‘Did anyone see it?’
Norton looked at his feet.
‘No.’
‘Anyone hear anything, see it being flown out here?’
‘No.’
‘Then by the rules of the Dragonpact I’m going to have to see at least two other uncorroborated incidents of Dragonattack before I can even consider this a rogue Dragon.’
Norton rounded on me angrily.
‘It’s pretty clear cut—!’
‘Then you punish him, Norton,’ I responded. ‘I’m going to need to see better evidence than this.’
I left Norton, lifted the ‘do not cross’ tape and was instantly assailed by a wall of journalists.
‘Was this an attack by a Dragon?’ asked a reporter from The Whelk.
‘Unlikely.’
‘How could you know it wasn’t Maltcassion?’
‘I didn’t say it wasn’t.’
‘Is it true that you studied zoology at GCSE level?’
‘It is.’
‘And that you once gave money to the Endangered Buzonji Fund?’
‘Many people do.’
‘And you aim to study Maltcassion?’
‘If I can.’
‘Then you have a vested interest in keeping the Dragon alive?’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, scarcely able to believe where this questioning was going.
‘We’re wondering whether you are qualified to make an objective decision on Dragondeath. Perhaps in light of your dubious conflict of interests you had best leave Dragonslaying to someone else. We understand Sir Matt Grifflon has just held a press conference in which he stated his eagerness to assume your duties; has he contacted you?’
I didn’t answer and another reporter took a turn as I walked in the direction of the Rolls-Royce.
‘Sophie Trotter of the UKBC,’ announced the reporter. ‘Miss Strange, does the prospect of having to carry out your duty fill you with trepidation?’
‘It won’t come to that.’
‘But if Maltcassion reneges on the Dragonpact, you will act to destroy him?’
‘If he does, I will carry out my duty.’
‘Do you think King Snodd’s declaration of “no confidence” in your abilities will make you reconsider your decision to resign?’
I stopped so fast the pack of journalists nearly walked into the back of me.
‘King Snodd said that?’
‘At Sir Matt Grifflon’s press conference late last night. He called for your resignation and endorsed Sir Matt taking your place. Such an undertaking is allowed under the Dragonslayer’s charter, we take it?’
‘I can transfer my calling... but only to a knight,’ I murmured, realising that I was being steadily outmanoeuvred.
‘So will you be resigning?’
‘Listen,’ I replied somewhat testily, ‘I am the last Dragonslayer. I will uphold the rule of law as laid down by the Dragonpact of 1607 to the best of my abilities. I have no plans to do otherwise. Excuse me.’
I climbed aboard the armoured Rolls-Royce. Gordon van Gordon was in the driver’s seat and we pulled away from the mob and headed back to town.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Sure. I was hoping to be able to study Maltcassion at my leisure; that hope is rapidly fading.’
Gordon nodded in the direction of the truck.
‘What was all that about?’
‘Villiers thought it was a Dragonattack; talon marks on an eighteen-wheeler. Even if it was Maltcassion—which I doubt—it isn’t enough to have him destroyed. If he does it several times, then I might have to do something. The good thing is that no one was killed. So long as no lives are lost, I can drag this out for a month at least.’
‘So who if not Maltcassion?’
‘Who knows? Both Hereford and Brecon could have done it. The Dragonlands are of great strategic importance to them both. I’ve got no way of knowing who is telling the truth. Brecon says he doesn’t want the land at all and is fearful of being invaded, whereas King Snodd is convinced that he wants to take over the whole area. I don’t know who to believe, so I’ve cancelled them both out like opposite ends of an equation. I’ll have to judge all this on merit as we go along.’
I lapsed into silence as we drove back to the Dragonstation. There were a lot of reporters there too, but I avoided them all as Gordon drove me straight into the garage. The news of my refusal to kill the Dragon without corroboration spread quickly and I had to leave the phone off the hook after some unpleasant calls. A jeering mob started to yell outside the Dragonstation that I was a coward or something, which went on for an hour until some animal-rights campaigners turned up on my behalf. There was a short battle and the police waded in with water cannon and tear gas. I don’t think anyone was hurt but a brick came through the front window.
‘Tea?’ said Gordon with a masterful piece of good timing. ‘I’ve made a cake, too.’
‘Thank you.’
Mr Hawker
I was reading The Dragonslayer’s Manual over breakfast and had just got to the bit about using a banana to sharpen Exhorbitus when there was a sharp rap at the door. I opened it to reveal a small man dressed in a worn suit. He was flanked by two huge men whose knuckles almost touched the ground.
‘Yes?’
‘Miss Strange, Dragonslayer?’
‘Yes, yes?’
‘My name is Mr Hawker. I represent the Hawker & Sidderley debt collection agency.’
The alarm bells started ringing. I had expected King Snodd to make life difficult, but this was not what I had anticipated. Hawker handed me a sheath of papers, all headed with the Kingdom’s judicial seal and looking terribly formal. I was in no doubt that it was all official, very legal, and wholly dishonest.
‘What does it mean?’ I asked Hawker, who seemed to be enjoying himself.
‘This property has been given rent free by the Kingdom for almost three hundred years,’ he explained. ‘We have discovered that this was a clerical error.’
‘And you found out just this morning, I suppose?’
‘Indeed. Back rent, back electricity bills, gas bills, rates, you name it. Three hundred years’ worth.’
‘I’ve only been here two days.’
Hawker—and the King’s advisers, presumably—had already thought of that.
‘As Dragonslayer you are legally responsible for yourself and the previous members of your calling. The Kingdom has been generous for many years, but feels now that circumstances have changed.’
He looked at me with a smile.
‘You owe us 97,482 moolah, and forty-three pence.’
I patted my pockets, drew out some change and handed it to the debt collector, who wasn’t laughing.
‘Now how much do I owe you?’
‘I think you fail to appreciate the seriousness of the situation, Miss Strange. I have a warrant for your arrest if you do not pay the monies owed. Failure to pay will result in you being jailed for debt.’
He obviously meant it. I could only assume that the King thought a brief stay in jail would make me more compliant. But I wasn’t about to be arrested just like that. I asked Mr Hawker to wait and called Gordon to fetch the accounts. Brian Spalding had said we had funds available in the bank.
‘How long do I have to pay?’
The debt collector smiled and one of his heavies started cracking his knuckles.
‘We’re not totally devoid of a sense of fair play,’ replied Hawker with a gloat. ‘Ten minutes.’
‘Well?’ I said to Gordon, who had returned with the bank statements.
‘Not too good, ma’am,’ he said. ‘It seems we have a fraction under two hundred moolah.’