A Part-Time Heroine's Guide To Dragonslaying

[kayenano]

A Part-Time Heroine's Guide To Dragonslaying

Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Fantasy, Flying Cats.

Synopsis:

The world is ending.

To most, that's a problem. To Elise Rowe, it's the start of her week. With her Sword of Heroism in one hand and a jug of coffee in the other, she navigates working part-time as a waitress and an official heroine. She also has a flying cat to feed.

It's actually not too bad, even if sometimes omens of certain doom wakes her up in the middle of the night. Mysterious blue petals are falling from the sky, and every witch in the realm has seemingly vanished.

Something is bellowing in the deep. And only Elise has the certification to answer.

You can also read this on Royal Road.

 

[kayenano]

The problem with dragons is that they always had to have the last word.

I say problem, but this really wasn't an issue so far as humans were concerned. Us being famously squishy and prone to fleeing, we were quite willing, if not exactly content, to be gloated at by a dragon for not having jagged scales, monstrous wings and the ability to cook our dinners on demand.

No, the problem came when dragons started arguing with other dragons.

When the Last Great Evil, Martuk the Mad, destroyed Widzenport, it wasn't an unprecedented alliance between all the witches of Ouzelia that stopped the flying terror. It was the intervention of a young dragon with a fondness for convenience.

Ralgoz the Impatient, as he came to be known, informed Martuk as he was laying waste to a barn that tea bags were just as good as loose leaf. By the time Martuk fell from the skies, his indignation written on his face even as old age claimed him, Ralgoz was no longer young.

He was old. And he was king.

Now he was also my client.

Somewhere, I heard a noise that could shatter the world. In moments, I heard the reply. The sound of two dragons roaring, posturing and generally having a whale of a time. The trees around me shook with an indifferent wobble, their leaves barely fluttering to the cacophony. If a dragon wished to settle in a forest, it'd pick one with vegetation that was almost as hardy as they were.

I rode after the source of the altercation on my noble steed, my bright yellow broomstick.

Sadly, there was no pleasant swooshing through the clouds on mine. Being a commercial variant built for non-witches, it was limited to hovering no higher than two metres above the ground. Witches enjoyed their monopoly on the sky.

Or as much of a monopoly as could be had while sharing it with dragons.

I blew a fallen leaf from my face as a bellowing roar claimed an innocent victim. That was a big one.

It'd been a while since I last dealt with a case of dragons in a dispute. Due to their nature, dragons always had to have the last word, and since breaking out the claws was as good as conceding defeat, arguments between them would inevitably continue until one of them mentally could not deliver a well-founded retort anymore.

It's therefore no surprise that incidents of dragons arguing were exceptionally rare.

If, at any point, dragons realised they were dangerously close to an argument, they would employ a wide range of emergency countermeasures to leapfrog the issue, such as suddenly becoming deaf or needing to go see a shepherd about an entire flock of tasty lambs.

But if it wasn't spotted in time, that's when the trouble happened.

Trouble and a lot of roaring.

When the shaking in the earth threatened to topple a large boulder off-balance, I hurriedly scooted my broomstick over and futilely reached out, praying it wouldn't be the start of a landslide. I was still praying even when it stopped wobbling. Most dragons settled in mountainous areas. And that meant my hands, knees and occasionally my face were now deeply acquainted with stopping entire bits of nature from tumbling down.

Eventually, I carried on until my destination came into view.

I parked my broomstick by the entrance of a wide cave. Signs ringed the opening. 'Trespassers will be eaten', 'Authorised Dragons Only', 'Private – Aerial Access'. That last one was usually the most problematic, but now I had my own broomstick good enough to leap over boulders.

Until recently, I needed to hire a professional witch to ferry me. Thinking about the costs made buying my own all the more worth it. I was going to be eating porridge for the rest of the year, but at least I never had to awkwardly ride on the passenger end of a broomstick ever again. People wondered why witches were so cranky. I often wondered how they couldn't be.

All of a sudden, a roar bellowed out from the cavern depths.

The rush of air that accompanied the sound sent my hair flying behind me. If I wasn't being weighed down by the proof of heroism strapped on my back, hearing a dragon's roar from the mouth of their home would have sent the rest of me flying as well.

I took the letter I carried from my pocket, then read the contents one last time.

It was written in the blocky scrawl of a dragon. Capital letters only. To most eyes, it had to have been written by a golem. It was just the way dragons wrote. Even the kindest were still terrifying, and that powerful visage bled into the way they penned their letters.

Satisfied I was about to intrude on the correct tussling dragons, I patted down any wayward leaves or specks of dust that'd gotten on my waitress uniform, then proceeded into the dragon's lair.

It was just a normal day.

***​

They were young for dragons.

The lethal spikes covering the ends of their tail weren't digging trenches in the cavern floor yet. Still, their scales were fully matured and their teeth sharp enough to grind a passing chimney into paste. If they raised themselves fully on their hind legs, these two green dragons would each be taller than Witschblume's clock tower.

I winced as a roar from much too close physically swept over me. The sword on my back grew blazingly hot in response as it warded off the irreparable damage to my ear drums. Its presence kept my hearing faculties from being instantly pulverised, but the experience of lugging an oven around was still as enjoyable as wearing an overly tight apron.

Even so, I entered the cavern proper, taking care not to touch any of the priceless treasures piled around me. The two dragons had doubtless noticed my coming before I even parked the broomstick, but they were too busy posturing, feinting and stamping to pay me any attention. They looked ready to lunge at one another. Not that actually attacking was an option, of course.

As the case of Martuk the Mad demonstrated, a dragon must always have the last word.

Thus, for creatures that prided themselves on being the foremost intelligent beings in the world, actually striking their opponent was never on the cards.

It's as they say, actions speak louder than words. Even more so with dragons.

Lacking any door inside the spacious, treasure laden cavern, I instead politely knocked on the smooth granite wall. Immediately, two pairs of golden eyes swivelled towards me.

"Thief!" said the first dragon. "You dare intrude on the abode of dragons!"

"Devour her!" said the second dragon. "Destroy her! Scatter her bones! Lay waste to the human town! Let no slight go unpunished!"

"Demolish! Decimate! Eradicate!"

I curtsied.

There were formalities to consider when treating with dragons, creatures as ancient as the roots of the world. But I had no idea what they were. And crucially, dragons didn't either. And so I curtsied.

Everyone liked it when I did.

"Good afternoon. I'm Elise Rowe, designated heroine for the Duchy of Witschblume. I'm here regarding a noise complaint lodged against this residence. As per article 31a, subsection 7 of the revised Queensholme Accords, you are currently exceeding the approved decibel threshold for sporting banter while tenanting an area inhabited by a protected species during breeding season."

I turned to my side, allowing a clear view of my sword of heroism for the sake of formality.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, a weapon such as this was used to slay dragons. These days, it was primarily a badge of office. And if no one was watching, a letter opener.

Both sets of golden eyes narrowed at me. Smoke shot out of flared snouts like steam vents.

"What species?" said the first dragon.

"The checkered pygmy rabbit."

The two dragons looked at each other for several moments.

"Oh," said the second dragon, instantly relaxing its posture. "It appears we are in violation of an obscure, local law."

"Would you look at that. And if I recall, we are under an inviolable oath by our ancestors to respect the letter of any such law that they pledged us to, despite our personal wishes otherwise."

"Shame. I suppose this forces an end to our riveting, months long debate over..."

"We were arguing over the gaudiness of wearing socks with sandals."

"Oh, of course. And I was firmly against it."

"For it."

"Yes. That's right. Humans always ruin everything."

"Indeed. Squishy, stupid, simple minded little–"

I raised an eyebrow.

The dragons looked at each other once again.

"... Would you like some tea, now that you are here?"

For a moment, I considered the liquid gold that would surely only be permitted within a dragon's pantry.

Instead, I shook my head and smiled.

"Thank you, but not right now. I have to go back to work."

The green dragons looked quizzically at me. That they were able to do this without eyebrows or squishy cheeks was impressive.

"Work? Are you not working now?"

"Yes, but I also work as a waitress."

I placed a hand on my uniform.

Despite having eyes that could make out the silhouette of an eagle from behind the clouds, the dragons looked comically taken aback by the apron I was sporting.

It was several moments before either of them spoke again.

"I see. So you're forced to seek additional employment … would it perhaps help if we did this more often?"

"No, that's not necessary. But thank you."

I gave another curtsey, then a polite smile as I left.

The Bread & Berry Cafe was waiting for me. It was almost the lunchtime rush. And my co-workers needed another kind of heroine.

One who could take orders while serving coffee with both hands.

***​

It was late afternoon by the time I made it back to the cafe.

I saw with a grimace that the spot reserved for my broomstick was taken by a flying carpet, but I was in no position to look for the culprit. I was already prepared to splutter my apologies to my co-workers as I made my way into the cafe's lacquered interior, but Lize pre-empted me with a bright smile as wide as the jug of coffee she pressed to my chest.

"Table 4 just sat down and there's a pumpkin carriage from Widzenport unloading behind you."

I nodded, eternally relieved that my co-workers took what I did in their stride.

The fewer words, the better. Especially when a pumpkin carriage was involved. Someone was forking out for a bells-and-whistle date, and if the Bread & Berry Cafe was part of the itinerary, that usually meant I was, too.

Maybe a different heroine would have viewed being used as a tourism magnet to be an indignity not befitting their station, but a different heroine wouldn't have kept the same job they had before being chosen for the role.

For my part, I always considered it as a balance for my frequent exits in the middle of my shifts. The cafe certainly made use of the extra custom. Even with a heroine serving their coffee and cinnamon rolls, business was a fight for survival in the maze of competing cafes here in the centre of town.

Re-adjusting my uniform, I hurried over to where a pair of customers had just telegraphed placing their menus down. Their eyes displayed the customary flash of excitement as I approached, particularly at the sword still hanging behind my back.

Then came the blinks of shock as they took stock of my hair.

Yes, that's what hurtling down a mountain on an enchanted broomstick did. There was a reason witches wore hats. And if it wasn't illegal for non-witches to also wear hats while riding broomsticks, I would have been able to defend my image. Maybe.

I smiled, blew a wayward strand of hair away, then took out my quill and pad.

It was time to get to work. Again.

 

[kayenano]

It's now time for Elise to shine!

 

[kayenano]

I sat down in one of the cafe's dining chairs, indulging in a wooden surface that was flat and varnished and not the repurposed tree branch that broomsticks were fashionably made of since the invention of the word discomfort.

I'd once queried why broomsticks were spindly, since soreness aside, aerodynamics seemed to suggest that straighter was better. I was told the reason had less to do with practicality than it did with aesthetics. And thus anything I had to say about the matter was handwaved away.

As a result, sore bottoms.

It could be negated with the cushions that witches sometimes brought with them, but like hats, they too were illegal for ordinary people to use. Witchcraft was an old profession, and much like the postal market they monopolised, was something they zealously guarded.

If they couldn't stop outsiders from riding knock-off broomsticks, then they could at least petition every duke and duchess across the land to ban them from looking like one. It was much more than just image rights, though. A witch's hat was a natural windshield. Without one, it ensured non-witches could never threaten to outspeed a delivery witch. The cushion ban was just an added deterrent.

With the afternoon rush over and the cafe sign mercifully flipped to closed, Lize came over to serve her last customer of the day.

Me.

"Tea or coffee?" she said, holding up a pot in one hand and a jug in the other. "There's also single malt whisky."

"We have single malt whisky?" I asked, not sure how shocked my face should be over my co-workers hoarding hard liquor somewhere in the cafe. I opted to keep it at the low end of the scale. "How come?"

"Madame Zaibe says a drop of highly concentrated alcohol in beverages that really don't need them at all is all the rage these days. We'll have it as a menu option next week."

I needed to have a word with Madame Zaiba, it seemed.

Not just about having booze as a top-up option for our tea pots, but also about the last thing, too. There was still time to stop our uniforms from becoming maid costumes altogether. At the moment, we could still argue we were waitresses. Just.

"That sounds like a new cauldron waiting to spill over," I said, adding a thankful smile when Lize began pouring me plain tea. "Won't that ruffle a few feathers with the people actually meant to serve alcohol with things that don't need it?"

"Can't ruffle what's already been plucked. All the bar, pub and tavern owners are pink as moulted flamingos at the news. I think Madame Zaiba leaked it herself. Even so, they're not putting up as big a fuss as you'd think."

"Huh."

I leaned in, planting my elbows on the table while I admired the bergamot zest wafting from the tea.

This was the good stuff.

"It probably means they're doing the same thing to us," I added, just to sound less dull. "The bars and pubs will be selling pancake and coffee combo sets soon as newly rebranded cafes."

"Good. That's what the world needs. More cafes. War, violence and mimes are inversely proportional to the amount of establishments selling blueberry muffins."

I looked up.

"Mimes?"

"They're just so angry. Always poking, jabbing."

"I think that's their job."

"No, that's so enraged they're lost for words. It's tragic. Mimes need our cherry crumb crumble. It's hard to be angry when your cheeks are bulging with desserts disguised as breakfast, don't you think?"

I thought about it, then nodded as I sipped my tea. I'd never been called out to dragons arguing in a cafe before. Therefore it must be true. Statistics.

Knock, knock.

Lize and I turned towards the door, both of us with our lips half-formed to say that we were now closed.

Instead, we both started towards it.

My co-worker quickly shook her head as I began getting up, and I gratefully sat back down to continue admiring the citrus notes of my tea. Lize unlocked the door. Evening sunlight flooded in as it opened to a musical twinkle, illuminating the silhouette of the girl hovering on a broomstick just outside.

"Express delivery," said the witch, adjusting her dark hat while holding onto a wrapped parcel with the other. "I have a parcel for Elise Rowe."

I rushed to my feet. Lize shot me an apologetic smile. Oh well. She'd tried.

The witch looked me over as I appeared. At once, her already bright violet eyes flashed like iridescent pearls, then she nodded.

No other confirmation required. Even if I wasn't the heroine, delivery witches always knew precisely who and where they were going towards. It's said that when pigeons lost their sense of direction, they asked a witch to point them the right way.

"Signature here, please."

A scroll of parchment appeared in a puff of white smoke, floating briefly in front of me before I caught it. As I turned to dash for a quill, I suddenly realised one had already appeared in my hand.

Impressive. This was a powerful witch. Few of them knew how to do the putting-stuff-in-my-hand trick. Mostly since those that did were being better paid in a more senior logistics position. With few exceptions, being a delivery witch generally meant being newly initiated. A rite of passage. But one that also still paid reasonably well.

I scribbled my signature, which as usual changed depending on how the stars aligned, then found myself looking with interest at the witch as she studiously added her own signature, plus the exact time of delivery.

Violet eyes and dark hair knitted into an elegant bun. Soft features, with a small nose and a natural blush. Someone I'd never met before, but was definitely familiar.

Now, where had I seen her before?

"Thank you," said the witch, making the scroll disappear as quickly as it'd come. "On behalf of the Bewitching Postal Service, I apologise for the delay. Your consumer guarantee has been observed and a full refund will arrive by warded letter at your registered postal address tomorrow morning."

"Oh, I see," I replied, hoping I wouldn't have to sign it, but knowing I definitely would. "Was this delivery late? I didn't even notice."

"Your package was sent via our Witching Hour service. This delivery is almost two minutes overdue."

"Ah." I paused. "Is that bad?"

The witch nodded, seriousness creasing her expression.

"We fly through the sky, Miss Rowe. There are no detours in the clouds. Only straight lines. There is no excuse for tardiness, hence why our Witching Hour service boasts a 100% punctuality rate until now."

"... Mine is the first late package?"

I had to raise an eyebrow at that. To be the first known bearer of a late delivery. I knew being a heroine was all about letting fate rain bad luck on me like it was always monsoon season, but this just seemed petty.

"As far as I'm aware," said the witch. "I apologise once again for the inconvenience."

"Oh, it's nothing," I said, offering the same smile I did to customers who apologised for taking too long to order. "You must be busy, what with the... well, I'm sure there's something happening somewhere."

The witch returned the smile, though hers was noticeably more tired.

"For witches, always. Currently, all of Witschblume's delivery witches are unavailable. I was drafted in at short notice. This delivery would have been even more late otherwise."

I blinked at the use of the word unavailable.

It didn't merely imply the local delivery witches were busy. They were very busy.

That was new. The delivery network was their flagship service. Was it even possible for all of the local witches to be doing something else to the detriment of the postal service?

An uncomfortable feeling started making its way known somewhere in my stomach. It was either a disagreeable sandwich or a premonition of doom.

So far, it's always been 50/50.

"... Is there trouble?" I asked bluntly.

The witch considered my question with an unreadable expression. Taken from anyone else, it'd be small talk at best and nosiness at worst. But I wasn't only a waitress. And that meant a weight to my queries.

"Perhaps," she said as her broomstick began to rise, and I knew this was all the answer I would get. "But witches have our own tales to tell, and few require the presence of a heroine."

She adjusted her pointy hat once more, then did the same with her dark robes.

"Good day to you," said the witch, nodding at both Lize and I. "And should you require sending mail in the next few days, I advise use of a grounded delivery service."

The witch twice tapped the back of her broomstick, then began setting off. She didn't look back as she accelerated towards the clouds, her small figure leaving behind a fluffy trail of vapour in her wake.

Lize admired the dot fading away into the distance, then closed the door.

"That's nice," she said, locking up once again. "I like listening to your conversations. Always polite, with a bit of vague mystery and allusions to possible greater calamities on the horizon. Witches this time, huh?"

"Witches." I nodded. "Although I might be able to excuse myself. Witchly affairs aren't in my jurisdiction."

"You say that, but I don't think that witch made your delivery just to stave off a customer complaint. Did you know who she was?"

"No, although she looked familiar."

"Good. All that time zipping through yeti caves hasn't made you a complete current affairs hermit. That was Marissa Haycroix."

