal with that for a while.’
‘How did you get on with finding out about Dragons?’
‘Quite well, actually,’ I replied slowly. ‘I think I’m the last Dragonslayer.’
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
‘I said I think—’
‘I heard what you said. I just don’t think it’s very funny. I put my neck on the block as a kind of “foundling solidarity” thing and you don’t take any of it seriously.’
‘Tiger?’
‘Yes?’
‘You know how all your life you think maybe you’re placed here for a reason?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you never find out what that reason was?’
‘Yes.’
‘I just have. I’m not kidding. I’m the last Dragonslayer. I have the sword and everything.’
There was another pause.
‘This kind of throws you centre stage,’ said Tiger. ‘You’ll be famous and asked what you’re going to do and stuff.’
‘I’m not looking forward to it, nor the possibility of killing a dragon. But at least I get to actually find something out about Maltcassion—and with the sword Exhorbitus, I’ll finally be able to trim the Quarkbeast’s claws.’
‘That would be helpful,’ admitted Tiger, ‘all that click-click-click upon the floor is a bit annoying.’
He paused again.
‘Does this mean I have to run Kazam?’
I told him that I was sure I could do both, and that I would try to smooth things over with Lady Mawgon and Moobin and the others. This seemed to satisfy him, and after telling him to go and hide in a wardrobe if things got bad, I added I would be home as soon as I had ‘sorted a few things out’.
I replaced the phone slowly. My life had taken a sudden turn and I wasn’t really used to it yet. I needed to get out of the town and find some fresh air, so where better than the Dragonlands? I wasn’t going to learn anything sitting around in the Dragonstation drinking tea, so I turned to the spiky Rolls-Royce armoured car. I mounted the lance on the side and clipped the sword on to the bracket next to the riveted iron door. The doors to the garage opened easily on well-oiled hinges and the Rolls-Royce whispered into life. I paused for breath, then slowly edged the Slayermobile out into the traffic. It was busy on the streets, yet the traffic peeled out of my way as I approached, nobody having ever seen a Dragonslayer driving to work before, and even when I misjudged a corner and hit a bollard, the sharp spikes on the Rolls-Royce simply sliced through the iron as if it were butter. Children pointed, grown-ups stared and even pan-heads saluted me with their blocks of marzipan. Cars stopped at lights to let me cross unhindered, and several times a policeman halted traffic and waved me through a red light, saluting as I passed.
It was in this manner that I reached the Dragonlands and drove carefully through the caravans and tents that had increased in number dramatically since the previous night. Word had got about and people were travelling to the Kingdom of Hereford from all over the Ununited Kingdoms. I even noted that several catering vans had turned up, eager to turn a profit wherever crowds gathered. The mass of people waved excitedly as I entered,
