I wished I could believe it. The rights that foundlings possessed could be written on an ant in quite large letters. I was in no doubt that Mawgon could do precisely as she said, and there was nothing we could do to stop her.

‘Think that’s small enough?’ asked Tiger, showing me the torn-up picture of Yogi Baird.

‘That bit there,’ I said, pointing out a piece that still might be smaller. I dialled the number Lord Tenbury had given me and was soon through to the switchboard at Snodd Hill Castle.

‘I’d like to speak to the King, please.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said a snotty telephonist with a plummy voice, ‘the King doesn’t take person-to-person calls.’

‘Tell him it’s Jennifer Strange.’

There was protracted silence and a few minutes later the King came on the line.

‘I don’t make a habit of using the phone, Miss Strange,’ he announced loftily, ‘but since it is you I am willing to make an exception. You wish to tell me you will lay claim to the lands for me?’

‘You cannot go to war over the Dragonlands,’ I said, all royal protocol now vanished. There was silence for a few moments.

‘Cannot?’ questioned the King. ‘Cannot? It is your behaviour that tempers me to this extremity, my dear. If you had made claim to the lands as we requested, then none of this would be necessary. Brecon amasses his troops at the border, so we must meet force with force.’

‘But the Dragon is not going to die. He has done nothing wrong!’

‘The court soothsayer Sage O’Neons is rarely mistaken, my dear. Are you willing to lay claim to the Dragonlands for the Crown?’

‘Will it stop the battle?’

‘Sadly, no. It will merely give us the benefit of international law being on our side.’

‘Then I gain nothing; I refuse.’

Royal politics was not something I was good at. But the King had other ideas.

‘There is something you can do to avert serious loss of life even now.’

‘What?’

‘You can kill the Dragon earlier than is expected. Our spies tell us Brecon is unprepared; we can sweep across the lands before he even realises it. Dead Dragon now, dead Dragon later, what’s the difference? How about Saturday at teatime? Do we have a deal?’

‘No.’

But the King had not yet given up.

‘I will make you a rich woman, Miss Strange. Richer than you can imagine. I will also pledge fifty thousand moolah to the Troll Wars Widows fund. In addition, I was talking just recently to my useless brother. He tells me that you have . . . foundling problems over at Kazam. Do what I ask and I shall release you and your assistant from your indentured servitude. You will both be free citizens, my dear.’