The Last Dragonslayer

power of his rear easily overcame the anchoring properties of his front, and his claws pushed through the solid earth like twin ploughshares. There was a large crack from his back and he relaxed.

‘Ooh!’ he muttered. ‘That’s better.’

This done, his wings snapped open like a spring-loaded umbrella and he beat them furiously, setting up a dust storm that made me cough. I noticed that one wing was badly tattered; the membrane covering was ripped in several places. After a minute or two of this he folded them delicately across his back, then turned his attention back to me. He came closer and sniffed at me delicately. Oddly, I felt no fear of him. Perhaps that was my training; I didn’t suppose I would have dared stand next to forty tons of fire-breathing dragon twenty-four hours ago without feeling at least some anxiety. I could feel the sharp inrush of air tug violently at me as he inhaled. He seemed satisfied at last and put his head down again, so once more his scaly skin looked like nothing more than a huge pile of rubble.

‘So, Dragonslayer,’ he asked loftily, ‘you have a name?’

‘My name is Jennifer Strange,’ I announced as grandly as I could. ‘I present myself to you by way of introduction. I sincerely hope that I have no need of my calling, and that you and the citizenry—’

‘Claptrap,’ said Maltcassion, ‘pure claptrap. But I thank you anyway. Before you go, could you do me a favour?’

‘Certainly.’

He rolled on to his side and lifted a front leg, pointing with the other to an area just behind his shoulder blade.

‘Old wound. Would you mind?’

I clambered on to his chest and looked at the area he indicated. Just behind a leathery scale was a rusty object protruding from a wound that had obviously been trying to heal for a while. I grasped the object with both hands and then, pressing my feet against his rough hide, pulled with all my might. I was just beginning to think that it would never come out when I was suddenly on my back in the dust. In my hands was a very rusted and very bent sword.

‘Thank you!’ said Maltcassion, reaching round to lick the wound with a tongue the size of a mattress. ‘That’s been annoying me for about four centuries.’

I threw the rusty sword away.

‘You may help yourself to some gold or jewels by way of payment, Miss Strange.’

‘I require no payment, sir.’

‘Really? I thought all mankind gravitated towards things that were shiny? I’m not saying it’s necessarily a bad thing, but when it comes to species development, it could be limiting.’

‘I’m not here for money. I’m here to do the right thing.’

‘Principled as well as fearless!’ murmured Maltcassion with a chuckle. ‘Quite a Dragonslayer! My name is Maltcassion, Miss Strange. You have a good heart. We were right to wait for you. You may leave now.’

‘Wait for me?’ I asked. ‘What do you mean?’

But he had finished speaking. He closed his jewel-like eyes and shuffled to get more comfortable. I couldn’t think of anything more to say so I just stared at this huge untidy heap that was the rarest animal on the entire planet. Considering the amount of time and effort spent on the protection of endangered species such as pandas, snow-leopards and Buzonjis, I suddenly became perplexed and not a little angry that here was a creature of extraordinary nobility and intelligence that everyone actually wanted to die so they could grab some land.

‘It’s a PR thing,’ said the Dragon, half to itself.

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s a public relations thing,’ he said again, opening his eyes and staring at me. ‘Why do people spend millions trying to save dolphins, yet eat tuna by the bucketful. Isn’t that what you were thinking of?’

‘You can read my thoughts?’

‘Only when someone feels passionately about something. Ordinary thoughts are pretty dull. Powerful ideas have a life of their own, they carry on, unshakeable, from person to person. Wouldn’t you agree?’

He didn’t wait for an answer, but carried on.

‘Elephants, gorillas, Buzonjis, dolphins, snow-leopards, Shridloos, tigers, lions, cheetahs, whales, seals, manatees, orang-utans, pandas—what have all these got in common?’

‘They’re all endangered.’

‘Apart from that.’

‘They’re all pretty big?’ I hazarded.

‘They’re all mammals,’ said Maltcassion contemptuously. ‘You seem to be making this planet into an exclusive mammals-only club. If seal cubs were as ugly as the average reptile, I wonder if you’d bother with them at all. But those big eyes and the cute barking and the soft fur, well, they just melt your little mammalian heart, don’t they?’

‘There are other non-mammals that are protected,’ I argued, but Maltcassion wasn’t impressed.

‘Window dressing, nothing more. No one much cares about the reptiles, bugs or fishes, unless, of course, they look nice. Seems a pretty crummy method of selecting species for survival, doesn’t it to you? If you want to redress your overtly mammal supremacist attitudes, I should ban the words “cuddly”, “cute” and “fluffy”, for a start.’

‘At least we’re doing something,’ I pleaded.

‘If your idea of something is helping less than one hundredth of one per cent of the world’s species, then you all deserve a medal. There are six great apes—all of which you merit of special attention—but over six hundred different varieties of the floon beetle alone.’

‘Floon beetle?’ I queried. ‘I’ve never even heard of a floon beetle.’

‘And that’s my point,’ said Maltcassion triumphantly. ‘You lot haven’t even discovered one, let alone the other five hundred and ninety-nine. And a floon beetle is a fascinating creature. One variety turns itself inside out purely for kicks and giggles, and another has the power of invisibility. A third secretes an enzyme that will convert raw marzipan to usable Almondoleum without the need for vast distillation plants. They are the most singular creatures on this planet, and yet mankind knows nothing about them at all. Do you see what I mean?’

‘Floon beetle, eh?’ I mused.

‘You know,’ he went on, after lapsing into silence for a few moments, ‘if someone asked me to sum up all complex life on Earth in two words, do you know what I’d say?’

I shook my head.

‘Mainly insects.’

I couldn’t think of much to say about this, so I asked instead:

‘Can I come and see you again?’

‘Why?’

‘To ask you some questions.’

‘Why?’

‘So we might know more about Dragons.’

‘Humans,’ he scoffed. ‘Always so inquiring about stuff. Never satisfied with the status quo. It will be your downfall, but oddly enough, it’s also one of your more endearing features.’

‘Do we have any others?’

‘Oh yes, plenty.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, counting in base ten is pretty wild, for a start,’ he said after giving the subject a moment’s thought. ‘Base twelve is far superior. You also have extraordinary technical abilities, a terrific sense of humour, thumbs, being built inside out—’

‘Wait! Being built inside out?’

‘Of course. As far as the average lobster is concerned, mammals—with the possible exception of the armadillo—are built inside out. Any crab worth his claws will tell you the soft stuff should