The Last Dragonslayer

by Jasper Fforde

  She pointed the microphone at me.

  ‘A few words? We’re live.’

  ‘My name is Jennifer Strange,’ I began, ‘I am the last Dragonslayer. I have grave doubts over the claims of the supposed crimes but by the laws of the Dragonpact I am not permitted to refuse. I hope that one day you will all forgive me, although I know I shall never be able to afford myself the same privilege.’

  The pressmen clamoured for more but I ignored them. I caught a glimpse of Sir Matt Grifflon staring at me with daggers in his eyes. He was standing next to a couple of Berserkers who were hitting each other with bricks in readiness for the battle. I gave them all a wan smile and drove away from the baying crowd. Once out of their sight I stopped the Rolls-Royce and climbed out. It was barely eleven o’clock; I had time to catch my breath.

  ‘You’re back,’ said a voice.

  I knew who it was. I didn’t even bother turning around.

  ‘Hello, Shandar,’ I replied.

  He was sitting on a rock.

  ‘You must not kill the Dragon,’ he said quite simply. ‘I order you not to kill the Dragon. You will regret it. The Dragonpact will be destroyed. The Dragons will be free to once again roam the land, killing and plundering, and the Ununited Kingdoms will collapse into a new dark age more evil and sinister than you can imagine. Humans, made slaves, will be ruled over by the Dragons, whose hearts are as black as the deepest cavern, their one wish the destruction of the human race.’

  ‘Is this another recording?’

  ‘I have placed this recording here as a warning against anyone trying to kill the last Dragon. Believe nothing that they say to you. They can lie in thought, deed and gesture. I repeat: return now and leave the Dragon alone.’

  I was confused.

  ‘But by the terms of your decree, the Dragon is rogue and must be destroyed!’

  The image twitched and went back to the beginning again.

  ‘You must not kill the Dragon,’ he said quite simply. ‘I order you not to kill the Dragon . . .’

  I watched the speech again but the magic was old and weak and before I had heard the message three times Shandar was merely a voice on the wind. Naturally, I agreed with him, but was suspicious of his strong wish for me not to kill the last Dragon, when he had been paid twenty dray-weights of gold to do precisely that. Had I been beguiled by the Dragon? Did he have another agenda? Was I smart enough to see through the possible lies? Thoroughly confused, I set off into the Dragonlands.

  I drove up a hill, followed the ridge for a little way and then descended into a beech forest. I had to steer the large Rolls-Royce very carefully among the tree stumps and fallen branches. Twice I had to back up and try a new way through, but soon the forest thinned out and I found myself looking out on to a large, flat meadow next to a stream. I drove across the short grass as grazing sheep moved lazily out of my way, and then crested a low rise and stopped, not believing what I could see.

  I turned off the engine and stepped out on to the springy turf. Across the low valley was a sea of white tape that criss-crossed the untouched land, tied at intervals to pegs hammered into the ground. Someone was in the Dragonlands. Someone was already staking claims.

  I heard a cheery whistling on the breeze and walked to the brow of a low hill, where I saw a small man wearing a brown suit and an unmistakable derby hat. It was Gordon van Gordon. He hadn’t been busy looking after his mother after all – he had been busy claiming as much of the Dragonlands as he could. He was, after all, my apprentice, and only a Dragonslayer or their apprentice may enter the Dragonlands. He was cheerfully banging claim stakes into the ground, and hadn’t noticed I was watching him.

  ‘Something you want to share, Gordon?’

  He jumped as I spoke and looked up at me, but he didn’t seem too worried.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  He gave me one of the stakes he had been banging into the ground. There was an aluminium disc attached to each stake, and it was stamped with the name of the company Mr Trimble had been negotiating for earlier: The Consolidated Useful Stuff Land Development Corporation. Gordon had successfully claimed the land. The area enclosed within the named stakes legally belonged to ConStuff – or it would do, as soon as the Dragon was dead and the marker stones lost their power. Gordon had claimed a lot. As far as I could see there were marker tapes tied to stakes.

  I shook my head sadly.