I let the name filter through my mind. Nothing came up. Maybe I needed to do heroine stuff closer to the nice shops where the older ladies liked to gossip.

"Marissa Haycroix?"

"She's a bit of a starlet in the witchly world. Well, I say a bit. She's actually super famous. You don't read any magazines?"

"Of course I do. I visit the dentist every six months."

Lize gave me a pitying look, as though I were a lost chick pining after my mother.

"I have a subscription to Cosmos Magazine. Want to have a read?"

"No, it's okay. I'd like to make use of my new alibi of being too busy zipping through yeti caves. Thanks for that one."

"You're welcome. Anyway, you probably know her since she's popular enough that all good magazines falling apart at the spines feature her. She has her own cosmetics range, you know? Her lip glosses are pretty good."

I peered through the glass of the door, unable to spy the witch who I hadn't taken as a business diva at all.

"Huh. I didn't know. So she's a magazine model, an entrepreneur and a delivery witch?"

Lize nodded, smiling brightly.

"What's the percentage, you reckon, of her only dropping by just to deliver a slightly late parcel to you?"

"Zero." I gave a light stretch of my arms, then turned back to glance over the cafe counter. "Did any of the new walnut cakes sell?"

"No. Want to finish it together?"

"Sure."

I headed over to the unsold merchandise while Lize went to fetch cutlery, plus a teacup for herself.

Somewhere, a sound boomed in the distance, and I felt a tingle of primordial crackling in the air. A vibration shook the ground, eliciting a brief chorus of clinking from the plates and cups. A flock of sparrows outside the window took flight, and a group of chubby cats sprinted ineffectually after them.

Lize paused for a napkin. Some of my tea had spilled onto the table.

Then, I opened the counter display and reached for two slices of cake.

It was still just a normal day.

 

[kayenano]

I woke up to a polite set of knocks on my bedroom door.

At first, I found this peculiar, since I was more accustomed to hearing people knocking on the door downstairs. The cafe's customers woke up early. And they liked to make sure we did as well.

I blinked, waiting for the daylight to flood my irises. Instead, all I saw was my ceiling shrouded in a pale, moonlit haze. It was night. And it was very late.

Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes, and instead of turning to my bedside clock, I looked down at the bundle of smooth black fur curled up in the nest of pillows beside me.

Tutu, the flying tabby that lived upstairs in the cafe, was also starting to stir.

With the body of a small kitten and the wings of an even tinier bat, Tutu was a stalking shadow of the wilds. An alpha predator gifted from birth with deadly instincts honed to triumph in nature's bloody battle royal, he was a merciless carnivore of the forests, mountains and the plains.

Luckily for the competition, Tutu was also very picky.

He preferred other sources of food. Such as Eggs Benedict, served in his own orange bowl.

With a weary blink of my eyes, I donated our snoozing cafe mascot my pillow, then climbed out of bed. The chill of the floorboards helped jolt me awake, and I shuffled over to answer my bedroom door.

Lize was there waiting for me, a candlestick in her hand lighting up the shadows beneath her eyes.

"Evening," she said, stifling a yawn, but still managing to bend her lips into a customary smile. A natural born people person. "Or morning, rather."

"Good morning," I replied, the hoarseness in my voice telling the time better than any clock did. "It feels very early."

"4:00 am."

"Oh."

I swayed slightly, forcing my eyes to fix themselves on the warm flame of Lize's candlestick. Either it was dancing merrily or I was teetering like a hammock in the breeze.

Admittedly, it'd been a while since I was required to wake up before dawn, even with our clientele. Usually, even the most coffee mad waited until the sun came up before bothering us. Usually.

Lize's smile turned apologetic.

"Sorry to wake you. I know you're super tired and all, but there might be a little problem."

I marvelled at my own optimism that I still allowed myself to feel disappointed it wasn't news so wonderful that it simply couldn't wait.

"That's okay. What's the problem?"

"The sky seems to be raining blue stuff."

I blinked, mostly to continue gathering my bearings. Then I turned around.

Beyond my little window facing out towards the town's main shopping street, rooftops punctured the night sky.

For a moment, I did my best to scan for any obvious disasters.

Instead, I saw nothing except the mass of little blue petals floating down like luminous snowflakes. And then I realised those really shouldn't be there.

Lize was right. Blue stuff really was falling down.

"Huh."

It was all I had to say.

Even had I not just woken up, this would probably still be the limit to my commentary. There was only so much I could say when glowing blue things just started descending around us.

"This is new, isn't it?" said Lize, who by standing in the corridor was maintaining the optimum distance between both her window and mine.

"I think so."

"Another end of the world scenario being orchestrated by a flamboyant villain, you reckon?"

I took in the sight of the drifting blue petals. Even in my groggy state, I could see they were as beautiful as they were mysterious. Like a waltz of fireflies gently descending down to the ground.

I shook my head.

"If we need to ask that question, probably not. World ending villains are very professional about telegraphing their intentions."

"It doesn't look like a natural phenomenon," said Lize, before lifting up a foot. "Oh, good morning, Tutu."

The black tabby paused to acknowledge Lize with a tired flap of his undeveloped wings, before plodding over to her room where hopefully there wouldn't be two noisy humans chatting.

"Is that scarf new?" she asked, glancing back at the red fabric flying like a flag behind the tabby.

"I put it on him earlier."

"Looks cute. Where'd you buy it? Wait, was that what came in the package?"

I nodded, still unsure if it was worth the premium I'd paid on what was essentially a rebranded tablecloth.

"We can't really call him a wild animal anymore, but he's not really a pet, either. I thought about giving him a collar in case he got lost, but I don't think he'd take well to one. And to be honest, I'm not sure you can even fit a collar on a flying tabby."

"True. The flying variety grows very fast. I think the true danger is that he'd definitely find a way to accidentally eat a collar, though. The scarf, then?"

"Chew-proof. Apparently."

"I hope you kept the receipt."

"Of course. Anyway, as long as he's staying here, I figured he needed something. I wrote the cafe's address on the label inside if he ever gets lost. Or accidentally burgles someone's house and someone needs to apologise for him."

"It looks nice."

"I think so, too."

"I mean, I'm not sure if anyone is going to want to try reading the address on it once Tutu's big enough to start getting lost outside, but I like the idea. Above all, it makes him the most fashionable little tabby in the world. Anyway, doomsday blue stuff?"

"There's a perfectly reasonable chance this doesn't signal the end of the world, Lize."

"I'm just saying, we're overdue, you know?"

"Well, I think we can find out."

I made my way over to the window, peeking around the frame before I opened it.

A snappy, spring breeze fell inside as Lize shielded her candle, and the scent of Witschblume's orange trees in early bloom filled the room.

I stuck my head out.

The gentle cascade of glowing blue petals was undoubtedly beautiful, but before I could indulge myself in admiring them, I needed to see if it was safe to do so. Any moment now, I knew the shouts of early risers would wake the town, and if a speedy evacuation was needed, I'd have to marshal it.

I watched as petals landed on the rooftops, then just as quickly melted into nothingness. There was no pile-up of blue miasma, nor any signs of smoke or disintegration. The petals fell and then ceased to be.

That was all the eyeball analysis I had available to me.

With nothing else for it, I held out my hand and allowed a petal to drift casually into my palm. It wasn't my greatest idea, but because people were people, someone was going to touch it, eat it or lick it within two minutes. I may as well volunteer as guinea pig while I still could.

"Oh."

I did a little jump, involuntarily straightening my posture as the petal melted away upon contact.

But not before striking me with the most peculiar tingling sensation.

Not uncomfortable, nor painful. Just peculiar. As though I'd experienced a restless butterfly landing on my skin.

Lize stepped into the room, feeling it was now safe enough to close the door behind her so that Tutu could get some peace.

"Your hand's still there," she noted, keeping a watchful eye for smoke to start spewing up. "Not magical acid or pretty burning magma, then?"

"I don't think so. Want to have a feel?"

"Not until I get my own hero's sword imbuing me with latent powers of heavenly protection, no."

"It's not so bad. It only tickles."

"You think dragons swishing their tails at you tickles."

"Well, it does. Dragon's tails are used almost exclusively for self-grooming. As a result, they've developed fibrous hairs on the scales which make the sensation more pleasant."

"Elise."

"Oh. Right."

I closed the window.

However, before I could begin considering what I should, or indeed could do about the shower of gleaming petals, the decision was taken away from me by a letter walloping into the freshly closed glass pane like a barn owl at the end of a very bad day.

The wings sprouting from the envelope pushed off from the glass, looking bent and dazed as it immediately searched for a new mode of entry.

Lize and I waited patiently as the sounds of falling soot proceeded to echo throughout the cafe, followed by the sight of a blackened envelope zipping towards me from downstairs. It flipped itself several times over as it hovered in front of me, scattering some of the chimney soot onto the floor.

I felt a small pang of despair. The broom was all the way downstairs.

I reached out and opened the envelope. A letter smelling faintly of orange peel blew into my face before I could pluck it out. If the use of an enchanted envelope didn't give the sender away, then the zesty aroma did.

By law, all official correspondence needed to be marked by a seal of melted marmalade.

"Fan mail?" asked Lize, dodging the winged envelope as it flew by to escape via the chimney again.

I blinked at the tiny, if neat scrawl I was subjecting my eyes to at this late or early hour, then shook my head.

"Unlikely. I don't think many of my fans reside in the castle."

Lize put on a look of feigned indignation on my behalf. I readied my return head shake for whatever she was about to say.

"Actually, I have it on good authority that the castle guards have a tip jar they fill up just for you. When it's someone's birthday, they use it to pay for a combo set lunch when you're on shift."

Morbid embarrassment, and just a bit of confusion made its way across my face.

"There's no way that can be true."

"Your genuine surprise would be cute, if it also wasn't eyeball-rolling worthy. As long as you're doing the official heroine thing, they don't need to haggle with goblins. That's worth a lot of tips."

"Are you absolutely sure this tip jar exists, because I've never–"

"Oh, it exists," said Lize, her smile only missing the innocent whistling of someone solely responsible for most of the embarrassing occurrences in my daily life. "Anyway, the letter?"

I held it up, then scrunched my eyes. Lize carried her candle closer.


Dear Miss Rowe,


By order of Duchess Cadence Loventeidt, you have been duly summoned to Castle Witschblume to advise in matters of imminent planetary oblivion.

Please present yourself to a member of staff upon arrival. Tea and biscuits will be provided.

Sincerely,

Lady Uxna of the Blood Shrieker Tribe.


I skimmed through the ensuing fineprint that always made up the bulk of official correspondence, before noting it was signed by the head maid and de facto castellan of where I was summoned.

My stomach gave a rumble.

As terribly unhealthy as it was, the prospect of nibbling on her trademark snacks and beverages as my pre-dawn breakfast was enough to tempt the guilt I was certain to be bowled over by as a result.

Lize raised an eyebrow at the letter.

"Told you it's an end of the world thing," she said.

"It's not an end of the world thing," I replied, now only 90% sure it wasn't. "The duchess is professionally inclined to view all abnormalities in her domain as potential existential threats."

"To be fair, Witschblume does brew up a few."

"Not in our time."

"Like I said, overdue." Lize glanced over her shoulder at the window. "Need an umbrella?"

"No, it's okay. I'll need both hands for the broomstick."

"Oh, right. I guess they'll let you fly in if it's an emergency."

"Only as far as the gate. I once saw a delivery witch try to pop her head through one of the windows. The repulsing charm hit her square in the face. She couldn't tell the sky from the ground after she got up."

Lize gave that envious look she did whenever I talked anything about the castle.

To her, it must have seemed like a wondrous fairground of magic, history and old artifacts. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the tea and biscuits were usually the best thing.

"I'll be back in time for work," I said, before immediately backtracking. "Maybe. Hopefully."

"Don't worry. If the sky stays like this, it'll be a very quiet shift."

Lize smiled, then exited the room so I could get changed. I stretched out my arms and yawned.

Before long, I was looking at the sword propped unceremoniously against the wall. I wondered if I should fork out the money for one of those fancy heat insulating sheaths that were all the rage with heroes these days. Lately, my sword burned so brightly that it felt like I was carrying a wedge of the sun on my back.

I glanced at the window, at the bits of unidentified stuff drifting down from the clouds, then sighed.

I had a feeling I was going to feel very toasty today.

 

[kayenano]

The first inklings of light had begun to creep across the horizon by the time I made it to Witschblume Castle, the weathered fortification which had given birth to the town after its name.

Once, the castle had been the cream of the crop, a cascading bastion of white towers and fluttering banners, back when Ouzelia was young and dashing farmhands seemed the only thing between dragons and all-you-can-eat village buffets.

Now the walls were stained in faded beige, the towers were sealed on health and safety grounds and dragons were probably the most picky eaters in existence.

Even so, I took in the sight of the distant lights peeking between the ramparts with a sense of appreciation for the grandness it was and still is. As I dipped down on my broomstick and parked in the centre of the orchard courtyard, I was again struck by the weight of history around me.

Long before the town around it made itself known for its citrus groves, the castle's orchard was already old and sprightly. Now it was practically ancient, though no less full of colour.

Lady Uxna herself waited for me, her long, sensible skirt and heavy-duty apron a far cry to the much more colourful uniform the Bread & Berry Cafe demanded of its workers.

She wore her working dress elegantly, the seams tailored to fit her tall frame, her broad shoulders, and the biceps puffing out from her upper sleeves.

An ogre of the Blood Shrieker Tribe, Lady Uxna came to Witschblume Castle as part of a worker exchange programme to broaden cultural ties. Her stunning competency meant she not only proceeded to fast-track her way to head maid, but also the noble title that came along with it. A stunning feat for someone whose culture traditionally meant housekeeping was to simply build a new house whenever the old one became too cluttered with the bones of enemies.

Sadly, Lady Uxna's accomplishments were often overlooked by The Witschblume Times, who preferred to focus on the girl she'd exchanged places with instead.

The last I heard, she was besting all her opponents in gladiatorial combat and was now eyeing a seat on the matriarch's council, much to the delight of both humans and ogres alike.

If Lady Uxna was fussed, she didn't show it.

She was professional to a tee, and so I smiled bravely as a searching eye took stock of the messy ribbon which held my own apron in place, hoping she wasn't about to break her streak.

"Good morning, Miss Rowe," she said as I hopped off my broomstick. Her curtsy carried all the motion of someone who was much less likely to offend a gryphon than I was. "Would you like me to house your broomstick?"

I upped my smile and nodded.

Aside from the snacks, one of the bright sparks to visiting the castle was that complementary servicing came as standard for all broomsticks, flying carpets and ice sleighs. I wasn't sure if the court carpenter was awake at this time, but knowing him, he'd smell the arrival of rare yonewood even in his sleep. My broomstick was in good hands.

"Oh, that'd be lovely, thank you," I said as chirpily as I could manage at this hour. "I don't think I've ever seen the courtyard this quiet before. There's usually always the same squirrels and bunnies competing to nibble away at the oranges."

I peered back at the nearest grove of trees.

The citrus fruits here bloomed year-round, and that meant the wildlife that'd staked a claim here were usually as punctual as the dawn when it came to parading about on their territory.

Then again, most dawns didn't come with blue petals floating down from the clouds.

Lady Uxna nodded as one of the petals landed squarely on the tip of her nose. She stood perfectly still, extolling professionalism as the blue petal melted away like a snowflake on the ground.

"Ordinarily, yes," said Lady Uxna. "The squirrels and rabbits have vacated the premises, as have the majority of the courtyard's population of endangered pink bristle badgers."

"Because of the blue stuff?"

"No. Because the duchess evicted them."

"Oh, I see. And why is that?"

"She said as they paid neither taxes nor tenancy fees, they were simply career burglars and should be either imprisoned or exiled."

Lady Uxna paused.

"I believe she found a dropping in her shoe."

I considered whether it was necessary for me to ask for details.

It probably wasn't, but as an officially sanctioned heroine, there were probably expectations that I should enquire about just how the animals were removed from their habitat here.

"By any chance, did the duchess evict them herself?"

"No, I did."

I let out a sigh of relief.

Even so, the respite was temporary. A small pang of anxiety quickly made itself known in my stomach as I suddenly wasn't quite sure whether I'd been summoned here regarding Lize's end of the world scenario or because there was a final holdout of badgers that needed shooing away.

I really hoped it was the end of the world. What badgers lacked in wings and spikes, they made up for in teeth, claws and concentrated aggression.

"Well, I'm here to help if the duchess needs me," I said. "I received your letter. I came as quickly as I could."

"And thank you for doing so at short notice. I unreservedly apologise for the disruption of your sleep."

I was presented with a perfectly angled half-bow.

Were it not for her maid's attire, Lady Uxna could easily have been, and technically still was, a member of the politicking court. Her regal presence easily captured my full attention, and I almost didn't notice as the broomstick in my hand was silently and professionally stolen away by another maid.

Lady Uxna ran a tight ship. One crewed by people who I noticed tried very hard to avoid eye contact with me.

One of these days, I was probably going to have to ask questions.

But unless I finally saw something I wasn't supposed to, that day wouldn't be today.

"It's okay," I said, smiling cheerfully away. "I was already awake. Don't worry, you weren't the only one startled by the blue stuff."

I held out my palm, catching one of the petals in defiance to prudence.

There wasn't even a tickle as it melted away this time. It both looked and felt ethereal. That was still no suggestion on whether it was innocuous or malignant, but at least I could cross pretty volcanic embers off the list. For now.

"The duchess is ready to receive you," said Lady Uxna, her eyes narrowing in distrust at the latest petal to perch on her nose. "She awaits you in her private study,"

"Private study?" I asked. This was rare. I wasn't sure I knew the way there. "Not her bedroom?"

"The location is the same."

I blinked.

"So … it's still her bedroom? And she now uses it as her study?"

"No, it's now formally her study."

"But it still has her bed in it?"

