‘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

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.’