As told by the free dragon Fuse to Agent Green, the world’s only living dragon whisperer, at DCHQ [Dragon Conservation Headquarters]
It was a complete scam. A nasty one. A man calling himself Sir George used to ride around looking for dragon sign – heat shattered rocks or scalded stones; it’s territorial: a sort of Trespassers Will Be Devoured notice. Once George had tracked down a lair, he’d high tail it to the nearest town and gallop down the main street in a terrible lather, shouting the odds about A dragon, a dragon!
Of course everybody barricaded themselves indoors at once and George could latch on to the local bigwig. He’d be all broad shoulders and brave words, then pretend to set off scouting the dragon’s lair. After a couple of hours he’d come back looking shaken and sober, with awful reports of the creature’s voracious predations. Most people didn’t even know the words.
So then George would insist on virgin girl ‘sacrifices’: and of course he had a crew of henchmen waiting, didn’t he, to grab the poor kids and sell ‘em into slavery. Vile. Absolutely filthy business.
Soon it would come down to the princess or the mayor’s daughter, or whoever. They’d deck her out in some sorry parody of a wedding dress and drag her up to the lair. George knew when the dragon was asleep, oh he was very good, he knew his dragons, timed everything to the hour… After a bit of ceremony the grieving parents and guards all shambled off, sobbing like infants, and the young woman was left to her fate.
Which had nothing to do with the dragon. George appeared with his wolfish smile – he never washed, by the way, in fact he stank too bad even for a dragon to eat – and he’d start getting personal with the girl. She was bound up, poor wench, so all she could do was shriek.
Which was exactly what the wretched George wanted. The girl’s protests would wake up the dragon, who invariably stuck his head out of the cave to see what the fuss was. Of course the poor beast was still sleepy, not to mention grumpy at being disturbed. George just had to hurl a few ripe insults to make any dragon come charging out without even sharpening his claws properly.
George was depressingly efficient at this next part. He knew how to dodge the tail, duck under the claws and teeth, and skewer the dragon right through the rib cage. Then he’d hack its head off. His henchmen could take their time pillaging the cave and carting away the poor dead dragon’s treasure hoard.
Meanwhile, George would terrify the girl even more by telling her that nobody back home would believe she hadn’t wanted to make sport with him, as he called it, and that she was sullied beyond repair with her family and her community. He called her a slut and told her the only hope was to marry him and make him one of the family.
Then he’d drag the girl and his grisly trophy back to town, and insist on a ‘private conversation’ with the family. That’s when he dropped all the chivalrous charm, coldly told them that their precious daughter was no longer a virgin and demanded a wedding, quick sharp.
While everybody was celebrating the slaughter of a dragon who had never been a minute’s threat in the first place – well, all right, it probably had pinched a few sheep and cows – George and the girl would be married, whether anybody liked the idea or not.
Sometimes he only stayed for the wedding night. He liked young flesh and he liked variety.
If he didn’t see much prospect of squeezing more profit out of the game, he’d help himself to the best horse in the stable and disappear. The girl and her family would be in turmoil. The dragon was dead. George never even looked back.
Agent Green is the lead draconics expert at DCHQ.
Mission: to find and save the world’s last dragons.
Motto: Only The Keenest Survive.
MIDNIGHT STORYTELLER 