"The duchess was unmoved by my observations that it was unfitting for the ruler of the duchy to display open contempt for the scholarly pursuits. To rectify her image, I renamed her private chambers to her private study."

"Does that have any practical effect?"

"In court? Yes. She's now considered the foremost expert on every academic field in existence, owing to the length of time she spends there."

I nodded, realising yet again I could never begin to don Lady Uxna's head maid uniform. It was masterful stratagems like this that separated the wheat from the chaff.

"I won't keep the duchess waiting, then. She must be tired so early in the morning."

"Allow me to assure you that she is exceptionally well rested and your presence will not tire her in the slightest." Lady Uxna signalled with her hand. A pair of guards waiting in the shadow of the castle door made themselves known. One carried a platter of biscuits. The other a tea tray. "Breakfast on the go?"

"Yes, please."

My legs involuntarily began moving for the biscuits.

With customer service like this, I was relieved that Lady Uxna had no intention on joining the cafe free-for-all that was taking place in the streets just outside the castle. I didn't know how long the Bread & Berry would last, but I suspected we wouldn't be the final holdout.

"One moment," added Lady Uxna. "Since you're to speak with the duchess, I'd like to request that you deliver a number of messages on my behalf. She's made herself difficult to access, and this current issue notwithstanding, there are other matters of consequence for her to attend to."

I was momentarily taken aback by the novelty of Lady Uxna needing to ask me for … anything. That request had shattered a long, unbroken line of her being able to achieve everything related to the castle and its owner by her own designs.

"Of course," I replied with a quick nod, more than happy to play the messenger girl.

The head maid said nothing. I wondered if I should have brought my quill and pad with me.

"I actually also have a further, unorthodox request," she said, now sounding as if the early morning fatigue had finally reached her.

I smiled politely.

"Yes?"

"If you would, I'd ask that you deliver some fresh articles of clothing to the duchess, too."

Lady Uxna stared intently at me, lips tightly pursed as if gnashing down any embarrassment before it could surface.

"Is it socks?" I asked.

"Among other garments," she replied, voice purposefully level.

I nodded in full understanding.

Then, after a moment to take in the scattered sea of drifting petals falling around me once more, I started making my way to the castle doors where the guards were patiently waiting for me, tea and biscuits at the ready.

My spirits lifted when I saw the array of chocolate bourbons and custard creams presented.

No matter how dire the situation, there was always time for a biscuit. And if there wasn't, well.

Then it was already too late.

 

[kayenano]

Duchess Cadence had a heart of gold.

That's not to say she was a particularly amicable person. Far from it, the Duchess of Witschblume regularly sentenced her loyal subjects to weeks of pistachio peeling for the most innocuous of slights, while the less loyal ones were commanded to pop a thousand sheets of bubble wrap that had already burst. Some say that those who weren't driven bonkers by her ceaseless repertoire of demands gained spiritual enlightenment, and later, a cushy job as a hammock tester on the rooftop gardens.

No, her heart of gold was very much real.

Born from the whims of a mad scientist, a clockmaker and the head of a household with a minor civil war brewing on their hands, Cadence Joyister Loventeidt was created specifically to act as the governing ruler of the duchy.

Permanently.

Enshrined in the form of a rebellious teenage girl, she would rain fire and brimstone down on anyone who dared take her creature comforts away from her.

As a result, there were no more disputes. No more awkward family gatherings. No more errant heirs and their insatiable in-laws. Measuring just a smidgeon over [CLASSIFIED] centimetres tall, she was the sole guardian of the House of Loventeidt's domain, and to that purpose, she served her role with both grace and dignity.

I knocked on the door to her study, previously her bedroom, heard a shoe thrown in response, then duly invited myself in.

"Duchess Cadence," I said, curtseying as she demanded of her subjects. "I've arrived as summoned."

I stood up as straight as I could, ignoring the fact I'd stepped into a sea of strewn laundry baskets. There was another just outside the door, filled with fresh socks and underwear.

Duchess Cadence, still in her pyjamas, didn't bother looking up from her book as she casually lounged on her bed.

She instead doubled down, purposefully flicking over a page in the wrong direction as she exuded the image of a girl who sent distinguished tutors searching for a new career path each week without fail.

I decided to begin sorting through the checklist of issues arising, starting with the least egregious.

"Lady Uxna wishes to inform you that the delegation from Troll Country awaits your decision on the purchase of glassware for the Ducal Estate. They have now lodged at a local inn for several weeks at their own expense, and imply that they may seek reimbursement for loss of profits should they be denied a suitable outcome."

Duchess Cadence rolled onto her back, her golden twin-tails crumpling under her as she held her book out at arm's length.

"Tell them to eat a shoe," she said, alternating between narrowing her eyes and bringing the book closer and further away from her face. "Then to die choking and grasping on the air as their lives slowly wheedle away."

"Yes, Duchess. I'll inform them at once."

I stood perfectly still.

"Really, who do those trolls think they are?" she continued, ignoring the fact her pyjamas had crumpled to reveal her belly button. "Con artists who shamelessly mewl for my fortune and then demand I also throw it at them? The pits of the abyss would reject them for being so crass."

I nodded as decorum dictated me to, although she was far too engrossed in her backchat to spare a look at me.

"Yes, Duchess."

"And I've seen some of the things they're trying to offload. Pink glass lacquerware gaudy enough that the castle's mice would be too embarrassed to eat from them. What unholy tablecloth matches with semi-transparent pink? I've half a mind to order a crusade against anyone who's known to have purchased one."

"It goes well with white," I suggested.

The Bread & Berry sometimes used pink plates. Not glass, certainly, but I didn't think it was anything worth instigating a divine inquisition over. It wasn't like the plates were orange.

Duchess Cadence glanced over at me, eyes narrowing slightly as though actually realising I'm here.

She reached out for the plate of chocolate digestives by her nightstand with one hand while maintaining her grip on the book with the other.

"Honestly, the sheer nerve of the suggestions I've been subjected to as of late," she said as the first crumbs began to rain. Just like that, half a digestive was swallowed in the blink of an eye. "Lady Uxna informs me it would be wise to invest in a working relationship with Troll Country's most reputable traders."

"That sounds like a reasonable notion to consider."

"I would rather massage my face with a brick. Did you know that reputation is bartered like a commodity in Troll Country? You can buy reputation as easily as you can overpriced tea from a souvenir shop. They would sell the air they breathe if they could. Not that they haven't tried. Twice. And they wonder why I'm letting them build up a tab. They should be grateful I'm not charging customs duty for all the scandalous notions of easy pickings they bring hovering around after them."

"Yes, Duchess. Although I think the air in Troll Country is actually widely known for its invigorating properties and is readily sold in bottled form. The health properties are purportedly due to the high concentration of waterfalls in the mountains."

Duchess Cadence shut her book, then rolled back onto her front.

I felt a pang of remorse for her hair. Despite being constructed to be impervious to any amount of neglect she regularly inflicted onto them, her golden twin-tails failed to immediately return to their regular state of fluffiness.

"Elise, please," said the Duchess, holding up her palm. "Despite the vast and unbridgeable gulf which exists between our two stations, I'd like to think of us as friends. Therefore, there's no need to refer to me as Duchess. Simply, 'Your Majesty' will do."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Duchess Cadence looked visibly delighted.

She'd been waiting for someone to humour her for a while now.

Realising her reaction, she immediately sat up and retracted the expression of joy on her face. Adopting the nearest look to regality she could muster while palming biscuits from what I suspected to be a bottomless plate conjuring sweets directly from the castle kitchens, she flicked away some of the crumbs from her lap and coughed.

"Thank you, Elise. I shall broach the matter of amending my noble title to my advisors in due course. But for now, my loyal subject, we must discuss the topic of peril."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"It's come to my attention that imminent doom may be upon us. This is highly inconvenient to my schedule."

I nodded, all businesslike. It was time to dip into the serious end of this conversation.

"Is this regarding the blue stuff?"

"Blue stuff?"

"The blue stuff, Your Majesty."

"What blue stuff?"

I pointed at the window. The one with the curtains both glued and sewn together and forming a wall of darkness bleaker than a moonless night.

"There are unidentified blue petals raining from the sky. It began overnight and has since not stopped. I'm not sure what the origin is. Was this not why you summoned me?"

Duchess Cadence frowned.

"Petals? Are they acidic?"

"Not that I'm aware of, although I haven't had the time to determine truly whether they pose any danger to the public yet."

"Well, unless people's faces start burning off, I'm not interested. I need something highly volatile to do away with the undergarments, anyway. My abode is littered with dirty laundry baskets."

I stole a peek at said laundry baskets, then quickly regretted my actions. Until now, I was able to live in a world where these were somehow fresh clothes tipped all across the floor.

"Should the castle staff not be seeing to the laundry?" I inquired at the nearest inside-out sock.

"They should," replied the Duchess with a sour expression. "Instead, they complain ceaselessly about my magically reinforced locked door. Apparently, it prevents them from entering. I swear, the type of people I work with."

I made a mental note to undo the powerful seal on the door when I left.

"Yes, Your Majesty. But if you didn't summon me regarding the abnormal weather phenomenon, may I inquire as to what this is about?"

Duchess Cadence swallowed a pink macaron. It hadn't even fully conjured, so she ended up with buttercream filling caked over her fingers. She wiped them over her pyjamas.

"Yes, of course. The reason I summoned you."

With a cough, she sat up on her bed, looking as imposing as any grim-faced adolescent with macaron filling on her pyjamas possibly could.

"This concerns the witches."

I blinked. All of a sudden, the tiredness I didn't even know was weighing down my eyelids fell away like the tide.

"The witches?"

Duchess Cadence nodded gravely. The triple white chocolate oat cookie appearing on the plate was ignored. This was serious.

"I had Lady Uxna place an order for a guinea pig to do away with the last of the badgers terrorising the courtyard. It was to arrive yesterday noon or earlier. It still hasn't arrived. Do you see the problem?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I don't believe guinea pigs are naturally suited to combating badgers. There is a severe disparity in size and aggressive instincts."

"And as I told Lady Uxna, that is the guinea pig's problem, not mine. No, Elise, the problem is that it has been almost 17 hours since the guaranteed delivery time has passed."

"Which service did you purchase?"

"Archwitch Premium Express."

I would have whistled if that was one of the powers being a heroine gifted me.

Sadly, I was still as hopeless at puckering my lips as the day before I started carrying a magical sword on my back.

"I didn't know that service was still available," I said.

"It isn't. But I have a castle."

I nodded.

I suppose there was no other explanation needed.

"A late parcel, Elise." Duchess Cadence frowned. "If there can ever be a clearer sign that the world was ending, then I don't know what it is. Witches. They can conjure magic and they can fly. Time and space do not matter to them. To a witch, physics is a rulebook written by a younger sibling solely to be ignored. They have no excuse for tardiness."

I thought for a moment.

This was more than a late guinea pig. Clearly, the Bewitching Postal Service was under considerable stress. The one who'd delivered Tutu's scarf, Marissa Haycroix, had admitted as much. But I never realised just how stressed it was.

I only ever used the standard service. Guaranteed delivery by an archwitch was out of any waitress's budget, heroine or otherwise.

And they took their guarantees very seriously.

"Something is tying up the witches," I informed the Duchess. "Something more important than the postal service."

Duchess Cadence gave a short nod. The fact that she wasn't asking for information told me she already knew much more than I did.

"Yes, Elise. And you'll recall, I'm sure, the last time in which Ouzelia's witches were indisposed."

I did. It was hard not to.

Even now, Widzenport had not fully recovered. The barn that Martuk the Mad had been laying waste to when disturbed by his younger kin was still burning, such was the magical power of dragon fire.

"I don't like this," said Duchess Cadence, her hand reaching for the cookie that had momentarily escaped her sweet tooth. "In particular, I don't like the silence. There's only been unexplained explosions and earthquakes rumbling continuously in the near distance. Nothing to suggest that anything is amiss. You're in contact with the King of Dragons. What clues has he left you in that abominable waffling way dragons do when they can't get straight to the point?"

"I've had no unexplained riddles or cryptic ciphers inserted into any of my letters, Your Majesty. King Ralgoz the Patient asks me to attend to disputes between his kin with little regard to verboseness. His requests rarely extend beyond 16 pages."

Duchess Cadence took the time to crunch her cookie, chewing every bite instead of swallowing it whole. She looked so stately when she was thinking.

"Troubling," she said at last. "It would be easier if the beating wings of an ancient chimaera were to soar above us, spewing acid on a rival castle in its wake."

"I hope not, Your Majesty. An ancient chimaera would be a life or death struggle for even the most sagely of archwitches."

"Whether they are fighting against a killer monstrosity or choking on doughnuts, my realm is imperilled. The Bewitching Postal Service must be allowed to function, for it serves a vital role in ensuring I do not need to leave my room."

Duchess Cadence paused to eye her half-munched cookie. She frowned as if only just noticing it was white chocolate, and not the milk she preferred.

She proceeded to eat the rest, anyway.

"There you go, Elise. I need you to locate the witches. Find out what in Ouzelia they are doing, and then tell them that I wish to claim my guarantee. Even better, I want my parcel."

"The guinea pig?"

"The guinea pig in the parcel, yes."

"Understood, Your Majesty. I'll make sure to relay your wishes. Should I find the witches, I'll also endeavour to inquire about the blue stuff falling from the sky."

Duchess Cadence blinked, then quickly waved her hand as though flicking away a helping of vegetables.

"Oh, yes. That. Well, I'll leave it to your judgement."

I nodded, then curtsied. The hand flicking gesture from the Duchess was multi-purpose, signalling both the end of a topic and my need to feel envy at the fact her mechanical stomach was quite literally immune to calories. It was time to fulfil my duty.

Or it was, usually.

"... Falling flowers and missing parcels," said Duchess Cadence suddenly, her words trailing off into a sigh. "Is this all the world has to offer?"

"Excuse me?"

The Duchess returned to her customary slouching position, arms flattening beside her as if dumping herself in a pile of snow.

"One crisis after another, and yet they all lack originality. Spark. I require entertainment. Tell me, before you leave, of the state of my domain, for I cannot trust in the blind simpering of my retainers. Specifically, I wish to laugh at the peasantry. It's been too long since I last truly cackled. Oh, I do hope to hear whispers of rebellion. Those were always most joyful to snuff out."

I nodded, glad it was me who was required to deliver the bad news and not one of the servants. I was far better at dodging shoes.

"I'm afraid to say that the Duchy has greatly prospered since you last ventured outside, Your Majesty. Quality of life has significantly improved for all demographics, particularly those in lower income brackets. Employment is at continuing levels of record highs, education is guaranteed until adulthood, healthcare is widely accessible and public houses funded by your Ducal Estate exist to help those in most need. The Witschblume Times put your approval rating at 101.3%. The threat of rebellion is at a historic low."

A freshly conjured pain au chocolat fell sadly against Duchess Cadence's bedsheets. The hand that was reaching for it was stock still.

"... How?" she said, her voice hoarse with shock.

"Your council of stewards are competent and efficient, are remarkably resistant to coercion, and appear to show no appetite in pursuing destabilising political agendas for their own personal gains."

Duchess Cadence looked like she was about to violently throw up.

"What … What are those idiots playing at?! I told them to bring the iron gauntlet of despotism down on the people's heads! Are you telling me they disobeyed me?!"

"I don't believe so, Your Majesty. They followed your orders to the letter. It's now a common game during children's birthday parties to headbutt a paper mâché iron gauntlet. The harder they headbutt it, the more sweets come out."

The Duchess planted her hands over her mouth, silencing the cry of horror even as she careened like a capsizing ship on her bed.

"Disgusting," she whispered, her face white. "You're telling me my citizens are prosperous and happy? This ... This cannot be allowed. It must be stamped out at once."

"It's not my place to ask this, Your Majesty, but is there a particular reason you wish for your citizen's permanent unhappiness?"

The stare I received was as hard as the cogs that made up the Duchess's body.

"Have you ever seen a land filled entirely with happiness, Elise? No? I'll tell you the reason why. It's because fields filled with flowers, unicorns and the laughter of children only exist in the start of stories. Do you know what comes after the words, 'Once upon a time'? It's lines such as, 'And then came the endless night', or 'And so woke the Demon Lord from his endless slumber.' This cannot happen. I am the custodian of this land, and I will not be held accountable for encouraging the rise of the Next Great Evil."

My gaze flickered instinctively to the window.

Even shielded by a curtain designed to block the sun even if it was hurled at it, I could picture the blue petals drifting past, falling onto the meadows, the unicorn pastures, and the laughing children that crowded around them outside.

"Do you think this one is that kind of story, Your Majesty?"

The Duchess nodded gravely.

"So long as freckled farm boys and peppy town girls continue to pull swords out of stones, evil will always be waiting for their next stage call. One does not exist without the other. And I fear our director has long grown bored of the status quo."

Once more, she proceeded to flick her wrist. This time, the sealed door behind me opened automatically.

I decided that instead of unsealing it, I would try to punt control over to Lady Uxna.

"See to those witches, Elise. And tell Lady Uxna to write up some crushing, draconian laws aimed at curbing personal freedoms as a matter of urgency. The sooner a town hall meeting is called in protest, the better. You may be guaranteed a happy ending, Elise, but the rest of us are not."

I nodded and curtsied once more.

Someday, there might be a time to face down the Next Great Evil. But today, I had a postal service to fix. I considered both to be matters of paramount importance.

Especially since that scarf was only half of what I'd ordered for Tutu.

 

[kayenano]

There were typically two places where witches could be readily found.

One was the local branch of a Bewitching Postal Service building. The other was the New Bewitching Woods, a revered site of ancient magic which has been the ancestral home of the witches for as long as two months ago.

Nobody quite knows what happened to their last ancestral home, and nobody asked. When it came to the witchly world, it was universally accepted that the word, 'Okay', was the optimal response when required to react to anything that happened there.

