The Last Dragonslayer

spiky Rolls-Royce and a sound engineer fixed me with a microphone.

While all this was going on I had placed a paper bag over the head of the Quarkbeast with a single hole for him to see out of. It wouldn’t do to unnecessarily frighten the crew, and if the Quarkbeast went on live TV, he might cause a panic and small children to start crying, something neither of us wanted.

The floor manager counted Mr Baird in with his fingers and pointed at him as the red ‘live’ light mounted on top of the camera flicked on. The TV presenter grinned broadly.

‘Good afternoon. This is Yogi Baird, speaking to you live from the Dragonslayer’s office in Hereford, capital city of the Kingdom by the same name. In just a minute we’ll be talking to our very special guest, Dragonslayer Jennifer Strange. But before all that, a word from our sponsors. Has your get-up-and-go got up and went? Need a pick-me-up for a hard morning’s work?’

He produced a packet of breakfast cereal.

‘Then you need to try Yummy-Flakes for that extra vavoom!’

He put down the packet as the jingle played briefly, then he smiled into the camera and continued:

‘Listen, everyone’s been talking about Dragons these last few days. Dragon this, Dragon that, seems like a bit of a drag to me. That joke will slay me, but listen, folks...’

He didn’t seem so funny live. The audience back at the studio were doubtlessly holding their sides, but I was feeling uncomfortable. Like almost everyone in the Kingdoms I had watched the Yogi Baird show all my life, but was beginning to feel as though I was being used—and that Dragonslayers should perhaps show more dignity. I stayed for Mother Zenobia’s sake. I knew she would be watching—or listening, anyway.

‘. . . have you noticed just how many people have converged on the Dragonlands? Biggest show in town. Maltcassion will soon have his own TV station.’

The cameraman zoomed out to include me in the shot as the floor manager waved frantically at me to be ready.

‘. . . but all kidding aside, for the past few days the small Kingdom of Hereford has been alive with speculation over the death of the world’s last Dragon. With rumours of his demise imminent, this four-hundred- year-old Dragonland may very well soon be passed to any number of lucky claimants. I have with me the one person who could be battling with the Dragon some time in the next week. Ladies and gentlemen, Jennifer Strange.’

I looked across at Gordon, who gave me the thumbs-up through the glare of the lights. I was being beamed live into the homes of over thirty million people. Two days ago no one had heard of me, yet today you would be hard pressed to find someone who hadn’t. The power of the media.

‘Welcome to the show, Jennifer.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Miss Strange, have you met with Maltcassion today?’

‘Yesterday,’ I replied.

‘And was he as horribly grotesque as you had thought?’

‘No; on the contrary. I found him a highly intelligent creature.’

‘But ugly, of course? And potentially a maneater with nothing on his mind but death and destruction?’

‘Not in the least.’

Yogi Baird abandoned that line of questioning.

‘O... kay. Even pre-cogs as low as B-3 are receiving visions that he is shortly to be killed at your hands. What’s your reaction to that?’

‘I can’t say. Maltcassion has not transgressed the Dragonpact so it all looks like a lot of smoke to me. He will die eventually, of course, and when he does I am firmly of the opinion that the Dragonlands should be converted into a national park—’

‘What a novel idea!’ Yogi laughed. ‘This area is badly in need of more housing, Miss Strange. Three hundred and twenty square miles of prime real estate on the borders don’t pop up every day, and they represent thousands of jobs and much prosperity. Are you seriously trying to tell the viewers that we should ignore all that and instead devote the land to a few creatures of dubious value?’

‘Well... yes. I saw a herd of Buzonjis up there; until yesterday they were thought to be almost extinct.’

‘I’m no expert, of course,’ said Baird in the sort of voice people use when they are trying to tell you they are an expert, ‘but I think you’ll find the best place for endangered species is in a zoo. What are zoos for anyway? Without all these endangered species kicking around, there’d be no work for zookeepers and naturalists.’

‘Eh?’

Yogi steered the show towards something less controversial.

‘So tell me, what makes a good Dragonslayer? A steady hand and a sharp sword?’

‘I think the name Dragonslayer is a misnomer,’ I answered carefully. ‘I see myself more as a keeper, who has to weigh the interests of the Dragon against dangerous outside influences.’

‘Ah yes. Some newspapers have criticised you for your pro-Dragon stance. Our researchers have uncovered that Dragons are, and I quote: Dangerous fire-breathing and evil-smelling loathsome vermin who would think nothing of torching an entire village and eating all the babies were it not for the magic of the Dragonpact.’

‘Where did you read that?’

‘My researchers have sources.’

‘Well,’ I conceded, ‘it is the populist view, although after my short meeting with Maltcassion I was more inclined to think him a gentleman of considerable learning.’

‘So, loathsome worm or learned gentleman? Let’s see what the callers have to say. I have Millie Barnes on line one. Hello, Millie, what is your question, please?’

A little girl’s voice came over the loudspeaker. She couldn’t have been older than five.

‘Hello, Jennifer. What’s a Dragon like?’

‘He looks like a huge pile of stones, Millie. Rough and shapeless. You wouldn’t know he was there unless he spoke. As for character, he is noble and fearless and has much that he could teach us—’

‘Thank you for your question, Millie,’ said Mr Baird dismissively. ‘I have Colonel Baggsum-Gayme on three. Go ahead, Colonel.’

‘Jennifer, m’girl,’ said the colonel gruffly, ‘best not to try and attack the blighter on your own, what with you being a girlie and all. Allow me to offer my services as the finest hunter of big game, advice absolutely free as long as I can stuff the ruffian and put him in the trophy room. I’ll even have one of his legs made into an umbrella stand for you. Deal?’

‘Next caller?’ I asked.

‘Hello, yes, I think you have been beguiled, my dear. Everyone knows that Dragons are evil reptiles with no sense of reason and exist only to steal livestock, frighten small ladies and little old children and make us vote Marxist.’

‘Hello,’ said the next caller, ‘I think what you’re doing is absolutely right and you should follow your own obviously high moral code in this most difficult of situations.’

I liked this caller better.

‘Thank you, Mister... ?’

‘Strange. Or at least it will be. I think that I should adopt your name when we are married. Do you like Chinese food?’

‘Thank you, caller. I have Mr Savage from Worthing on line six. Hello, caller, go ahead.’

‘Hello, Miss Strange.’

‘Hello, Mr Savage. What’s your question?’

‘You call yourself a Dragonslayer, Miss Strange, but I have irrefutable evidence shown to me by a man in the pub that it is I who am the true Dragonslayer. I see you as an usurper, keeping me from my true calling.’

‘Well, Mr Savage,’ I began, thinking how wrong I was to suppose that I would get only one nutter on the phone-in, ‘perhaps you and I should discuss this inside the Dragonlands. As you know, only a true—’

But the line had gone dead.