The Last Dragonslayer

by Jasper Fforde

  ‘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, running for their balls of string and claiming-stakes in case this was the end of the Dragon. They would have to be disappointed. I took a deep breath and drove between the marker stones. There was a crackle and a rumble. If I had tried the same thing an hour ago I would have been vaporised. I parked the Rolls-Royce and waved cheerfully to the crowd on the other side of the marker stones, who gaped back like fish.

  ‘New Dragonslayer,’ I shouted by way of explanation, ‘just going to go and do . . . my . . . thing.’

  I turned back and jumped, for there in front of me, here in the Dragonlands, was a man. He was quite unlike any man I have ever seen before. He was tall and graceful with a shock of white hair, craggy complexion and gleaming eyes that sparkled and danced. He was dressed in a black suit and cape, wore a large amethyst ring on his finger and carried a staff of willow. I had never seen this man before, yet I knew instantly who he was.

  ‘The Mighty Shandar!’ I gasped, and dropped to my knees.

  ‘You must be a Dragonslayer or their apprentice,’ said a warm voice that sounded like how I hoped my father would have sounded, had I ever known him. ‘For only they may pass the marker stones.’

  ‘I am, sir,’ I muttered, unsure of how to address the most powerful wizard the world had ever known.

  ‘I expect you have many questions,’ continued the Mighty Shandar.

  ‘Well, yes, I do,’ I replied, looking up.

  ‘Questions that I cannot hope to answer.’

  I got to my feet. ‘How’s that?’ I asked, but the Wizard ignored me.

  ‘This is a recording, by the way,’ answered Shandar, who now that I looked more closely seemed
almost translucent, like a spectre. The image flickered and rocked as he spoke, and I was surprised to find that a sorcery recording is not a lot better than a poor video recording. I waved a hand in front of his eyes, but he didn’t react. The Mighty Shandar continued:

  ‘You are the first Dragonslayer to venture on to the lands and you are here for one of two reasons: one, you are curious, or two, the Dragon violated the Dragonpact. If the reason is the former, then look and see and leave as soon as you can. If the reason is the latter, then look very carefully at the evidence of the suspected crime. There is much deceit in this world, and if there is even the slightest doubt in your mind, let the Dragon live. One more point. Dragons can be deceitful too. They often have a separate agenda and will manipulate the weak-minded for their own purposes. I wish you the best of luck. If you want to hear the message again, clap your hands once. If you want to delete this message, clap your hands twice. If you want to save this message then . . . oh, never mind.’

  He smiled, the image flickered twice and then faded from view, leaving me to mull over his words. Shandar’s support of Dragons seemed unequivocal, yet he didn’t appear to think you could trust them. Confused, and with his warnings about deceit filling me with unease, I began my walk into the Dragonlands, the Quarkbeast at my heels.

  The hill was mostly scrubby moorland of heather and bracken. It was full of wildlife, which had learned to live without the fear of man. Rabbits sniffed at my ankles and the cows and sheep paid me little or no heed as I walked past in the warm summer air. After an hour’s climb up the hill the moor led down to a small lake. I trotted down the slope and walked around the water’s edge, peering at the fish in the clear waters and wondering what a loss this vast natural wildlife park would be when Maltcassion had gone. I knew from my geography classes that the lands covered an area of 350 square miles, slap bang in the disputed borderlands between the Kingdom of Hereford to the east and the Duchy of Brecon to the west. I reached the far side of the lake, walked through a spinney of silver birches and then climbed another hill from where I could see deep into the Dragonlands. It was a landscape without electricity pylons, buildings or telegraph poles. There were no roads, no railways, and no people. The vegetation had grown unchecked for centuries, and large oak forests covered half the area. The land was free and clear and seemed to stretch away for ever. It would take me a long time to explore it but I was in no hurry. In fact, if I were lost for a week it would be to Maltcassion’s distinct advantage.

  I ran down the short slope and walked by a stream whose clear waters babbled excitedly about the rocks. Presently I came across a crashed aircraft. The loss of this particular aeroplane in fog one snowy night ten years previously had shown that the force-field was shaped like a dome with its highest extremity at five thousand feet. Only the very brave or the very stupid would dare to fly above the lands, as an engine failure would spell certain death. I looked into the plane; it was empty. The pilot and passengers would have been vaporised as the small craft came within the marker stones’ influence.

  I forded a river, stopped for a drink and then descended on to a plain dotted by sheep and cows which came and went as they pleased, for the force-field seemed to have an effect only on humans. I followed the stream into a forest of Douglas fir, and as I did so I noticed an eerie silence fall upon the land. The soft and lush undergrowth absorbed the sound, so even my boots splashing through the brook seemed to make very little noise. After a few hundred yards I noticed that old cattle and sheep bones were scattered in the stream, so I guessed I was nearing my quarry. A little farther on I found a ruby the size of a man’s fist lying on the bed of the stream and several gold doubloons. Within a few hundred yards more we came across a large clearing in the forest.

  ‘Quark,’ said the Quarkbeast as we stood on the smooth compacted earth. In the centre of the clearing was a large stone, not unlike the boundary stones that ringed the Dragonlands. It was humming audibly in the still air, and above us a light wind moved the uppermost branches of the trees. Hidden in the compacted earth were glimpses of gold and the flash of a jewel from where the riches of the Dragon lay hidden. Here indeed was the lair of a Dragon. His food, his gold, his jewels. But where was the Dragon? There was no cave of any sort. Indeed, apart from a pile of rubble on one side of the clearing, there was nothing here at all. I guessed that Maltcassion had either flown out or was elsewhere on the lands. I turned to go when suddenly, in a clear and patient voice, came the words:

  ‘Well, look what we have here: a Dragonslayer!’

  Maltcassion

  * * *

  I turned but saw no one.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I asked, my voice trembling. I thought I was the only one allowed in the Dragonlands. I looked around but still could see no one, and was just thinking of climbing the odd pile of stones to get a better look when I noticed, lying in the rubble, a fine red jewel about the size of a tennis ball. I reached out to touch it and a leathery lid covered the jewel and flipped back up again. I froze. The jewel moved as it looked me up and down, and Maltcassion spoke again:

  ‘Bit young for a Dragonslayer, aren’t you?’

  The pile of rubble moved as he spoke and I felt the ground shiver. He unwrapped his tail and stretched it out, then, using it as a back-scratcher, rubbed his back just above where two wings were folded tightly against his spine.

  ‘I’m sixteen,’ I muttered indignantly.

  ‘Sixteen?’

  ‘In a fortnight.’

  ‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ replied the Dragon sarcastically, ‘bags of experience.’

  He raised his massive head from where he had been hiding it between his two front claws and looked at me curiously. Then he opened his mouth wide and yawned. Two large rows of teeth about the size of milk bottles presented themselves to me. The teeth were old and brown and several had broken off. My eyes started to water at the smell of his breath, which was a powerful concoction of rotting animal, vegetation, fish and methane gas. He raised his head and coughed a large ball of fire into the air before looking at me again.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he muttered apologetically, ‘the body grows old. What’s that, by the way?’

  ‘It’s my Quarkbeast.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Maltcassion as he leaned closer to look. ‘So that’s what one looks like. Does it change colour?’

  ‘Only when there’s too much silicon in its diet.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He then dug his two front claws into the hard-packed soil and pushed with his hind legs to stretch. The 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.