The New Bewitching Woods was nestled between Heizholm State and the Ashlands, requiring me to fly through the former in order to reach my destination. While Heizholm usually huffed at any notion that it was often used as a travel hub en-route to better destinations, diplomatic immunity and wide jurisdiction to act meant I was unimpeded as I beelined straight for the home of the witches.

The sun had long risen by the time I caught sight of the great forest canopy stretching in the distance, and by the time I actually reached it, I wondered if I had to think about staying the night there.

That was a problem for many reasons, not least of which was that I currently had no money in my possession. I absolutely did not want to be the type of heroine who accepted freebies, even if others tacitly did.

Hopefully, I'd be in and out before this became an issue.

And so, on I went, until the great yews of the New Bewitching Woods stretched out before me as a sea of tangled moss and branches.

Somewhere beyond the unending thickets was a barren land scorched by what had once been home to the oldest and most revered clan of grey dragons, but they had long abandoned it for greener and higher pastures. The Ashlands was kept hidden from view now, except for the brief sight I caught while my legally modified broomstick kicked itself out of hovering mode and catapulted towards the forest canopy.

The small blast of dust I showered the road with wasn't just for show. Or fun. Although I couldn't deny it wasn't worthy of a wheee. Only non-witches used the front entrance, and those were met with a popular family hiking trail with ample amounts of wild berry picking opportunities and red squirrel sightings.

To actually enter a witch's sanctuary required a broomstick operated to perform a precise 70 degree diving manoeuvre.

I was off by 2 degrees.

Twigs and green things happily whacked away at me as I hurtled into the bowels of the forest. Narrowly avoiding upending a sparrow nest, I pulled up my broomstick just in time as a mosaic of fallen leaves indicated where the ground was.

What I should have been looking out for, however, was the group of witches that were picnicking on said ground.

A loud crack followed by a sizzling sound filled the air as a picnic basket, a tartan blanket, a full array of teacups and sandwiches and the witches that were enjoying them blinked and reappeared two metres to my right. As I set my broomstick down and felt the soft padding of leaves beneath my feet, I was met with a series of frowns, and then pure indifference as the witches returned to sipping freshly brewed Darjeeling.

A wonderful fragrance. One of my favourites.

Still, I nodded my head in apology. And then nodded again, just to avoid the broomstick that managed to send my hair swishing to the side.

In fact, I decided to keep my head in this awkwardly bowed position, owing to the fact that there were a significant number of broomsticks jostling for space in the air.

I'd found the witches.

All of them, by the looks of it.

***

​

I'd once witnessed a coven in session.

It remains one of my fondest memories, filled with magic, dazzling lights, and heated debates between the most wisened minds of our generation over the price of lost cat finding services.

That coven had over a dozen witches in attendance, itself a high turnout for people gifted with multiple means of magical communication.

Here, over a hundred witches were zipping about on broomsticks, eating sandwiches on the grass or disassembling physics at their fingertips. I knew without question that this had to represent the largest gathering of witches in Ouzelia since they banded together to help defeat the Last Great Evil.

And that was a problem.

I didn't know what the problem was yet. But as was usual in my line of work, it didn't take long before it was spelled out to me in big words and bright crayons.

Floating beneath a branch was a large whiteboard headlined with the words, 'Suggestions To Escape The Mysteriously Sealed Forest That Keeps Sucking In More Of Us'.

A rainbow of responses filled the whiteboard, some suggesting the use of fire, some suggesting the use of even more fire, and some using the opportunity to scribble love confessions between the proposals on whether to use a bit of fire or a lot of fire.

Judging by the lack of armageddon currently around me, the witches hadn't quite decided how much was too much arson when it came to burning down their own property yet.

I peered around me, keeping my head low as more and more broomsticks swept past my head.

And then to my shock, right in front of me.

A witch popped out of a bush far too small to hold her, shooting straight up into the crown of the forest. I watched as she vanished among the branches, only to reappear streaking past my eyes from the treeline to my side.

Other witches repeated the stunt, zipping into every angle of the forest only to reappear from a different point. Others had abandoned their broomsticks altogether, and were instead conjuring diagrams of abstract mathematics before their determined eyes.

Ancient magic coalesced into indecipherable patterns of shapes and colours as thousands of years of accumulated history and knowledge poured forth via the sweat dripping from their chins and feeding the grass below, before finally a plate of Victoria sponge cakes appeared in their outstretched hands.

Now I realised how serious the situation was.

If they were conjuring sponge cakes and not mini blueberry mousse gateaux with perfect mirror glazes, then it meant their magic was running dry.

They'd been here days. Possibly weeks.

"Good evening, Miss Rowe."

And some, for hours.

"Oh, hello again, Miss Haycroix."

I smiled in response to the witch gazing at me with bright eyes beneath a tidy set of dark bangs.

Marissa Haycroix, the witch who'd delivered Tutu's scarf even over whatever parcel Duchess Cadence had expected, glanced pointedly at the bits of leaves stuck to my broomstick. And also my face.

"Oh? I don't believe I introduced myself," she said, saying nothing about the sticky bits of nature I was brushing away from myself. "Do you read Cosmos Magazine?"

"Nope. But my co-worker does. I think she's a fan of your lip gloss. It's, um, lip gloss, right?"

"I offer image rights and provide endorsements for select cosmetics. But I claim no ownership. I'd run afoul of advertising laws if I did."

She was both a delivery witch and a brand ambassador. I couldn't help but marvel at how someone the same age as me could essentially be working two jobs at the same time.

Yes ... she truly must be a madwoman.

"Well, it's lovely to see you again. Thank you for delivering my parcel safely. Tutu appreciated the scarf."

"Tutu?"

"Flying black tabby."

"Interesting. Wild or captivity?"

"Neither. We found him scavenging our bins."

"A flying tabby caught in an urban environment? That's certainly unusual. Has he shown any aptitude for eating goblins yet?"

"Not yet. He mostly eats chocolate oat flakes."

"Then let's hope it stays that way. I don't really want to imagine the diplomatic fallout resulting from a heroine's pet chewing on an envoy. Goblins are only now beginning to venture out from Troll Country. They'll be a key source of business in times to come."

Spoken in the same entrepreneurial vein as Lize.

She, too, was expecting a rise in goblin sightseers frequenting the cafe in the not too distant future. My hopes were a little more tempered. Experience taught me that goblins followed in the broad footsteps of trolls, and to date, they'd mostly been content to just pawn us stuff.

Troll wares were quite good, though, if a little pricey.

"In any case, I'd like to welcome you to the New Bewitching Woods," added Marissa. "I apologise for the lack of a formal reception. Aside from rarely receiving visitors, we're currently preoccupied with a case of being unable to leave."

I nodded, appreciating the sentiment, but really not missing the formality.

I was never one for official functions. My sword of heroism imbued me with the ability to shatter the wheels of calamity, but not how to avoid embarrassing myself with a social faux pas. Not unless I seriously messed up my curtsey.

"It looks that way. May I ask what happened?"

I kept my tone steadfastly curious, since any notion of sounding accusatory really rubbed some people the wrong way. Happily, Marissa's businesslike expression suggested I didn't need to worry about ruffling any feathers today. Straight to the point.

"Ten days ago, premium delivery services that could only be operated by archwitchs began going unfulfilled. Contact was unable to be established with the archwitches' conclave in the heart of the forest. Shortly after, witches sent to investigate ceased contact, and witches sent after them followed suit."

I nodded.

Duchess Cadence wasn't wrong in her assessment that a late parcel meant more than a fall in service quality. It meant a fall in the number of witches. They were going missing. Here, apparently.

"Oh, I see. Would that be you, then?"

"No. My task was to find the witches searching for the witches searching for the witches searching for the archwitches."

"That's a lot of lost witches," I added helpfully.

"Yes, it is. Regional postal operations are now at a complete halt."

Marissa gestured towards a pair of witches playing ping pong with an acorn over a makeshift log table.

"Fortunately, the worst case scenario has been avoided. We are safe and unharmed, thus we have not summoned an eldritch horror that not only nests in our home, but one which also actively seeks out and consumes the soul of every budding witch within a five kilometre radius for sustenance."

I took in her words with a sense of academic curiosity.

"Summoning a nightmarish extraplanar being is specifically the witchly world's worst case scenario?"

"There are 5,328 worst case scenarios. I chose one at random."

"Oh, right. May I ask what worst case scenario number 1 is?"

"The world explodes."

"Do witches possess the ability to do that?"

Marissa's raised eyebrow offered me a chance to withdraw my question. I decided to take it.

"I don't suppose there will be further witches sent to find us, by any chance?" I asked, despite knowing the answer already.

"Barring assistance from considerable distances away, I was the last available witch in this region."

I looked up in thought.

"I take it that's why Tutu got his scarf?"

"Indeed. I felt it prudent that I secure my survival by ensuring your parcel was delivered."

I considered Marissa's choice of words, her still expression, and her vivid eyes in the darkening light.

"Sole survivor scenario?"

Marissa, to her credit, didn't shy away from my gaze. Her look of self-recrimination was already apparent.

"Other than the world exploding, I believed that our meeting would largely shield me from the remainder of the dooms I could be facing, yes."

A nod of understanding was sent her way.

I already knew our meeting couldn't be a coincidence. And frankly, I couldn't blame her for setting it up.

It was a sensible measure. By introducing herself to me, she was lessening the probability of being quietly swept aside by any calamity that befell the witches. Engineering a sole survivor scenario required grim foresight, but it wasn't an excessive measure.

Of course, meeting any heroine invited problems of its own. And Marissa Haycroix was now down one introductory trump card. But as long as she was careful, she was still safer than most.

"So the witches arrived only to find the forest sealed to escape," I said, receiving a nod in reply. "Do you know what the cause is?"

"My peers have conferred extensively over the matter and believe it to be a derivative closed boundary as a result of improper use of spatial magic. However, I consider this to be flawed, and thus greater urgency and deliberation is required."

I raised an eyebrow, politely letting her continue.

"The perimeter is distorted, but not closed. We are able to leave, we simply return. It's unlike any boundary field I've come across. There is no evidence that the magic encasing the forest will subside in volatility just by waiting. I'm in disagreement that we can simply 'sit it out' and 'enjoy a free holiday', even if we are being paid."

"This is paid time?"

I suddenly wondered if I was in the wrong career field.

I already had a broomstick. Other than stepping on the toes of the witches all around me, there was no reason I couldn't also deliver parcels.

"We work on salary, although we do receive set bonuses for positive customer feedback."

"Ah, so those little forms that come with the parcels … ?"

"Yes." Marissa looked at me with utmost seriousness. "Please fill them out. It helps us a lot."

I nodded, endeavouring to tick as many boxes beside smiley faces as I could from now on.

"What happens when you try contacting the archwitches from within the New Bewitching Woods?" I asked, peering around at the clearing. There was a distinct lack of cackling in the air. Wherever the archwitches were, they were not even close.

"All attempts at magical messaging have been rebuffed. Larina's Serenity In Summer, Op. 9, No. 2 is the only response we receive."

Now that was interesting. If the messages failed to reach their recipients, it would usually entail silence.

"Doesn't classical music suggest that a connection has been formed, but a reply just isn't being sent?"

"We are being put on hold, yes."

I wondered how much of Lize's concerns for the end of the world was turning out to be true.

Considering the situation, I doubted if even the archwitches wouldn't at least return a message acknowledging they were safe, and then to ask for some of the Victoria sponges to be saved for them.

Either the archwitches were in no capacity to respond, or they were purposefully choosing not to. Neither were fantastic scenarios.

I took a moment to consider the area around me.

It was a tight squeeze, but enough to hoard all the witches in Ouzelia if required. That the boundary still invited new arrivals highly suggested that it was designed explicitly to net as many of the witches as possible, as opposed to being an unintended consequence of a wayward spell.

The answer to this puzzle didn't come immediately, which I suppose was a good thing. Wholesale rescues weren't typically part of my daily routine. A good thing, as well. I had a hard enough time attending the book club sessions held in the Bread & Berry with just my regular duties.

Which reminds me, I was meant to lead the discussions today.

Best not be late.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing off to the side.

It was one of those moments where I wondered if I was missing something obvious. Because unless I was mistaken, there was a notable, if partially hidden opening in the edge of the clearing.

A pair of large yews stood guard across the only patch of grass not to be claimed by flowers, plants or shrubbery. The branches of the trees curved upwards, joining almost as if to form a gate.

"Oh, right," said Marissa, following my fingertip. "That's the ominous entrance."

I carefully examined it, noting the thorns sprouting from the branches and the unnatural white mist that obscured all vision barely a metre past. It was a 3/10 on the omen of doom scale.

"Where does it lead?" I asked curiously.

"Deeper into the New Bewitching Woods. Or so our directional spells inform us."

"Really? So it breaks off from the boundary?"

"It may very well do."

"Then, has no witch opted to step through the ominous entrance?"

"Oh, plenty. Whenever a ping pong ball goes over, one of us has to scoot over to retrieve it."

"What do they say afterwards?"

"Nothing. Any witch that steps past the ominous entrance is veiled by mist and promptly never returns. They do throw the ping pong ball back, however."

Hmm.

I suppose that made it a 4/10 on the omen of doom scale. Suitable for children accompanied by an adult.

"We're witches, not adventurers," said Marissa, more or less shrugging at the potential demise of her colleagues. "As purveyors of magic, we don't follow the road laid out before us. We create our own. With excessive use of fire and lightning, if need be. That ominous entrance is not for us."

No, I suppose it wasn't.

For a moment, I was faintly envious. Not of the fire and lightning thing, as wonderful as that was, but that witches could dictate where they stepped as easily as where they flew.

As a heroine, I followed the path laid out for me.

But at the same time, I also wasn't an adventurer.

And this meant I could take short cuts.

"Okay, got it," I said, turning for the ominous entrance. "I'll just head on through and sort this out. It shouldn't take too long."

Marissa tilted her head slightly.

"Do you often see to witches trapped in a forest?"

"No, this is my first time."

"And yet you're reasonably certain you can unravel whatever mysterious force is behind this?"

"Not in the slightest," I said, with as peppy a smile as I could give. "Want to come along and see how I do?"

Marissa seemed stunned by the offer.

She turned her head, glancing between the ominous entrance and the gaggle of witches around her, the majority of whom were now busying themselves in the middle of a snooker tournament.

Then, she shrugged.

"Sure."

 

[kayenano]

Beyond the white mist, it was clear why none of the witches who ventured here ever came back.

It was because there was no back.

Behind me, I peered past Marissa's shoulder at the solid wall of gnarly yews and the coiling vines which strung them unnaturally together. The ominous entrance had vanished, along with any semblance of a forest clearing filled with witches showing off their dazzling proficiency in one-handed snooker shots.

That the witches still regularly managed to throw back stray ping pong balls was testament to their magical skill. And also thoughtfulness in tidying up after themselves.

"The landscape has been altered," said Marissa, her naturally bright eyes taking in our surroundings with academic curiosity. "And not insignificantly. A trap, perhaps?"

I reached out and poked one of the yews behind us.

Solid. It never hurt to make sure. Usually.

"Possibly," I replied, turning back to scan the passage ahead. And it was a passage. The way the trees, roots and vegetation clumped together like walls while allowing a perfectly serviceable path ahead of us was no coincidence. "But at least it's not a dream world. That rules out several of the worst traps."

Marissa looked up, taking stock of the twisting branches and leaves shielding much of the light from reaching the forest bed.

"I think a dream world would be more colourful. The foliage is markedly paler here. A result of insufficient exposure to direct sunlight. We've been relocated deeper into the forest."

I checked to make sure I wasn't missing a shoe.

"Was the ominous entrance a teleportation point?"

"Unlikely. No queasiness. No vomiting. Sudden teleportation is terrible for motion sickness. For such natural movement, this strikes me as having stepped through a succession of mirrored portals relayed together."

I nodded, happy that I didn't need to get on Madame Zaibe's bad side by turning up with another uniform needing to be urgently washed and ironed.

"So not an ominous entrance, but consecutive magical doors with their exits squished together. Was an obfuscating charm used to override the reflection?"

"With the image of a mist, yes." Marissa turned from her surroundings to instead look with renewed interest at me. "Are heroines learned in spellcraft as standard these days?"

"No. But I do know a couple of dragons."

Marissa's shoulders fell. A flash of envy popped up on her face.

I preferred this to the usual looks of sympathy intertwined with bleak horror.

"Of course. I suppose it wouldn't do to make eye contact with a dragon without coming away without a tome's worth of encyclopaedic knowledge as your reward. I've yet to meet one myself."

"If you'd like to, the addresses of dragon lairs are on public record. It only takes a small administrative fee at the town hall to request them. You do need to come prepared if you wish to visit a dragon, however."

"With gifts? Or fire warding spells?"

"With patience. They enjoy teatime chitchats and boardgames, no matter how much they profess otherwise. But their view of time is different to ours. If you don't control the conversation, they'll digress until you eventually need to use your broomstick as a walking cane. Dragons are the oldest, noblest and most intelligent creatures to inhabit the world. But they're also insatiable gossipers."

It wasn't always their fault, of course.

Being blessed with a neck that's both very flexible and 15 feet in length, it was more often harder than not to avoid craning over the neighbour's fence. Scandal wasn't something they searched for. Usually.

Marissa considered my words carefully, then gave a serious nod.

"Archwitch Florenze always warned me not to make an accidental delivery to a dragon. She said the price for disturbing them wouldn't be my head, but my ears."

"Archwitch Florenze is correct," I said, peering around our surroundings once again. "And if she's here, we should find her and the rest of the elder coven as soon as we can."

"Your concern is only natural, but I wouldn't worry. They are archwitches and this is our home. No matter what magic has befallen the forest, I'm reasonably certain they at least are safe."

I was inclined to agree.

Except that it probably wasn't magic which was the cause of this. Not unless the mage who cast it was quite particular about hedgerows.

"Minotaur," I said simply.

Marissa raised an eyebrow.

"Nobody's ever called me a minotaur before."