  ‘I trusted you, Gordon. Why all this?’

  ‘Sorry, Miss Strange, but this is strictly business. I like you as a person. You have many fine qualities that I admire. But you are out of time. You should have been born a century ago when values such as yours meant something.’

  Gordon smiled. But it was a smile I hadn’t seen before. It was as though I was meeting a different person. The Gordon I knew, the friendly and helpful Dragonslayer’s apprentice, had never been real at all.

  ‘You had me fooled.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it,’ he said kindly, ‘we’ve been running Last Dragonslayer Drill for a number of years now.’

  I frowned.

  ‘This was all planned?’

  He knocked a peg in, wrapped a tape around it and walked off in the direction of a stream. I followed, more out of a sense of shocked disbelief than anything else.

  ‘We knew that Brian Spalding was expecting someone to replace him. He resisted all our attempts to get him to appoint an apprentice so we watched him, waiting for the time the new Dragonslayer would come and take his place. It just so happened that you chanced along on my shift.’

  ‘How long were you waiting?’

  ‘Sixty-eight years. A team of six people, working round the clock. My father gave his working life to ConStuff. He watched Brian Spalding for over thirty years.’

  ‘Thirty years? Just for some real estate?’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ he said, as though I were some sort of idiot. ‘Snodd and the Duke of Brecon are powerful, Miss Strange. They have the power, as you have seen, to change the law at a whim and outlaw their citizens at their command. But even they are merely transient when it comes to the might of commerce. Governments may come and go, wars will reshape the Ununited Kingdoms many times. But companies will stay, and flourish. Show me any major event on this planet and I will show you the economic reason behind it. Commerce is all powerful, Miss Strange. Commerce rules our lives. ConStuff have put a lot of time and money into Project Dragon, and their investment is about to bear fruit.’

  ‘Money,’ I murmured.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘money. And lots of it.’ He spread his arms wide and looked around to make the point. ‘Do you have any idea just how much this parcel of land is worth?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, ‘I have a very good idea of the value of the Dragonlands. But you and I are talking about different currencies. You’re talking about gold and silver, cash and securities. I’m talking about the sheer beauty of the land, the value of unpolluted parkland made wild and staying wild for ever.’

  ‘Dream on, Strange,’ he sneered, ‘in every direction are millions of greedy speculators eager to lay claim to a few square yards. While you have been gallivanting around pondering the imponderables, I have potentially laid claim to sixty per cent of the lands. We already have plans drawn up. We will build an access road through that oak forest and just over there’ – he indicated a small copse of silver birches – ‘will be a retail park for over seventy different shops, with parking for a thousand cars. Over there,’ he pointed to another hill in the other direction, ‘will be a luxury housing development. Just beyond that hill there will be a power station and a marzipan refinery. This is progress, Miss Strange. A billion moolahs’ worth of progress. We were lucky you turned out to have such high ideals – if you had fallen for King Snodd’s schemes to claim the Dragonlands on his behalf you might have been something of a nuisance to us. As it is, everything has turned out admirably.’

  ‘Then I pity you,’ I repl
ied, ‘pity you because you will never know or see a decent act. You have given nothing, you will receive nothing.’

  ‘I have a bank balance that proves you wrong, Jennifer. My share alone in this project amounts to over thirty million. I watched Brian Spalding doggedly for over twenty-three years. Don’t tell me I don’t deserve it!’

  ‘You don’t deserve it.’

  We stared at each other for a few moments.

  ‘So all those Dragonattacks. They were arranged by ConStuff?’

  ‘Certainly. As soon as the prophecy began we could see how we could use it to our advantage. Even King Snodd and the Duke of Brecon wouldn’t have dared fake a Dragonattack. We just helped things along. Massaged fate, if you like. Look at it our way – we have actually helped solve the Dragon Question. I think the Mighty Shandar would be grateful.’

  ‘And the prophecy that began all this? You as well?’

  ‘If only!’ said Gordon, laughing. ‘If that was in our power we could have engineered all this sixty-eight years ago. Nope, that wasn’t us.’

