‘My Lord,’ said I, my voice cracking as I stared into the beetroot-red face of the monarch, ‘I wish only to serve my King and will do anything that he reasonably expects of me. But I must point out that by the Mighty Shandar’s decree and ancient law, the concerns of the Dragonslayer are of no consequence to my noble King.’
There was a deathly hush. One of his advisers started to giggle but wisely changed it into a cough. The King’s monocle dropped from his face. He turned to his advisers and asked in an exasperated tone:
‘Was that a refusal?’
His aides all muttered to one another, nodded their heads and generally made noises of assent. The King turned back to me and wagged a slender index finger in my face.
‘You dare to speak of a higher authority than I? Where, might I ask, is this so-called Mighty Shandar? He has not been seen for a hundred and sixty-one years, yet you tell me that he is the last word on Dragons? You are in big trouble, young lady.’
‘No, Sire, I think she does you greater honour by her refusal.’
The voice was raw and gravelly and sounded like that of the janitor from the convent. It was one of the King’s advisers. He rose from his sofa, disturbing one of a pair of greyhounds that had been asleep at his feet, and approached us both.
‘What is the meaning of this, Lord Chief Adviser?’
The Lord Chief Adviser was a tall man of advancing years. His hair and beard were snow white and he walked with a limp. He smiled at me and I breathed a sigh of relief. It stood to reason that a king had others to advise him who were, well, smarter.
‘I remember the last Dragonslayer, my Lord, perhaps you do not.’
‘Of course I do,’ snapped the King. ‘Frightful bounder by the name of Spalding. He was insolent too.’
‘Perhaps. Then you know that a Dragonslayer has a position quite unique. They are answerable not to one king, but to all of us. The independence of the Dragonslayer should not be compromised, and never coerced.’
‘Speak English, damn you! Besides, who’s coercing?’ asked the King in a shocked tone. ‘I am ordering. It is quite a different matter. Guards, lock this Dragonslayer up in the most frightful room of the highest tower and feed her on powdered mouse until she agrees.’
‘You cannot, Sire.’
‘Cannot?’ asked the King, his face growing red with anger. ‘Cannot? I am the King. I WILL BE OBEYED!’
‘As powerful as my Lord is, not even your finest squadron of super-dreadnought landships can come close to the power of magic.’
‘Magic? Pah!’ scoffed the King. ‘This is the twenty-first century, Lord Chief Adviser. I think you accord too much relevance to antiquated notions.’
But the Lord Chief Adviser was not going to be defeated.
‘Your father never dismissed magic so readily, and neither should you.’
The young King bit his lip and looked at me. The Lord Chief Adviser continued:
‘I do not advise you to hold a Dragonslayer against their will, Sire. I also think you should apologise to Miss Strange and welcome her to the court.’
‘What?!’ said the King, his monocle popping out of his eye again. ‘Outrageous!’
At that moment the footman arrived with a small plate of meat for the Quarkbeast.
‘What’s that for?’ asked the King, who had forgotten all about it.
‘Quark,’ said the Quarkbeast, who hadn’t.
The King took the plate and placed it on the floor next to the Quarkbeast, who looked at me obediently. I nodded my assent and he demolished the food, then chewed the pewter plate for a bit before spitting it out in such a mangled and ugly state that one of the ladies-in-waiting fainted and had to be carried out.
‘Goodness,’ said the King, who had never seen a Quarkbeast eat before. The greyhounds saw it too and wisely scurried away to hide.
The Lord Chief Adviser took advantage of the distraction and leaned forward to the King’s ear and whispered something for about thirty seconds. The King’s face gradually broke into a smile.
‘Oh, I see. Of course. Will do.’
He turned to me again but his manner had abruptly changed.
‘I am so sorry, my dear. Please accept my apologies for my brusque behaviour. No doubt you will have heard about the border skirmishes with the Duke of Brecon early this morning. Intelligence sources tell me that since your surprise appointment yesterday and the realisation that this Dragon chappie will soon be dead, Lord Brecon is considering moving his troops forward to capture as much of the Dragonlands as he can. I fully appreciate your position in all this and I hope I can trust in your loyalty to Hereford?’
I was suspicious about his rapid about-face but decided not to show it.
‘You can, Sire.’
‘Perhaps you would consider a small request that I have in mind, then?’
‘And that is... ?’
He shook his head sadly.
‘No no no. I am the King. You say yes, then ask me what I require. Your upbringing has not been good, girl.’
‘Very well,’ I replied, ‘I will consider very carefully any request my King might make of me.’
‘A bit better,’ conceded the King doubtfully. ‘You realise that only you can get into the Dragonlands?’
I nodded.
‘Good. I should like you to stake the claim of this crown all over the Dragonlands. So when the good Dragon dies, your monarch and state will be in a more powerful position to better serve its citizens. In return for this I offer you the title of marchioness and a hundred-acre tract of the Dragonlands. Am I not the most generous king ever?’
‘I will consider what you have said most carefully, my Lord.’
‘That’s all agreed then. Lord Chief Adviser, would you show this good lady to my car?’
The royal adviser took me firmly by the arm and we backed away together for a respectable distance before turning our backs on the King and leaving the room.
‘I am Lord Tenbury, Miss Strange,’ announced the adviser in a kindly tone. ‘You may call me Tenbury. I was an adviser to the King’s father. You will forgive King Snodd’s quick temper.’
We continued to walk along the corridor.
‘You have trouble with the Duke of Brecon?’ I asked him.
‘As usual.’ He sighed. ‘Brecon would dearly love to expand into the Dragonlands as soon as Maltcassion dies and I’m afraid we can’t allow that to happen. You and your apprentice have the only access to the Dragonlands and that is very useful to us. I beg you to consider the King’s request most carefully.’
He stopped and looked into my eyes with an earnest expression.
‘Remember you are a subject of King Snodd, Jennifer, and that your duty as a Dragonslayer is second only to your duty as a loyal defender of this crown.’
‘All I want is the best for the Dragon, Tenbury.’
The adviser smiled.
‘Things are never as simple as they appear, Miss Strange. By taking on the mantle of Dragonslayer you have inherited a political position every bit as delicate as that of the skilled court adviser. I hope in all this you will make the right decisions.’
We had reached the front door, where the mute driver with the Jaguar awaited me.
‘There is one other thing I would ask of you,’ said Tenbury, looking about nervously and moving closer.
‘I respect your candour, sir,’ I replied. ‘What do you wish?’
‘That you think very carefully about merchandising.’
‘What?’
‘Merchandising. Dragonslayer toys, games and so forth. It’s big business these days; the King’s useless brother and myself are regional representatives of Consolidated Useful Stuff and have been authorised to offer you twenty per cent of everything sold. We think that plastic swords are probably worth a half million in sales alone.’