I smiled, then nodded towards the passage hewn between the literal forest walls.

"Unless I'm mistaken, the New Bewitching Woods has been seized by a minotaur. I believe this is the start to a labyrinth."

"Really? How certain can you be?"

There was measured alarm there, somewhere within that calm tone.

After all, minotaurs meant business. And whether that was good or bad business was highly dependent on how lucky or unlucky everybody else was on the day.

I pointed down the path.

"Uniform walls. A forking corridor. An inescapable barrier. And my heroine senses telling me it is, in fact, most certainly a minotaur's labyrinth."

Marissa didn't respond straight away, as though waiting for the disclaimer. Unfortunately, there was no denying celestially mandated gut instinct. If my heroine senses told me that a sugar frosted apple pie brushed in melted butter contained no fat, then that meant it was true.

I thought about it less, these days. But my profession was honestly quite terrifying.

"I see. But if this is the start to the labyrinth, then what is that area we were being deposited into?"

"Reception room."

"Oh."

"The reason the barrier hasn't subsided in strength is because it's more than magic at work here. This is something deeper. Older. A minotaur's story, woven to never break until concluded. In order for a minotaur's labyrinth to be unravelled, the string must be pulled from the exit."

Marissa turned towards the nearest yew.

Her fixed stare told me she was considering if trees shaped by a minotaur was still partial to wilting away if confronted by overwhelming magic.

Unfortunately for her, there was no spell in her arsenal which could cause the labyrinth to retreat. Even if she felled all the trees in sight, the road in front of her would never lessen.

"I'm aware that minotaurs have powers of shaping in likeness to geomancy, but I was led to believe their abilities were limited in application by ancient laws. Are minotaurs not widely restricted in where they may erect their labyrinths?"

"More a courtesy than an ancient law. It depends on the disposition of the individual minotaur. Have the witches insulted any of the great clans recently?"

"Not as far as I know. We rarely have minotaurs on our client books."

That was to be expected.

They didn't take to the cold well, even if this was a particularly balmy spring Ouzelia was enjoying. Even in the midst of summer, there were always the occasional reminders that a snowy winter was just a few months around the corner.

"There could have been a private dispute," she suggested. "We witches strive to maintain professionalism. But it's not uncommon for people to view our occasional snooker balls landing in their gardens poorly. Even if they're fully compensated."

"There are innumerable reasons. But it doesn't matter. If a minotaur is making a labyrinth in the middle of a witchly wood, it means it's something I need to see to straight away. I worry for the welfare of the Spiral Isle when Duchess Cadence hears about this."

Marissa agreed with a curt nod.

Witches were more than picnics and snooker tournaments. They formed Ouzelia's postal network. If there was not an extremely logical reason as to why their new ancestral home was now a maze of squished yew trees, there would be repercussions on a diplomatic level.

And that was one of the better scenarios.

"Well, this was unexpected," said Marissa, now even more with curiosity in her eyes. "I suppose this is where we navigate a labyrinth of traps and riddles, until starvation or lunacy takes us?"

I smiled with only half a shake of my head.

Lunacy, maybe. But a slow and morbid death by starvation simply wasn't a possibility where either a witch or a heroine was involved. It was simply too mundane a reason for either of us to perish.

"Don't worry," I said cheerily. "I know how to navigate mazes."

"Touch the wall trick?"

"Actually, I don't think that works."

"I thought so as well. What's your suggestion, then?"

"We take a shortcut. Straight to the ending."

"Surely, the existence of a shortcut would undermine the very fabric of a labyrinth?"

"It depends on the type of labyrinth. Some are designed so that the exit is only found via the shortcut. Others are criss-crossy and some are upside-down. Some don't really have an exit, per se. But a treasure or a foe to be defeated. There's no set standard."

"Wonderful. And which one is this?"

"Not a clue." I offered a smile straight from the Bread & Berry Cafe as I turned, then looked at the solid wall of bark and greenery located directly at our backs. "But we can guess. Mine is that the exit is located at the furthest point. And if we're starting anywhere other than the edge, then that means only one spot."

Marissa hummed. I allowed her thoughts to flitter without disturbing her. Rush or no rush, it was always impolite to break someone out of a good realisation.

Within moments, her bright eyes widened.

"The furthest possible point," she said. "It would be here. The labyrinth snakes back to the beginning."

"Almost the beginning. If I'm not wrong, then the exit sits on the other side of this."

"Is it possible to force a path?"

"Normally, no. You'd only find another path. And then another. This is no longer the New Bewitching Woods, but a story. And only shortcuts recognised by the one who wrote it can be used."

I smiled awkwardly, as I always did when I needed to bend the rules.

Or in this case, break them completely.

Because like minotaurs, I possessed something deeper than magic.

Marissa glanced towards the sword at my back. She'd tactfully refrained from peeking at it until now. The consideration wasn't needed any longer.

"A heroine's sword defeats all obstacles," she said, taking in the opportunity to examine as much of the runed handle and the sheath as she could. "Am I to understand that this includes several chapters of us meandering through the same repeating backdrop of leaves and twigs?"

I nodded as my only answer.

Something compelled me to not actually voice it, as though the sheer unfairness of my sword was an open secret every heroine agreed existed, but rather preferred not to discuss.

"The labyrinth is filled with trials for us both," said Marissa. "Is it safe to move straight to the conclusion? Isn't there … pushback? Consequences?"

"There are," I admitted. "But the situation warrants it. A significant amount of Ouzelia's infrastructure and industry relies on the witches running the postal service. More pressingly, I'm concerned about the archwitches and the forest itself. Setting aside the damage that the formation of a labyrinth is continuing to cause, I'm worried that we wouldn't be able to conventionally traverse the maze before the majority of witches vote in favour of utilising massed magic to escape."

"It'll be soon," replied Marissa. "Likely after the end of the planned recreation of Her Highness and the Silver Hamster. If that does happen and my colleagues decide to throw a fireball large enough to envelop the realm, I assume that a significant amount of feedback would occur instead?"

"Probably. A minotaur's labyrinth doesn't really bend. It pushes back. Hard."

Marissa frowned as the litany of worst case scenarios played in her head.

"Given the power of this labyrinth to shape a witchly wood, it would take far more power than we witches should really be allowed to use in order to bring it to heel. The New Bewitching Woods is a natural safeguard against the Ashlands. It cannot be endangered."

Then, she nodded, offering her approval.

She didn't need to, of course. But labyrinth or not, this was still her forest. And as I was about to make short work of it, approval from a representative was always a rare bonus.

I reached behind me.

"Okay!" I smiled. "For safety reasons, could you please take a few steps away?"

Marissa did more than that.

She backed away until she was almost at the fork in the leafy corridor. I heard a click of a finger, and a shimmying shield of bubbly water enveloped her.

I didn't have the heart to say it wasn't really necessary.

Instead, I faced the wall of hugging yews. And gripping the hilt of my sword, I slowly released it from its sheath.

There was no kaleidoscope of light. No burst of providence.

But then again, this was no battlefield and there was no enemy.

In days lost to records, the drawing of a heroine's sword was the flash that heralded the dawn, back when trolls were more concerned with eating people than with overhead expenses, and no crowned dragon was content with merely having the sky as their throne.

And if my wish was fulfilled each time I revealed it to the world, it would always continue to be so.

That's why, when I pierced the labyrinth, the blade sung with a muted light, barely reflecting its wielder as it hewed through threads that no living being could see. It was not the stroke of a sword maiden silhouetted in the pages of a fairytale, but a waitress who served coffee with poached eggs on toast. And for now, that was enough.

I hoped it'd always be enough.

Mostly since I always got a sense of irreparable doom whenever I used my sword.

But, well, whoever said anything about being a heroine was normal?

 

[kayenano]

There were many reasons why minotaurs were rarely seen outside of the Spiral Isle, which unlike the witches' many forests had remained the same plot of ancient homeland for thousands of years.

The biggest reason was that everywhere else was just rather disappointing.

There was little reason to subject themselves to the world outside. The Spiral Isle was beautiful to mathematical precision. A sandy paradise inviting tropical weather, fresh coconuts and sparkling oceans year-round. And with the number of boats constantly docking at the beleaguered main harbour to offload a new gaggle of tourists, actually leaving for any native was an issue.

Because of this, it wasn't unusual to see the few minotaurs that explored the wider world do so with an abundance of caution.

Famously averse to the cold, minotaurs weren't only easily distinguishable by their powerful horns, their array of deadly weaponry and their muscled frames, but also the many layers of woolly hats and scarves they wore to ward off the chill.

Here in a newly revealed clearing dominated by a very small pond reflecting the leaves above, the minotaur who was in front of me had gone one step further.

He was currently wearing several archwitches. Which probably would have been gruesome, if not for the fact that said witches were in the middle of cackling hysterically.

"Ahhahahahhahahaha!"

"Faster! I say, faster! You call this speed?! My elbows pop out faster when I'm ironing!"

"The takings are mine, fellow wenches! You'll rue the day you betted against the Archwitch Madiva!"

Beneath the archwitches, the minotaur's face glowed red with indignation and obvious embarrassment. A huff of steam exited his nostrils, but he was no closer to tossing away the bundle of wrinkled ladies clinging to his back than he did the thick puffer jacket he wore.

"Madames. Madames. Please. As I've repeatedly stated, this is highly inappropriate. Should an accident occur as a result of—"

"Faaaaaaaster!!!!"

"Madames, please. I do not wish to risk harm on any of you. But I must insist. If you continue to clasp to my back against my personal wishes, I will be compelled to attempt to free myself."

"Do it! Free yourself from our mighty embrace!"

"Hah! The horned knight thinks he can wrestle away our clutches! You underestimate us, sir! These fingers were made for squeezing!"

"Squeeze! Grip! Claw! Do not falter now, my sisters! Victory is within reach!"

As cackling filled the air, Marissa crept up beside me, her face impassive as she slowly took in the sight of her esteemed peers riding a minotaur as if they were children staying on the swings.

"Hmm."

And with that note, she turned around and began walking away.

I reached out and held her arm.

"I'm sorry," I said, offering as much pity on my face as I could. "But you're part of this now. You need to stay here until the end."

"I apologise for taking you away from your duties," she replied solemnly. "On behalf of all witches who have not passed the madness barometer required to become an archwitch, I sincerely, utterly apologise."

"Oh, there's no need to apologise," I said, more than happy I didn't need to use my sword as anything other than a hedge cutter today. I returned it to its place at my back, the dim light fading along with the sudden weight. "It appears the archwitches are safe and sound."

"Safe, yes."

Marissa watched glumly as the minotaur proceeded to pirouette magnificently on the spot, causing the archwitches to dangle impossibly like a cloak fluttering in the breeze.

Sparkles of colour at their fingertips gave away the fact that they were not only blatantly cheating to stay tethered, but felt no shame about it either.

At long last, the minotaur appeared to reach the end of his rope.

With a stamp of his hooves, he crouched until his knees almost reached the ground, then performed a leap not unlike a trout escaping from a poxed piranha.

The archwitches, caught unprepared by the sheer force inflicted against gravity, were hurled from the minotaur's back, lithe frames flinging over the nearest wall of yews. For a moment, I heard the echoes of rabid laughter and amusement, only for the sound to be suddenly extinguished like a spent flame.

The archwitches had been sent, not too gently, into the labyrinth, and now no amount of magic or wiles could see them escape.

The minotaur straightened his back as he turned to us. His dark eyes and black horn stood in contrast to his colourful woollen hat and scarf, but matched perfectly with his great battleaxe, its obsidian head gleaming beside the edge of the still pond.

Without a word, he strode over and effortlessly picked up his battleaxe with one hand.

Stabbing the shaft into the earth, he assumed a regal poise with his head held high and his eyes blazing with a noble purpose.

I had a feeling we weren't going to talk about the archwitches-tossed-into-the-maze thing.

But that's okay. They were fine, anyway.

I think.

"Strangers," he said, his voice deep and challenging. "I am Sir Arthur Tranlingway, Knight of the Order of Fortitude. By the Minotaur's Code, I am charged with judging all those who would exit the labyrinth for their worthiness. Tell me of the trials you have passed. And be warned, for while still in the labyrinth, no guile or deceit can cloud my eye."

Beside me, Marissa looked at the massive battleaxe signposted into the ground, then at the conglomeration of muscle and woollen hats ready to swing it in defence of honour.

She poked me.

"I defer to your greater social skills," she said simply.

I smiled.

"Sir Arthur Tranlingway," I said, curtseying as was appropriate. Because politeness was good and thus always appropriate. "I'm Elise Rowe, anointed heroine for the Duchy of Witschblume. As per article 5a, subsection 1 of the revised Queensholme Accords, I have dismantled a section of your labyrinth in response to immediate public health risks posed to the residents of the New Bewitching Woods. I ask that you disassemble the remainder of the labyrinth so that the witches within can be allowed the return of their livelihoods."

The minotaur knight smiled. The grip on his obsidian battleaxe visibly relaxed.

"The Minotaur Code recognises the supremacy of the Queensholme Accords as cited by an anointed heroine. Under the agreements signed by my forbearers, I'm obligated to undo the labyrinth and release all those still yet to complete the path."

A tremor was all the warning that we received.

It was as though mortar was being swept clean from between stone. Except instead of everything crashing down like toy blocks kicked by a child, everything instead melted away like a snowman greeting the first day of spring.

The yew trees, the vines and the thick shrubs collapsed in on themselves, a deep rumbling echoing in the distance as the gears of Sir Arthur's labyrinth ground to a halt.

Then, light shone.

An evening haze poured blissfully through the newly revealed cracks in the forest canopy, covering us in a warm glare.

The pond, the only thing that was both real and untouched, remained where it was. It shone with mesmerising brilliance as a golden leaf fluttered down to disturb its surface.

A heartbeat later, and nothing remained of the power older than magic.

The labyrinth had left as gracefully as it had likely come, leaving only an audible chorus of groans in the distance as hundreds of witches realised their paid holiday had just been cut short.

"My congratulations," said Sir Arthur, displaying his dazzling white teeth. "You've reached the end of this trial. Thankfully. And though it was not by traditional means, I will not fault you for your expediency in reaching here. It was a dreadful experience, all around … I sincerely apologise for the inconvenience the witches must have suffered."

He dipped his head respectfully towards Marissa, who in turn decided to step up now that the threat of having a sharp axe pointed at her had passed.

"Thank you, Sir Arthur. Although I can't speak on behalf of the archwitches, I can already see the telltale signs that my eldest peers may share some of the responsibility in this episode."

Sir Arthur nodded grimly.

"That, I believe, is a fair assessment. Your name, if I may?"

"Marissa Haycroix."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Haycroix, Miss Rowe. Were these the halls of my order, I would offer you the courtesy you deserve. Sadly, I'm a wayfarer at present, and all I have is my embarrassment and my apologies."

"You've no need to provide either," said Marissa. "Although for formality's sake, I should really ask how a wayfaring knight from the Spiral Isle came to erect a labyrinth in our home."

"I was compelled. The archwitches who received me referenced ancient law demanding that none may enter a witchly wood without due toll. Theirs was to witness a labyrinth being constructed, and that their younger sisters be permitted to experience the result."

Marissa looked like a witch who desperately didn't want to ask any more questions, and yet also had no choice about it.

Someone needed to make a record of this debacle, after all. And that definitely wasn't one of my jobs.

"Why did they want that?" she asked, already wincing.

"For training purposes, I was told, although I suspect their own amusement was also a factor."

Marissa grimaced. For someone who wore her business face well, it spoke heavily about her thoughts regarding her superiors.

"You've been monumentally patient, Sir Arthur. Have you been subject to the archwitches' full whims while you waited for someone to exit the labyrinth?"

"I am a knight sworn in service to Fortitude. This was taxing, but not beyond the expectations of those in my order. That aside, they did not spend the entire time treating me as one would a mule. I'd sought them out to answer pressing questions relating to a matter of imminent doom."

Marissa blinked, opened her mouth, closed it again, then looked at me instead.

Yes.

This one was definitely one of mine.

"Imminent doom?" I queried, consciously aware that Duchess Cadence had used the same phrase when summoning me in her letter.

A huff of steam exited Sir Arthur's nostrils. This typically could mean any number of things, but in this case, I think it was a sigh.

"I was undertaking a quest. The Grand Chaplain of my order charged me with confronting the Next Great Evil waking in this land."

I paused as the statement required.

"Oh," I said, now in thinking mode. "What Next Great Evil?"

"I don't know. He spoke of visions and prophecy. Of a future written in scripture and the stars. Of fields of smoke and steel, and those that rise from within it."

"What was used as the medium to the prophecy?"

"A burnished silver mirror inlaid with the jewels of a lost crown."

Hmm.

Burnished silver. A modest grade. And without a name behind it, a lost crown lacked the weight to accurately predict tomorrow's weather. A bit shaky as far as prophecies went, but still worth investigating.

"Is the reason why only one knight's been dispatched to Ouzelia due to the other knights of your order being sent to confront other waking Next Great Evils?"

Sir Arthur dipped his head.

"That is correct. The rest of my order is scouring the other corners of the known world as we speak."

I felt a sliver of worry brush against me like the newly returned breeze.

Prophecies were inaccurate, but they were rarely entirely wrong. And if the common thread among them was that a Next Great Evil was waking, then that meant somewhere, a hero or heroine was about to become full-time.

"The archwitches were helpful in this regard," said Sir Arthur, glancing at Marissa as if to heal her mortally wounded image of them. "They allowed me to peer into the bewitched basin. Through it, I was able to continue my mission and expand upon the prophecy."

Marissa and I shared similar looks of being stunned.

The bewitched basin, otherwise known as the pond beside us, was a powerful artifact with limited uses before it physically dried up. If Sir Arthur had received permission to use it for a prophecy not strictly related to the witches, it must have meant the archwitches liked him a lot.

That probably explained why he'd allowed the archwitches to harass him for so long. Knight of Fortitude or not, there was only so much that this included public embarrassment.