  We continued to stare at each other for a moment longer. ConStuff and Gordon were playing with things quite outside their understanding. ‘Money is a form of alchemy,’ Mother Zenobia had often told me, ‘it turns kind, normal people into greed-mongers, intent only on acquisitiveness.’

  ‘You have no idea what’s going on, have you?’ I told him, my voice rising. ‘I know that,’ I added, ‘because I have no idea what’s going on, and I’m the Dragonslayer. Everyone wants the Dragon dead except me and Shandar. Even the Dragon wants the Dragon dead. If I were you I’d get out of the Dragonlands while you still can.’

  ‘You’re blabbering, Jennifer. I’ll be staking claims until the first Berserker comes over that hill.’

  I couldn’t think of much to do, so as a pointless gesture I pulled up a marker stake and threw it in the river. Gordon wasn’t impressed. He pulled a service revolver out of his waistband and pointed it at me.

  ‘Be a good little girl and leave me alone. Do something useful like kill the Dragon so we can finish this all up and get to the bit where I am handed wads of—’

  There was a growling and a snapping noise and I looked up. The Quarkbeast had left the safety of the Rolls-Royce and was running down the hill as fast as his short legs could carry him. He’d been keeping his anger in as I had ordered, but out in the Dragonlands his instincts were taking over. He was going to protect me whether I liked it or not. I wasn’t mad keen on Gordon but no one deserves to be savaged by a Quarkbeast.

  ‘Call him off, Miss Strange. I’ll shoot him, I swear I will!’

  ‘Stop!’ I shouted to the Quarkbeast. ‘Danger!’

  But he kept on coming, his jaws rattling dangerously, the sharp obsidian teeth glinting unkindly in the sunlight. There was a sharp report and the Quarkbeast fell, rolled over twice in the heather and lay still. I looked across at Gordon, who now turned the smoking revolver back to me.

  ‘Don’t even think about it!’ he said angrily. ‘I never liked the little tyke anyway. Run along and do your duty or by King Snodd and St Grunk, I’ll shoot you where you stand and get Sir Matt Grifflon in here to do your work for you – I could even claim the reward on your life!’

  I tried to find something to say but nothing came out.

  ‘Well!’ sneered Gordon. ‘Quite the Dragonslayer, aren’t you? I was wondering how you could possibly have handled this any worse. All you had to do was kill a Dragon, and instead we’ve got a major war about to break out. Destiny is unkind sometimes, isn’t it? How many deaths will you have on your conscience? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? How much are your fancy scruples worth now?’

  ‘Stop!’ I shouted angrily, but he wouldn’t.

  ‘Stop?’ he repeated as he smiled a triumphant smile. ‘Or what? What will you do?’

  I suddenly knew exactly what I’d do.

  ‘Or I’ll fire you, Gordon.’

  ‘Well you can’t,’ he sneered. ‘I resign.’

  ‘You resign?’

  ‘Yes, I—’

  ‘You mean you’re not my apprentice?’

  He clapped his hand over his mouth as he realised what he had just said, and his face drained of colour.

  ‘NO!’ he yelled, throwing the gun away and changing his tone to a mournful plea. ‘I don’t resign! I’m sorry, please take me on again, I don’t want to end like—’

  There was a bright flash and a smell of burnt paper as Gordon was reduced to little more than the sort of powder you might find in a cup-a-soup sachet. Only his clothes, derby hat and a steaming revolver remained to show that he had ever been. None but a Dragonslayer or their apprentice could enter the Dragonlands. His arrogance had got the better of him; his thirty million meant nothing.

  I walked over to where the Quarkbeast was lying still in the heather. I dropped to my knees and rested my hand gently on his forehead. His large eyes were closed; he might have been asleep. There is a legend about Quarkbeasts that tells they are sent by the spirits of dead relatives to watch over you in times of uncertainty. My father had sent the Quarkbeast, I was sure of it. The small animal, although repulsive to many and possessed of disgusting personal habits and, yes, a bit smelly, had done his duty without regard for his own safety. I moved his body to a hillock above a bend in the river and placed a pile of stones over his small form. I topped this with a larger rock upon which I scratched the word Quark and the date. In the warm summer sunshine I stood for a moment in silent contemplation. He was a good, loyal friend, and he gave his life to save me.

