It was five in the morning, and the low sun was just spreading its rays across the land as I drove towards Longtown, a town right on the edge of the Dragonlands. A ‘Police line do not cross’ tape was stretched across the road near the castle, and I parked the Rolls-Royce next to a large contingent of police cars. I introduced myself to a policewoman, who guided me among the many emergency personnel and news crews. The road underfoot was awash with water and the sheer number of fire appliances made me uneasy.

‘We meet again, Miss Strange,’ said Detective Norton, who was standing with Sergeant Villiers near an upturned eighteen-wheeled truck. ‘I should arrest you right now for withholding evidence.’

‘I didn’t know I was the last Dragonslayer then.’

‘That’s your story.’

‘Events have moved on,’ I told them. They looked me up and down.

‘Kind of young for a Dragonslayer?’ said Norton finally.

I stared back at him.

‘Perhaps you’d tell me what’s going on?’

‘We found the claw marks in the cab.’

He beckoned me to follow, and we walked towards where a large ConStuff truck was lying upended in a field. It had been completely gutted by fire, and the water used to extinguish the flames had run down the field and flooded the road with mud. Norton pointed. On the bodywork, just below the roofline, were two large grooved holes, as though something very massive and very strong had simply squeezed it.

‘Vandals?’ I asked, somewhat dubiously.

Detective Norton stared at me as though I were an imbecile.

‘Talons, Miss Strange, talons. This van was taken from Gloucester last night and turns up here. When the fire services arrived they were positive there were no wheel tracks; if you look here . . .’

He indicated an area of damage to the rear of the truck, which had been heavily stoved in – the back axle had almost been torn off.

‘It looks as though the truck was dropped from a great height.’

‘So what are you saying?’ I asked him.

‘You tell me, Miss Dragonslayer. Looks as though Maltcassion picked up this van, tried to fly with it back to the Dragonlands but dropped it on the way. To try and disguise the crime, he torched it.’

‘A truck hardly counts as livestock, does it?’

‘A technicality. The Dragonpact cites damage to property as a punishable offence. I think what we’ve got here is a rogue Dragon.’

‘That’s sort of far fetched,’ I said, trying to play the incident down. It was a serious accusation. A rogue Dragon was a Dragon out of control; one that had transgressed the rules of the Dragonpact. Such a Dragon could legally be destroyed. That’s the trouble with premonitions; they have an annoying habit of coming true.

‘Did anyone see it?’

Norton looked at his feet.

‘No.’

‘Anyone hear anything, see it being flown out here?’

‘No.’