"The vision I received was puzzling," said Sir Arthur, turning to me once again. "But I believe I can infer enough from it to know from which location the Next Great Evil will awake."

"What did you see?" I asked, rather wishing I had my quill and pad with me right now.

"A pot of coffee. And eggs on toast."

Sir Arthur blinked at the set of blank stares he received.

"I believe the eggs were poached," he added helpfully. "This suggests to me that the Next Great Evil is waking in Lissoine, or perhaps the Summer Kingdoms. Both regions are widely known for their coffee trade, as well as their poultry. I shall send a message immediately. In fact, would you be available for hire, Miss Haycroix? Or do I need to deposit my letter in a postbox?"

Marissa gave a small shake of her head.

"I would advise against that for urgent deliveries. The postal service is in a highly disrupted state at present. But while I'm afraid I'm currently overbooked, there are many witches nearby who may be able to deliver letters at short notice. I suggest making inquiries before the snooker tournament finishes."

"Very well. I'll do just that." Sir Arthur smiled, his calm demeanour never shaking even as mine did. "Miss Rowe, are you well? You've suddenly and dramatically become quite still. I take it I inadvertently spoke a revelation?"

I took in a deep breath, then returned his smile.

Whatever the situation, whatever the time, there was no potential scenario of imminent doom which couldn't be at least moderated by deep breathing or smiling.

"Maybe," I replied. "But as long as they don't come in monologue form by someone lounging in a chair while swishing wine, then that means there's still time."

"Time for what, Miss Rowe?"

"To delay the word 'imminent'."

Sir Arthur looked thoughtfully at me. He further relaxed his poise, then smiled in a way that good-hearted people usually did before they dived into giving advice.

Whatever he was about to say, however, was held back by the arrival of new guests.

Because alongside the golden leaves of the archwitches' domain, those of another colour now began to sprinkle their way down through the forest ceiling, joining the bed of foliage around us.

In hindsight, I should have known that something was about to happen.

Next Great Evils never did spring out of the ground like wood mice searching for snacks. They weren't opportunists, but storytellers. And they liked their entrances.

So why not announce it with a shower of blue confetti?

 

[kayenano]

Marissa and I were two blots streaking across a sanguine sky.

It was a new experience for me. Even if my legally enchanted broomstick could propel itself when the situation demanded, it certainly didn't have the magical power to sustain itself over both long distances and high altitudes.

In this case, it was Marissa's prodigious talents which kept my broomstick afloat. Lacking a strong piece of rope to tie my broomstick to hers, she'd instead opted to zap mine. Now it functioned like a bouncy terrier that had far too much energy to stay anywhere near the ground.

Technically, we were breaking several laws regarding a non-witch's use of a commercial broomstick. However, since those laws were designed by witches to protect witchly interests, I felt that having a witch also break those same laws meant I was more or less immune to complaints.

In other words … a carte blanche to do what every person imagining themselves in the sky most wished.

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

My hair flew behind me, then into my face as I performed a loop de loop.

I blew the fragile strands away from my mouth before it was once again waving behind me, a flag of silver cutting across the orange haze.

Easily staying by my side, Marissa's slight note of exasperation brought me out of my thrill seeking. I promptly pretended to look embarrassed. If only for a few moments.

Whatever she thought heroines were like, it probably didn't involve performing mid-air acrobatics. But I saw no reason why stunning high speed manoeuvres shouldn't be part and parcel of this job.

There were deadlier and faster things than dragons roaming the skies, and opportunities to train was invaluable. I didn't want to be found lacking in my rapid descending and cornering skills when the most aggressive creatures in the universe, also known as seagulls, started tearing towards me.

"Where did you learn the Fabizby Manoeuvre?" asked Marissa, sounding both curious and impressed. "Did one of my peers teach you?"

"I have my secrets," I answered, having no idea which cartwheel or upside-down flip I did was the Fabizby Manoeuvre.

Marissa nodded, respecting the apparent discretion I was showing.

"I like doing this the most," I said, twisting repeatedly until I started barrel rolling.

Marissa's eyes lit up. Everybody loved barrel rolling. No exceptions.

"Ah. The Llantz Escape. A favourite among those with tailgaters to beat. The wind tunnel created by the drilling motion makes it difficult for those behind to settle into the broomstick's slipstream."

I righted myself just as my eyes started seeing double the amount of clouds.

And then, as if the extensive rolling around had knocked my brain back into place, I realised that tumbling through the sky wasn't why I'd decided to skirt half a dozen aviation laws today.

Having exchanged farewells with the gracious Sir Arthur Tranlingway, the time had come to report my findings concerning the state of the witches and the matter of imminent doom to Duchess Cadence.

But before I did that, I needed to pay a visit back to the cafe.

As much as prophecies tended to be as reliable as a scratching post made out of tuna, the added image of coffee and poached eggs on toast was enough to prompt me to return to the Bread & Berry to make sure that nothing had turned to cinders.

And also that no demonic overlord was currently rising from the ashes.

It'd be terrible if the Next Great Evil had awoken while I was away. The health inspectors would be livid, and Madame Zaiba had only just finished paying for the refurbishment last week.

I sped up a little more, especially as visibility was worsening by the minute. The light would be fully dim by the time we made it to Witschblume's outskirts, but that was as much to do with the veil of blue petals as it was with the sun setting.

A protracted shower of the stuff fell over us as we scooted under heavy cloud cover. It wasn't weighty, cold or physically uncomfortable like rain or sleet, but it was distracting nonetheless.

And just like that, the cartwheeling was over.

"The petals were only above Witschblume earlier," I remarked, blinking away a stray that'd landed on my eyelashes.

Marissa considered the petals again, although with much less alarm than when the first ones began to rain above us.

"I have additional theories," she replied. "If not a meteorological spell, it could simply be many spells. Perhaps this is magic dispersion in effect."

"Magic dispersion?"

"It's extremely rare, given that it requires a significant gathering of magic users in one location, each casting spells in tandem. But records show that in previous large gatherings, the accumulation of magical energy was such that it physically warped the air."

Now that was a sight I didn't know if I wanted to see or not. For one thing, I didn't know if witnessing the air being assaulted obligated me to do something about it.

Marissa hummed, then continued irrespective of whatever face I was making.

"The Archwitch Lucilla once theorised that should a critical mass ever be reached, physical space would collapse in on itself in order to accommodate so much magic … and then either instantly blow everything up or gently evaporate after essentially burning itself out."

I wanted to believe in the version where the world had a built in safety lock against too much power in one go. Too many things exploded already. Although strangely not often around me.

Somewhere not here, equilibrium was being balanced. I apologised in my heart for whichever girl was suffering random explosions in my place.

"I wasn't aware that enough magic piled up could result in it just fizzing out. Has this happened before?"

"Not to my knowledge. This is theoretical, which is to say, pure guesswork with not even the slightest anecdotal evidence. But Archwitch Lucilla was as keen a trailblazer as she was a darts player. Some of her theories, too, hit the mark."

"I see. So if magic can evaporate, are you saying it can also rain?"

"Well, I believe Archwitch Lucilla was likely using the word evaporate poetically. What we're seeing is very much literal. But given magic's whimsical nature, I wouldn't discount anything."

Whimsical was an apt description.

As far as I knew, there was no rhyme or reason to how magic really functioned. It just did. Or didn't, as was often the case.

Still, whatever these petals were, it was beyond anything either myself or the witch flying me knew about. But I wasn't overly troubled by that. As was often the case, I suspected I'd only know the answer once it fell gift wrapped into my lap.

Well, that or a villain started delivering an opening speech.

But hopefully we weren't there just yet.

I was still in my uniform. And when villains made the effort to dress for me, I really should return the thought.

***

​

Marissa dropped me off outside the cafe, trusting me to descend on my own to avoid the many questions about why a witch was tugging me along, including when they started offering that as a service and if a reservation was required.

Seeing that my parking spot was now being taken up by yet another flying carpet, I propped my broomstick beside the door to sort out later and headed inside.

To my joy and also mild horror, the only great evil to have awoken while I was gone was Tutu.

Being young, he should have been filled with boundless energy. Instead, he was content to lazily flap his wings while lounging on the cafe counter. Perhaps this flying tabby was the incarnation of sloth.

"Welcome back, Elise! Has the world gone poof yet?"

I was immediately treated to the sight of the next terror, that being Lize dressed up as a shady librarian while clearly taking my place in the book club. Wearing glasses that magnified her eyes several times over, she flashed a grin while hurriedly waving me over so we could begin the tussling.

Sat around her were the other members of the book club, drawn from wherever in the town a flyer for our cafe pronounced that members also got a 15% discount on food and drink purchases.

Yes.

For one more day, the world had not gone poof.

"Not yet," I replied cheerily, heading over to fight for my chair. "Maybe tomorrow, though."

"So just like normal?"

"Just like normal."

"Great!" Lize picked up a plate sat ready on the coffee table. "Carrot cake?"

I smiled, scooping up Tutu from the floor as he immediately began heading over. If he wasn't going to learn how to expend calories, then he was going to need to learn about moderation.

"Yes, please."

 

[kayenano]

I didn't consider myself particularly argumentative. But when it came to the sanctity of egg cooking techniques, I was firmly in the non-poached camp.

It wasn't because there was anything about the inherent gloopiness of a poached egg which I found dissatisfying. On the contrary, that was the best bit. My only problem was that everyone agreed more. If I was in the cafe, I was probably poaching eggs. And if I wasn't watching poaching eggs, I was probably scrubbing off their remains.

Because if there's one thing gloopier than a poached egg, it's the remains of one after Tutu decided bowls were just an extra step.

After all, why eat on tableware when the table itself was both bigger and flatter?

"Bad Tutu," said Lize, yoinking him from the spillage he was both eating and bathing in. "At this rate, we're going to have to teach you to use a knife and fork."

I looked up from the table, eggy dishcloth in hand.

"We're?" I queried.

"I reckon if we both teach him how to use cutlery, he'll probably learn how to use at least one of them."

"I think teaching Tutu how to use a knife and fork is going to invite questions about whether or not we're trying to weaponise him."

"It's fine. He's a cat. He's naturally going to grow teeth and claws which hit like pickaxes. Teaching him to use a knife and fork will only make him safer."

Lize gave an exaggerated huff as she plonked him down on his usual spot on the counter. It also remained one of the few surfaces not to have been scratched.

I looked down at the table, now more or less yolk-free. Cleaning up after a winged tabby with poor table manners wasn't really how I wanted to spend my short break after the lunch rush, but I was glad I was spending it here and not, say, stuck inside a minotaur's labyrinth.

A few days had passed since my latest bout with solving Witschblume's random ills.

The postal network was operational again, and to the credit of the witches, had resumed their services amidst a storm of refund pledges. As Sir Arthur Tranlingway's labyrinth was the direct result of the archwitches' wishes, I imagine it'd be shaky grounds to argue that their inability to deliver was hampered strictly by events outside their control.

Not that the witches were likely to pull such a stunt. The adepts that made up the rank and file were drilled on professionalism before magic, and that attitude typically carried all the way until one was wise, powerful and experienced enough to reach the rank of archwitch, whereupon they immediately forgot everything.

They say that power corrupts. But in the case of witches, it was slightly more nuanced. They just lost their marbles.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling.

I looked up, glad for the excuse to not check over the other tables for bits of runny yolk to clean up. It didn't really matter that Tutu only had one bowl to spill. If witches could fly through the sky, then so could an Eggs Benedict.

"Welcome," I said, before immediately correcting my posture. "Lady Uxna, what a lovely surprise!"

I beamed, doing better at hiding my shock than Lize. She wasted no time in patting down her waitress uniform for all the things that Lady Uxna of the Blood Shrieker Tribe had likely already spotted.

The head maid smiled politely nonetheless. She dipped her head beneath the door frame, then unscrunched herself up after squeezing inside.

"Good afternoon," she said, indulging in a curious look around at the cafe's post-lunch chaos and décor. "I hope I'm not disturbing. The sign indicated you were open."

"No worries, we're open!" replied Lize, as cheerfully as if this wasn't their first time meeting. Which it was. "It just gets like this after lunch time. Like a party in a fish bowl one hour and then a haunted house the next. Take a seat! Elise just finished up cleaning egg yolk."

I raised my tablecloth as proof, complete with sticky stuff, then pointed at the tabby lounging on the counter.

"Tutu likes to play with his bowls."

"I see … I've heard you were keeping a flying black tabby. Frankly, I wasn't aware they could be domesticated."

"Neither were we."

"Has he eaten any goblins yet?"

"No, but I've made it very clear that this would be a bad thing to do."

"Good. The duchess has encouraged enough animosity without the local heroine also sparking a diplomatic incident. Speaking of which, you were seen flying over Heizholm on your way to the New Bewitching Woods. Mayor Daris has noted your intrusion. He sent an official complaint to the Ducal Estate yesterday."

I looked pointedly away. Even so, I could see Lady Uxna's raised eyebrow pointing towards me.

"I did have jurisdiction," I said honestly.

"Indeed." Lady Uxna smiled amicably, but the steadiness in how she held herself was only one indication of why she'd survived as head maid to the demands of Duchess Cadence. "Including, as I was forced to write, over his very chimney."

I winced.

It was possible, just possible, that I'd been too keen to use my legally enchanted broomstick. Official heroine business probably mattered little to the lady I'd alarmed into dropping her laundry she was airing from the windowsill. A lady who I now knew was likely the mayor of Heizholm's wife.

"I'll try to stick to the roads next time. Or above them, at least."

Lady Uxna nodded, then turned her attention to Lize. My co-worker stood to attention, salute and all.

"I'd like to try Madame Zaiba's recommendation," said Lady Uxna, taking the salute with amusement. "Carrot cake and a splodge of whipped cream with afternoon tea. She insists it puts the competition to shame. I'd like to test that claim."

"At your service!" said Lize, a platter already in her hands. "Our second most popular combo set. Please be seated and we'll be with you in a moment."

Lady Uxna did as instructed. She headed towards the table I'd finished cleaning, paused to stare at a blotch only she could see, then sat down without ever looking at it again.

"Out of curiosity, what is your most popular set?"

Without missing a beat, Lize pointed at a jug by her side, then at the tablecloth I was still holding.

"Poached eggs on extra buttery toast, plus bottomless coffee until you need to use the restroom. An all-day set which offers amazing value for money."

Lady Uxna's expression didn't change. Her smile neither hardened nor wavered. And yet I knew instantly why the head maid now found herself in the Bread & Berry Cafe.

I rarely witnessed Lady Uxna doing the rounds through town. None of her duties took her outside the castle, after all. So as far as I knew, she was still on the clock.

This was official business.

Either she was about to inquire more deeply about the events of the New Bewitching Woods, or that carrot cake was part of an impromptu food safety inspection. Probably both.

"Poached eggs and coffee," she mused as I busied my hands with scouring clean a table for her. "As far as prophecy goes, I suppose this leaves rather little room for interpretation. Unless there's another cafe with a part-time heroine serving poached eggs and bottomless coffee sets, I'd say it's a clear indication that the awakening of the Next Great Evil was pinpointed to this precise location."

I shook my head.

I had my own fears, of course, which is why I'd only indulged in a handful of aerial cartwheels on the way back after the prophecy disclosure. But those worries had been guided by an abundance of general caution, not facts or precedent.

"Prophecies are muddled by nature. It's not in their nature to provide clarity, only riddles. And this one is even less than that. It's just as likely that the Next Great Evil suffers a crippling allergy to poached eggs and coffee as it is that the Bread & Berry Cafe is the location for its coming."

"Normally, I would agree. However, the minotaur disclosed the prophecy to you, Elise. A heroine intimately familiar with serving the named breakfast set."

"It's an all day set."

"An all day set, then. And one which I believe wasn't brought to you by mere chance."

"I'm not saying it's not. But I wouldn't try to glean more than what's available, which is quite little. I'd certainly not bet on the Next Great Evil waking beneath our floorboards. For one thing, we just had them done. The noise would have woken an ancient vampire from a coffin, and they're heavy sleepers."

Lady Uxna waited as Lize came over and set a plate of carrot cake and a mug of steaming hot tea for her.

"On the house," she said cheerfully.

"Really? Why, thank you."

The head maid smiled in appreciation, then took a polite sip. I wasn't sure if anything was actually drunk.

"I certainly wouldn't bet, either," she said. "However, to the Ducal Estate, it would not be a bet, but an insurance against the worst case scenario. Cursory preparations need to be seen to, at the bare minimum."

I held in a groan.

Madame Zaiba was going to ask me a lot of questions about why the inevitable undead wards and magical barriers were doing a number on the newly chosen paint scheme.

"I understand. Although if I may ask, why has the duchess only now decided to treat this as a possible awakening? She was, um ... ambivalent when I briefed her on the events of the New Bewitching Woods."

Specifically, the duchess said there was always a prophecy being puked from a talking mirror somewhere, and that unless hard names and locations were being mentioned, I was to find her a real calamity she could inflict on her populace.

Lady Uxna looked suddenly tired. She glanced at the clock on the wall, letting me know in no uncertain terms that whatever she wanted to say about her employer, she lacked both the time and the unprofessionalism.

I felt a pang of sympathy for her. I thought that the customers who tapped their fingers while waiting for their morning coffee were sometimes difficult, but the one she served beverages to was an unsleeping clockwork automaton. Lady Uxna's own sleep schedule was probably worse than mine.

I bit my lips, withholding the urge to ask if the duchess actually let her sleep.

"Truth be told, I was only recently informed by the duchess of the events surrounding your expedition over Heizholm's rooftops. I impressed upon her at once the potential gravity of any prophecy, and that the cost of ignoring it far outweighed the cost of adhering to basic caution."

I nodded, writing as much apology into my face as I could.

"What basic caution did you have in mind? I don't want to sound immodest, but bearing in mind that I do live here, I would have thought that this was enough of a safeguard."