  Noon

  * * *

  I returned to the Slayermobile and drove to Maltcassion’s lair, the clearing in the forest. I parked up and stepped out. The large marker stone was humming louder than usual. The Dragon was sitting up on his hind legs. He was far taller than I had supposed – at least the height of one of King Snodd’s landships. He sniffed the air and listened carefully with his finely tuned ears.

  ‘I am sorry for your small friend,’ he said, looking down at me. ‘He had a good soul, despite his appalling table manners.’

  I thanked him, and he told me he knew I would come, despite my own misgivings.

  ‘The Mighty Shandar just spoke to me,’ I said. ‘He demanded that you were to be spared. How do you account for that?’

  Maltcassion growled angrily.

  ‘Don’t you dare speak of that scoundrel in my presence!’

  I was shocked.

  ‘Scoundrel? You mean Shandar?’

  Maltcassion roared and a sheet of flame burst from his throat and shot across the clearing in front of me, where it ignited a mature Douglas fir. The tree went up like a Roman candle. I took a few hasty steps back from the heat.

  ‘I told you not to mention his name!’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I yelled above the crackling of the burning tree. He beckoned me to move away and I joined him.

  ‘Why do you think you are the first Dragonslayer to ever come up to the Dragonlands?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then let me ask you something else. Why do you suppose you are here at all?’

  I thought the question a bit obvious but answered nonetheless.

  ‘To slay any Dragons guilty of violating the Dragonpact?’

  ‘But in four centuries none of us has ever violated the pact. Have you any idea why?’

  ‘Because you respect the Dragonpact?’

  ‘No. I’ll tell you. Shandar suggested the use of a force-field surrounding the marker stones to keep humans out. Such an act of magic is vast; he requested that we help him and we readily agreed, binding the magic of the marker stones so tightly it could never be undone except by the death of the Dragon it was there to protect.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He tricked us. The weave of the magic was tighter than we imagined. The marker stones don’t just keep humans out, but us in. These Dragonlands are not a safe haven but a prison!’

  I digested this new information.

&
nbsp; ‘Then the Dragonpact wasn’t a pact at all!’

  ‘Exactly. Shandar earned his twenty dray-weights of gold, believe me. The first Dragon who tried to get out of his lands was vaporised instantly. We sent around a message warning of the danger, and here we have sat, dwindling in numbers, communicating rarely and watching our magic slowly siphoned out of us by the energy of the very force-field that was meant to protect us!’

  ‘So why have Dragonslayers at all?’

  ‘Window dressing,’ replied the Dragon. ‘The Dragonslayers, far from being a most noble profession, are really nothing more than a contractual obligation. In Shandar’s plan you would never have come up here at all.’

  ‘Then . . . I don’t have to kill you.’

  The Dragon raised a claw in the air and wagged it at me.

  ‘Well, that’s the wrong answer, I’m afraid,’ he said reproachfully. ‘We’ve planned this for a long time. You were chosen by us to do this deed; at midday you have to kill me!’

  I could feel large salty tears well up in my eyes. It all seemed so unfair.

  ‘But I’ve never killed anything in my life!’

  ‘Big Magic is by definition highly specific. Someone like you must do it.’

  ‘What’s special about me? Why can’t Sir Matt Grifflon do it?’

  ‘You are more special than you realise, Jennifer.’

  ‘Tell me why it has to be me!’

  ‘I am only the last in a long line of greater minds. Not even I have all the answers. All I know is that you have to discharge your duty using your own free will and judgement. It is your destiny, Jennifer. You will do it.’

  I picked up Exhorbitus as a clock started to strike twelve somewhere in the distance, and Maltcassion lifted his chin to reveal the soft flesh beneath his throat. I started to cry, large drops that ran down my face and on to the soft earth. Sometimes your duty takes you to dark places that you’d rather not be, but duty, as they say, is duty.