"It is and it isn't. I'm more than aware of your exemplary gifts provided by your calling, but I worry that your proximity to the cafe will dull or even circumvent your natural abilities for detecting evil."

I gave it a moment's thought.

To be honest, I didn't really see how living above the cafe where a great evil might rise was anything but beneficial as far as early warning systems went, but in the end, it wasn't my place to argue. Lady Uxna, through Duchess Cadence, was responsible for the security of Witschblume. If it put her mind at ease to install a few barriers, I didn't think even Madame Zaiba would complain.

Not too loudly, at least.

"Hmm … in that case, would you like the witches to erect some high strength wards? I know a few who are well regarded, including one I met recently. I believe I'd be able to secure a generous discount on behalf of the Ducal Estate."

Lady Uxna took another dip of tea, delicately pausing before answering.

The outright suggestion, of course, that it would be the duchess and not the cafe that would fork the extensive bill was not lost on her.

"Actually, I was thinking about removing the source of the potential Next Great Evil altogether."

"Excuse me?"

Lady Uxna turned her head.

Then, she looked directly at Tutu.

The flying tabby, sensing all eyes on him, looked up to the sudden fanfare of attention. He gave his wings a tiny flap, then yawned and went back to grooming himself.

Suddenly, he was picked up by a pair of hands.

"Look at you!" said Lize, joy blooming on her face as she lifted the indignant tabby into the air. "You're going to be the Next Great Evil! Isn't that amazing? Gosh, just think of all the tourists you're going to bring in! We might even be able to afford doing up the rooms upstairs!"

Tutu struggled ineffectually in Lize's grip. He gave up and started licking her face instead.

For my part, I was mortified.

Tutu as the Next Great Evil?

It was unthinkable. Aside from the fact that the most evil thing Tutu did was steal gingerbread biscuits and then leave a trail of crumbs incriminating the tabby next door, he was already well-known with our regulars.

Next Great Evils rose from obscurity. Tutu was already a middling celebrity. If he became frisky with two separate lady friends, he would earn his first scandal in the back pages of The Witschblume Times.

Moreover, Tutu was just a little too lazy.

"Lady Uxna, if you're suggesting that Tutu could be the identity of the Next Great Evil, then I believe you're likely to be mistaken. Evil is not an occupation. It's a lifestyle. And Tutu enjoys lounging in the sun just a bit too much to make the kind of time commitment necessary in order to bring terror to these lands."

Lady Uxna politely sipped at her tea, then forked around with her slice of carrot cake without actually eating it.

"That is indeed what I'm suggesting. Flying black tabbys, unless I'm mistaken, are carnivores predisposed towards magic, eating, and growing extremely large through said magic and eating. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that this particular one may become a being of indiscriminate destruction."

"Well, yes, he does cause a bit of a mess when he gets into the plates cupboard, but I wouldn't say it's necessarily an indication towards greater calamities."

My attention was suddenly drawn to the cup of tea in Lady Uxna's hand. The amber liquid's smooth surface quivered like a pond disturbed by a pebble.

"Neither am I." Lady Uxna settled back in her seat, unaware of the tremor her tea had just suffered. "But there are other concerns at play. A local prophecy will not go unknown for long. Once The Witschblume Times catches wind of this ..."

I let out an involuntary sigh, attention snapping back towards closer matters.

In the end, this visit was as much about public appearance as it was about public safety.

It was rare, and indeed, unnecessary for Lady Uxna to visit herself. Especially as the norm was that I was summoned to the castle for all work related matters.

I couldn't fault her for taking the initiative on smoothing over public concerns before they even arose, though. That was her job. As well as ensuring that Duchess Cadence never realised vegetables were secretly grated into most of her meals.

Clink.

"I understand the concerns," I conceded, glancing over at the tabby now slipping away from Lize's clutches and dashing towards the shelter of the nearest corner. "But whatever conclusions people draw, I'm still reasonably certain that this particular prophecy isn't alluding to Tutu eating anyone just yet."

Lady Uxna nodded.

I wasn't quite sure whether that was for what I'd just said, or to the first bite of carrot cake she had.

Clink. Clink.

"The validity of all our concerns aside, it would be best for Tutu's well-being that he not be forced to endure too much public scrutiny. It would be no small irony if he garners a ruinous distaste for civilization through being pestered by tabloid journalists and gossiping customers."

I felt myself musing over the serious tone Lady Uxna was offering.

It was less diplomatic than what I was used to hearing, but then again, our conversations rarely extended beyond the amount of grams of sugar that was ideal for a jam sponge cake.

And yet I was not inclined to entirely disagree with her. Whether I liked it or not, there would be questions over the cafe and with its only inhabitant that needed regular declawing.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

"Do you suggest keeping Tutu upstairs?" I asked, before a far less kind option dawned on me. "I certainly hope you don't mean to lock him away in the castle until this prophecy business blows over."

Lady Uxna raised a palm, stilling my horror before it could fully manifest.

"I would never make that request. For one thing, the duchess would highly disagree with the addition of new company while the badgers are still giving her grief. No, I simply ask that you keep a close eye on him. A very close eye. And yes, preferably involving the assistance of a witch or two as well."

I let out a sigh of relief. Not only for Tutu's sake. But for the duchess's.

It was one thing to imagine him not breaking my favourite crockery in the cafe. It was quite another to imagine him not willfully destroying every piece of very expensive porcelain the duchess possessed.

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

"Well, fortunately, I usually do that in any event. And if not, then Lize does. I can assure you that should we catch any hint of the Next Great Evil coming out of him, he is going straight into the bathtub for a thorough shampooing session. As for a witch, I'll begin inquiries."

"Thank you. I'll be sure to relay your words verbatim to the press once they inevitably decide to hound us in turn."

I immediately reviewed what my words were.

"Could you please add that I also said I'd take away his favourite treats if any Evilness arose?"

"That I can." Lady Uxna raised her cup to her lips. "By the way, Miss Rowe, a question if I may?"

"By all means."

"Why is my teacup, and indeed, every teacup, trembling with alarming frequency?"

I looked at the stacks of everything not currently nailed to the floor, which was currently wobbling like unset jelly.

I counted the timing of the wobbling, then noted the updraft beginning to make itself known.

"I think a dragon is about to visit."

"I see."

Lady Uxna downed her cup, just in time for the hot liquid to not spill over her when the enormous shadow began to descend onto the cafe.

Within seconds, the shadow was joined by the fwooshing of a great pair of wings, spinning dust and bits of gravel past the gaps of the door. Lize was already opening the broomstick cupboard. She only paused when the localised earthquake known as a dragon landing threatened to even evict Tutu from his corner.

Excusing myself from Lady Uxna with a nod, I went over to the door and pushed it wide open.

"Welcome," I said cheerfully to our newest fire breathing customer. "Would you like a seat outside?"

 

[90% Human]

Somewhere not here, equilibrium was being balanced. I apologised in my heart for whichever girl was suffering random explosions in my place.

Click to shrink...

Huh, wonder if there's someone who only suffers from a normal amount of explosions when they do things.
(Side note, I think you forgot a threadmark for this chapter)

 

[kayenano]

Huh, wonder if there's someone who only suffers from a normal amount of explosions when they do things.
(Side note, I think you forgot a threadmark for this chapter)

Click to shrink...

Thanks, I missed that one!

 

[kayenano]

My first time meeting with a dragon had been a predictably hazardous affair. Not knowing a shred of etiquette when it came to dragon customs, I'd blundered my way through my first conversation, never realising until long after that openly ogling a dragon's tail was considered invasive.

In my defence, I'd openly gawked at pretty much every part of the dragon, particularly as the one I'd met was the most famous of them all.

Ralgoz the Impatient, King of the Dragons and Argent of the Skies.

With a body that had become silver with age, and eyes brimming with both wisdom and fire, Ralgoz was a flying monument to his kind.

Proud, dignified and powerful, his shining wings carried him through the heaviest storms as easily as a ship through calm seas, while his scaled hide could slap aside arrows and spells as if blown away by a tornado.

They were the true royalty of the world. The undisputed champions of the food chain. The masters of earth and sky.

"I would like to try the rosemary tea, please."

And the greatest of all was squishing all four of his clawed legs together, hovering his tail over one of the cafe's outdoor chairs while leaning over a small white table.

I scribbled down on my pad.

"Would you like anything else?"

Ralgoz hummed. The effect sent vibrations up and down my spine like a sonorous massage.

"Do you have any chiffon cake? The one Madame Zaiba bakes on occasion. Ah, meaning no offence towards yours, that is."

"None taken. But we only have carrot cake today. Oh, but there's some leftover pound cake from yesterday. You can have it for free, if you'd like."

"For free? … Would that be acceptable?"

"Sure. We might have to throw it away otherwise."

Ralgoz's golden eyes flashed with interest.

Despite owning a hoard that surpassed the wealth of Witschblume by a factor of thousands, a dragon could never say no to more. And wealth that wasn't spent was wealth earned, so far as they were concerned.

Dragons liked free stuff.

"Then, rosemary tea and any pound cake at risk of discarding. That will do, I think."

"Okay, I'll only be a moment."

"Thank you."

I smiled, turned around, and scooted back into the cafe to ready the tea and choose the least crumbly looking slice of pound cake we still had left.

As I did, I passed by the fidgeting form of Lady Uxna, whose face was furrowed by a thousand conflicting decisions.

The sudden appearance of the King of the Dragons presented a terrible social dilemma. As the duchess's foremost dignitary, it would be impolite to spurn a greeting, and yet it would also be intrusive to interrupt him when he likely wasn't present for matters related to the duchy.

She sat, paralysed with indecision, the tea cup in her hands trembling with more force than when the full weight of the dragon outside had landed onto the poorly accommodating street outside.

Then, putting all of her years of tact and diplomacy at work, Lady Uxna settled on a clear winner.

"Goodness. That was quite a breeze. To think it was enough to shake the furnishings. I will make a note to the castle engineers to ensure that nothing other than musical instruments is to be kept near the windows."

And so, pretending she hadn't noticed the dragon sitting outside the glass window, the head maid of Witschblume Castle calmly returned to nibbling on her slice of carrot cake. Very slowly.

I stopped on the way to the counter.

"Lady Uxna, would you like more tea and cake?"

She smiled at me.

"Yes, please. I suddenly feel quite famished."

I nodded, then headed over to the counter to retrieve two of our biggest tea pots.

Both would be here for a while.

"Rosemary tea and pound cake," I said to Ralgoz, after stopping to refill Lady Uxna's table. "Would there be anything else?"

The king of the dragons swished his tail slightly, then stopped when he realised it was causing the nearby 'No Unauthorised Flying' sign to sway dangerously on the spot. He further squished his clawed limbs together, then flared his great snout before speaking.

"Just the usual, I'm afraid," he said, a deep note of apology ringing in his majestic voice.

"That's fine." I smiled as I took a seat. "It's what I'm here for."

I briefly thought about fetching a cup for myself as well, then decided against it.

Despite the warmth in Ralgoz's eyes, I knew this conversation wouldn't last long enough for the tea to cool. They never did. Our talks were not about Madame Zaiba's secret chiffon cake recipe, even if I could sense that was something he secretly wanted.

No, our talks were about dragons.

"Indeed." Ralgoz paused. I tidied the cuffs of my sleeves. "And if I could wish it were anything else, I would. You are much too young, to carry a weapon so old."

I shifted forward slightly, making room for the sword more or less permanently at home on my back.

It could have been worse. Technically, I was always supposed to carry it. But since I was also responsible for enforcing that rule, I decided to let myself off so far as sleeping was concerned.

"There's been younger," I replied. "Olivia Tucine. She was six years old when she was allocated this sword."

"Oh? I'm not familiar with that name."

"You probably wouldn't. She also holds the record for the shortest time to be allocated heroine status. Officially, an administrative mistake was made and a new chosen heroine was named."

"Unofficially?"

"Unofficially, questions started being raised when she attempted to trade the sword for a bag of mixed marshmallows. A minimum age limit was agreed later."

Ralgoz chuckled. A booming tremor of mirth which shook the teapot like a gale against fallen leaves. Somewhere, an E minor sounded as a piano crashed to the ground.

I reached out and held the pot in place.

"I envy your ability, if not your role. To be able to glimpse into the past is a miracle more potent than all the other gifts you are imparted."

Ralgoz nodded, but said no more. He knew better than to inquire about the sort of memories my predecessors left me.

Even so, I answered with a shrug, which was accompanied instantly by the sound of someone choking on a carrot cake inside the cafe. I had no doubt that once this was over, Lady Uxna would be informing me about how many etiquette laws shrugging in front of a dragon king broke.

"It's not that impressive. Most of the time, I just see bits and pieces of what people ate for dessert."

"An invaluable tool. Haute cuisine comes in cycles. You would do well to predict Madame Zaiba's next best product."

Spoken like the madame herself.

The Bread & Berry Cafe may not be on the cutting edge of gastronomy, but that was no excuse not to draw in the seasonal crowd.

A crowd that should already be here.

I glanced at the emptied street. Around lamp posts and behind postboxes, the anxious faces of the street's regulars could be spotted, all clearly wondering if they should be offering more distance against the updraft when the very big dragon's wings took flight again.

I held in a sigh. It wasn't Ralgoz's fault. He had more on his plate than the town's schedule. But it was the morning rush, and I was conscious about monopolising the street from the shopkeepers.

"I'll do my best." I smiled, then sat up a little straighter. "Excuse me, but if I may ask, what is the reason for your visit? You normally send a warning beforehand."

Ralgoz gave a small dip of his head.

"My apologies. I had written a letter, but opted to not trouble the lady witches. They can do with one less delivery to make."

"That's a very thoughtful gesture. I'm told they're up to the necks in work, and that's while they're in the sky too."

"The life of a witch is a toilsome one. That has not changed since before the years I was hatched. But I digress."

Ralgoz awkwardly coughed, although I was likely the only one who knew it was a cough.

To everyone else, it was the sound of a deep hum of gathering wisdom.

"In keeping with article 2a, subsection 1 of the revised Queensholme Accords, I, Ralgoz, King of the Skies, the Mountain Halls and the Lost Lands of Zinemoor, do beseech upon you a noble quest."

Now I really straightened my back.

It was rare for Ralgoz to namedrop the charter governing relations between dragons and humans. I didn't need my heroine's senses to know this wasn't just serious. It was formally serious.

"Sure thing," I said, relieved I had my notepad with me this time. "What can I do?"

Ralgoz opened his jaws to answer, then slowly snapped them shut again.

Dragons were not capable of making expressions. The muscles on their cheeks were too taut for that. But scale and sinew never prevented them from conveying feelings.

Not when their eyes burned with so much emotion.

Ralgoz's pupils closely took me in. They were golden slits nestled within a dark maelstrom, and for a moment, I found myself swimming in all the words he had no wish to voice.

"Your duty, Miss Rowe. I require you to slay a dragon."

I stared at him in shock and horror, torn between which emotions I needed to return first.

But even though I lacked his eyes, I was reasonably certain he knew what I was thinking.

After several moments, I gathered my bearings and put together the most suitable response I could.

"Oh," I said simply. "How come?"

"Martuk the Mad." Ralgoz paused, as though speaking the name caused him to physically tire. "The Last Great Evil. You recall, no doubt, the many stories of his crimes."

I nodded. It was difficult not to.

Dragon fire being what it was, large sections of Widzenport still hadn't been rebuilt, even if the rest of the city had long grown and expanded.

"He broke a lot of records for barns burned in one day. He didn't just set roofs on fire and call it a day. He'd go to the effort of locating and boiling away water sources beforehand too, just to make it harder to douse the flames. He apparently had a particular dislike for duck ponds."

"He was meticulous in his terror of all creatures. He may have been mad in his goals, but not in his execution. And now we shall see another that will follow in his shadow."

Ralgoz shook his head.

"Martuk's brother has awoken."

I instinctively glanced towards the sky.

Periwinkle blue, with neither a cloud nor a mysterious petal to darken it.

As fast as they'd come, the strange pellets had vanished along with any way to measure their meaning. Another mystery of the world with either harmless or world devastating implications. Nothing in between. And one I preferred greatly to news of villainous dragons having siblings.

"I didn't know Martuk had a brother."

"Neither did I. The weeping winds carried his name across the bleak spine of the Ashlands, its source the same frozen peak from which hatched Martuk and his brooding madness."

I looked at Ralgoz with fresh alarm.

The mountainous topography of the Ashlands lended itself as a natural barrier to the wind. For Ralgoz to be able to discern anything from it meant a very strong cold weather front was approaching.

I needed to warn Lize it was time to put the shovels on standby in case it started snowing.

We didn't want a repeat of last year's incident. For all its utility, a heroine's sword was most definitely not meant to blast away snow.

"I see. And you believe the disposition of this sibling is similarly disagreeable? I was led to believe that, if anything, dragons from the same clutch were more likely than not to possess radically different personality traits to their siblings."

"There can be no mistake. His name carried with it the scent of evil so dense that it weighed down the very air."

At least there was no need to guess what weather phenomenon that entailed.

Evil liked their foggy backdrops as much as they liked leaving their most secret plans on a breadcrumb trail of strewn documents.

"Is it set in stone?"

"No. It is set in fate. I sense the poison in the name. The same which ran within Martuk's. From brother to brother, I fear that the will of the Last Great Evil will soon be carried by the Next."

I nodded.

Siblings passing the torch of calamity. It wasn't something I was overly keen on acknowledging, but dragon wisdom was certified by more organisations than the rainbow coloured coffee beans tucked away in the special cabinet.

It was the gold standard for insight and boasted a 98.7% accuracy reading.

Ralgoz dipped his head. The vibrant luminosity in his eyes dimmed as he hovered his snout over the teapot, and yet I knew he was not devoting a single moment to enjoying the fragrant scent.

"It has not been two centuries since Martuk the Mad was felled by my will. The burden still weighs on my voice, just as it does to my heart. I do not have the strength in me to conduct such a feat again. And so I invoke the Articles which bind us. It is time to perform your duty, as have all others before you, Dragonslayer."

I quietly nodded.

"I understand. And what's the dragon's name?"

"Oirdan."

As soon as that name was uttered, Ralgoz rose on his hind legs.

Content that this was all he needed to say, the ancient dragon unfurled his majestic wings. Time had not worn away an inch of his colourful frame, nor the edges of the rooftops that he accidentally brushed against.

Hiding the grief manifesting as crystallised tears in his eyes, Ralgoz turned his head to the heavens and prepared to take flight.

I raised my hand.

"Um, sorry, could you say that again?"

Ralgoz abruptly paused and glanced down. His legs quivered to keep himself from awkwardly falling over.

"Excuse me?"

"The name of the dragon. I don't think I heard it properly."

"Oirdan."

"Oidan?"

"No. Oirdan. There is an 'R' there. Oirdan."

"Oiiidan?"

"Yes. Wait, no. You must elongate the initial syllable. But not to that extent."

"Oiidan."

"Listen to the inflection. Oirdan."

"Oirdan."

". . . Acceptable."

Ralgoz cleared his throat, before turning his proud gaze towards the sky.

Then, with a swipe of his wings, he sent everything not bolted to the ground hurtling away.

A gust swept across the street, audibly shaking the glass windows against their panes. As expected, only dust, soil and leaves were upended. No hint of strewn rubbish. The duchess's littering legislation proving once again that sentencing first time offenders to peeling 1,000,000 pistachio shells with no legal defence permitted was a strong deterrent.

As the updraft passed and the powerful figure of Ralgoz's beating wings became a dark silhouette against the sun, I leaned forwards and popped open the lid of the teapot.

Then, I smiled.

It was completely emptied. The pound cake was nowhere to be seen.

There were many things I knew about dragons. As an officially anointed heroine, it was my job. But for all their strength, their knowledge and their magic, I had to rank their mysterious ability to consume tea and cake without actually touching it as one of their greatest tricks.

The harder I watched, the more I seemed to miss.

"Elise?"

I turned to see Lize poking her head past the door–as well as Lady Uxna, whose stature allowed her to easily tower over Lize. They wore markedly different expressions.

"All done," I said, picking up the empty teapot and plate. "We can finish getting the cafe ready now."

Lize smiled, then enthusiastically reversed the closed sign to open.

"Got it! Did Mr. Ralgoz like the tea and cake?"

"I think so. He had it all."

"He would have had it all even if he didn't like it."

"True."

"So, how are we looking on the calamity scale this time? Been a while since Mr. Ralgoz had to come down himself."

"Hmm." I tapped a fingertip against my cheek and thought. "A seven."

"That's not too bad."

"Maybe an eight."

"That's still not too bad. Madame Zaiba said we only needed to put the nice plates away when it was a nine."

"I'll still need to scoot off, though. Sorry."

"That's okay. It's always quiet after a dragon landing. I've got the fort. Think you'll be back for the lunch time rush?"

"Probably not. I need to pop over to the Ashlands."

"Ah, one of those things, huh?"

"One of those things."

I turned to Lady Uxna, whose mouth was uncharacteristically partially open as she eyed the diminishing figure of King Ralgoz.

I had the distinct feeling she was figuring out whether she needed to offer a formal note of appreciation for the awakening villain tip-off, especially since the dragon's ears could still very likely pick it up.

She was only startled into closing her mouth when Tutu crept between her legs. The black tabby took one peek outside, then retreated back into the familiar comfort of the shade.

I gently waved towards the shocked ogre maid.

"Great news," I said. "It seems we found the source of the Next Great Evil. It's a dragon."

Lady Uxna's mouth opened wordlessly again.

She then glanced behind her, looking hopefully at the small figure of Tutu as he hopped onto the counter, yawned, curled up, and then proceeded to do nothing in particular.

I offered an apologetic smile.

"May I request access to the Ashlands? Overnight pass, just in case. I'll have to fly over a few restricted zones as well."

Lady Uxna stood stock still.

Then, she slowly resigned herself with a sigh.

I could only feel sympathy for her. All I had to do was deal with dragons.

She had to do all the paperwork.

 

[kayenano]

It's widely agreed that any building operated by the Bewitching Postal Service was the most dangerous place in the known world.

There were many reasons for this. A propensity for magical fire, the fact that post offices were generally small, enclosed spaces, and the fact that witches got bored very easily were seen as primary contributors to a lax health and safety record.

However, the driving component towards public fear of a postal building was the witches' uncanny ability to upsell their vast range of delivery services.

From their affordably priced basic service utilising a local witch to drop a parcel or letter down a chimney, to their super premium teleportation service utilising an entire cabal of archwitches to guarantee immediate delivery, or failing that, planetary destruction and a refund.

It didn't seem to matter how ardently someone went into a post office with a mind to merely send a postcard to their grandmother. As repeatedly proved by the lines of stunned expressions exiting from the postal building, there was no defence against guile, business acumen, and the ability for witches to legally discern precisely how much money someone was carrying on them through non-invasive spellwork.

For this reason, members of the public wishing to utilise the Bewitching Postal Service did so during lunch time, allowing them to safely deposit their mail and postage fee at the unmanned counter, ready to be processed after the witches returned from lunch.

Or that should have been the case.

"Excuse me, excuse me, heroine business, excuse me ..."

I did my best to brush aside my embarrassment as I slid past the queue of people waiting to be met by the two witches on counter duty.

It was a long wait for the inordinate amount of people waiting to be served, but a single look through the open doorway into the sorting room silenced dissent more than any muffling spells could have.

It wasn't that anything on fire. Rather, it was the lack of fire which drew raised eyebrows.

That the witches were not only working during lunch time, but that no time had been spared for casual arson was testament to the direness of their workload.

Even with the witches zipping away at maximum efficiency, they were only just getting a handle on the backlog of non-priority mail that'd been ceaselessly pushed back to accommodate their premium delivery guarantees.

I could feel the guilt smacking me around the face already.

"Sorry to bother you," I said, doing my customary twist as I showed off my sword to both the counter witch and the next customer. "Could I have a moment? It's, um, heroine business."

The witch glanced at my sword, and then beamed at me after incorrectly assessing my income. The next customer at the queue was promptly forgotten.

"Of course. Good afternoon, Lady Heroine. Welcome to the Witschblume Postal Service. Would you like to speak to the archwitch on duty?"

"Oh, no, it's nothing I need an archwitch for."

I paused.

"Yet."

The witch nodded.

"In that case, are you here to use one of our premium delivery services?"

"That's correct." I pointed at myself. "Me, specifically. I need to get to the Ashlands. I have a broomstick, but it's a commercial model. I have permission from Witschblume Castle to rent a witch's broomstick for the journey."

The witch blinked at me momentarily.

Renting out their broomsticks was a very rarely requested service. As it was illegal for non-witches to even operate a witch's broomstick, it was something reserved exclusively for situations where the law was outright waived.

"A rental request. I see. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that all of our assigned broomsticks are currently being used. It may take several days until a reserve broomstick is available."

There was no room to even pretend to be surprised … just as there was no room for the fresh sack of parcels that'd spilled out of the sorting room.

Still, I tried not to let my despair show. Already, I could see my faithful wooden steed buckling like a disgruntled mare as it toiled against the sheer peaks which littered the Ashlands.

It was going to be a bumpy ride.

"Is there a spare?" I asked hopefully. "A spare, um, reserve, that is. It's fine if it needs a little varnish. Nobody's going to see it."

"I'm afraid it's not a matter of presentation. We really do have no reserves. Even spare reserves, for that matter. They're all in use. And that likely isn't a good thing."

I nodded, accepting the soreness that awaited me.

It wasn't as though appropriating a broomstick was beyond my remit, but even if it was technically within my powers to do so, I also knew there were far easier life decisions to regret than to earn the ire of the witches.

"I have a broomstick," said a polite voice.

I turned to the side, my day immediately brightened by the sound of salvation.

Sweeping past the growing queue of customers was Marissa Hayroix, her bright eyes and tidy dark bun looking none the worse despite the haggard nature of her job.

Somehow, she'd lost none of the glamour that'd landed her on the front cover of Cosmos Magazine. I was overcome with a feeling of regret, knowing that where a single wayward strand of her hair would merely count as the busy look, mine looked like the beginning of my fall to villainy.

"Good afternoon, Elise," she said with a warm smile. "I see you're seeking a witch's broomstick. Did you need to be somewhere? I can ferry you if the matter is urgent."

I beamed in appreciation, then hurried to give her the opportunity to retract her offer.

"Marissa! Thanks for the offer, but you should know where I need to go before letting me have a seat. It's the Ashlands."

"The Ashlands?"

"Mm. I don't mind just borrowing the broomstick. If you're fine with it, that is."

"I don't mind at all. However, may I ask why you're travelling to the Ashlands? It is, quite literally, a sea of danger signs."

"I need to speak to a dragon."

The effect was like magic. Marissa's already bright eyes lit up even further.

"A dragon?"

I nodded.

"Heroine business. Official quest and everything."

"Goodness. I take it there's a confidentiality clause involved somewhere?"

"Nope. As a state appointed heroine, all my official business is available for public disclosure. Ask away."

Marissa blinked.

"Are you really going to see a dragon?"

"Yes."

"Can I come?"

"Sure."

"Really?"

"It's your broomstick. Why not?"

"It's just that, well, I imagined there would be more bureaucracy involved. Some waivers to sign or warning leaflets to acknowledge."

"Usually, there is. But the dangers that dragons pose is really quite self-evident. If something were to happen to you while you're there, no judge would hold anybody but yourself liable."

Marissa had said it herself. A literal sea of warning signs made their home in the Ashlands. They ringed the perimeter of the vast land, in addition to puncturing several miles within. It was an ominous view that could be regularly seen from the borders of the New Bewitching Woods.

Even so, the talented witch wasn't perturbed.

Rather, she fixed the neckline of her robes and shook down her cuffs.

"Very well. For the sake of expediency, I'll ferry you to the Ashlands. I'll also take personal responsibility for any and all perils I encounter. What is the purpose of visiting this dragon?"

"To check for signs of obvious evil. If it's there, I'll assess the likelihood of redemption. If that cannot be achieved, I'll need to consider the use of smiting."

"Fascinating. And can I be of assistance?"

"Ferrying me is more than enough. I really appreciate it. I know how busy you are."

"Don't worry. If we're heading to the Ashlands, then I intend to do some housekeeping while I'm there."

Marissa clicked her fingers.

In a puff of smoke, the strewn sack of parcels vanished from the nearby doorway. A different sack promptly reappeared in the air beside her, significantly smaller and neatly tied with an elegantly looped string.

Marissa turned and caught the sack in her arms as gravity took its toll, then securely hugged it against her chest. I had no doubt she could have easily sent it off for safekeeping somewhere in the 9th​ dimension, but there was a certain eccentricity about the way delivery witches handled their charges which was a shared trait among them all.

"Non-priority mail," she explained. "For the Ashlands. My quota for the day is complete, but I see no reason to be inefficient in my duties."

I could only be impressed. With an attitude like that, Madam Zaiba could be expected to reappear from her business excursion just to whisk her away to be fitted with a new cafe uniform.

It almost felt prudent to warn her.

Marissa smiled, unaware of the danger she was in.

"There are some packages for Heizolm as well. If time permits, I'll see them delivered while we're flying over. On a completely separate note, have you ever tried precision dropping highly fragile items down people's chimneys before while both airborne and moving at maximum velocity?"

"No. Is it fun?"

"There are easier ways to deliver mail. We willingly opt to do it this way."

I looked at the sack in her arms, then at the neatly looped string waiting to be undone.

"Can I try?"

 

[kayenano]

The Ashlands was once a kingdom.

Long before witches ever learned that telling a broomstick to sweep was better than actually sweeping themselves, the Ashlands was a land of peerless beauty.

A place where earth met sky.

An endless range of meadows and valleys tucked between glacier tipped mountains, where song and poetry were woven on beds of unblemished grass and beside springs deeper than the oceans, and where grand castles housed vast libraries of history and scrying glasses primed towards the future.

A kingdom of dragons.

Both good and bad. And all the typical business that entailed.

Although the kingdom's name was now forgotten to all but the descendants of those who'd witnessed its scorching, the stories remained.

Tales of draconic knights whose valour rang centuries before the first freckled boy ever pulled a sword from a stone. There were villains and kings. And golden scaled damsels too. But none of those things truly mattered anymore. Because where once there was paradise, there was now something very different.

The Ashlands was a name which spoke for itself.

From my witch's eye view behind Marissa's back, I peered down past my feet and saw a bleak desert. A desolate backdrop of smouldering grey and barren rivers, where flora and fauna had long ceased to function.

The ash was total here.

A blanket from horizon to horizon, interrupted only by the scorched peaks which may very well house a prospective Next Great Evil.

Where there were hills, there were now dunes. And where there were songs, there was now silence.

Mostly, that is.

"We go woooooooooooooooooooooosh."

Because there was also me.

Not that I could hear my own words. As soon as they left my mouth, it was as though they were left behind by the sheer speed that we were going.

I often saw witches zipping about like honey bees on a schedule, but things were always slower from the ground. Up in the air, with the wind resistance slapping any part of my face which couldn't hide behind Marissa's back, I could watch as the clouds made way for us like a parting sea.

"The first recipients for the mail are up ahead," said Marissa, professionally ignoring her passenger's giddy outbursts of childishness. "You can see the lights from the encampment."

I nodded.

She might not hear my reply, but she could probably feel my forehead against her back.

Already, the sack of mail she'd carried out of Witschblume was reduced to a handful of angry looking red envelopes. Her delivery drop across Heizholm's chimneys was less a detour and more a 100 metre sprint, and all that remained was one of the few places in Ouzelia where none of the witches' premium services could be purchased.

In the Ashlands, all the mail was part of the basic delivery plan. And as there were no local witches, that typically meant a very long wait.

Luckily, the inhabitants were very patient.

Yes, nothing green grew here anymore. But that wasn't to say there was no life at all.

"It's busier than I imagined," said Marissa, her tone musing. "A unique sight. Beginning descent."

I had just enough time to nod again before Marissa stopped actively fighting gravity.

The drop was disquieting for my stomach, but not as much as it was for my face.

As we made like a brick, ash clouds swept up to welcome our arrival back to the ground. The dust filled up my eyes, and then my mouth. Because here in the Ashlands, it wasn't enough to be here. I had to taste here, too. At least in concentrated form.

Most people actually had a little bit of the Ashlands in their breakfast, even if they didn't realise it.

Ironically, the same ash which prevented the plains from recovering also worked as excellent fertiliser.

And where there was an opportunity to make money, there was also people.

Particularly people who were famed as much for their mercantile spirit as they were for their natural hardiness against inhospitable climates.

"Good afternoon. Your names, please?"

At the edge of an expansive ash farm visible from the sky, a burly troll met us as we alighted. He wore blackened armour caked with the results of spending anywhere between ten seconds and ten years in the Ashlands.

He had his eyes cast down at a clipboard, as much to check our identities as it was to shield his face from the dust.

"Marissa Haycroix," answered the witch smartly. "And Elise Rowe."

The troll nodded, all 500 pounds of muscle tensing as he failed to spy our names in the clipboard.

And then he scratched his back.

Trolls did not like surprises. And our visit most certainly constituted a breach to their meticulous schedule keeping.

"My apologies, but it seems your names are not on the list," said the troll, tapping at the clipboard with a swollen finger. "Did you notify the foreman of your intended arrival?"

"We didn't," replied Marissa. "I'm a delivery witch. I have mail for a … Grobbiz of Clan Rockpounder."

A bundle of aggressively coloured envelopes appeared in the air with a puff of smoke. Marissa caught them as they fell.

The troll studied the envelopes, then looked down at the clipboard again.

He scribbled something down.

"I see. Thank you for making the long journey, Madame Witch. Grobbiz should be in the main collection depot. First building by the trenches. With the big tower."

"Thank you." Marissa turned to me. "I'll just be a moment. Would you mind the broomstick?"

"No problem."

The troll looked up from the clipboard as Marissa scooted away.

"I shall need to record your arrival as well. Are you also a delivery witch or under the employ of the Bewitching Postal Service?"

"Nope, I'm a heroine."

His dark eyes narrowed at me. Specifically, my uniform.

And then he scratched his back again.

"You do not look like a heroine."

I nodded. No room to feel aggrieved there.

"I have a sword," I said, helpfully twisting on the spot. "It's sanctified and certified."

The troll's eyes narrowed further.

"My apologies, but I'm not versed in discerning legendary swords. I'm only filling in for Yargny. He's on paternity leave. Do you have your certifications on hand?"

"Not at the moment. But I can make it glow really bright. Would that help?"

The troll scrunched up his brows.

After a few moments of consideration, he looked down and scribbled something on the clipboard.

"Unnecessary. Excess light will draw the giant corpse beetles. We've only just finished denesting the trenches."

I smiled, unsure whether or not I needed to swish out my sword, after all.

"This is my first time seeing an ash farm," I said, enthusiastically craning my neck around. "How's the ash yield this year?"

It was wonderfully picturesque.

Barns and carts and even the smell of manure. Except that instead of green fields, it was ash fields. Huge, organised trenches of carefully matured ash that were worth its weight in gold. Or more, depending on how much the trolls artificially limited stock.

"The yield is excellent. We'll have to burn 97% of our stock to compensate. I suggest that if you decide to tour the grounds, you maintain distance from the furnace. Otherwise, you're free to explore. The ash trenches are quite the sight just before the harvest."

"Oh? I never knew ash farms were available for public touring."

"It's always been. All farms operated by any merchant guild based in Troll Country are legally required to be open for public viewing. We believe it's important to showcase exactly how our food is produced, and why eating vegetables grown from the ground is far more pleasant than chewing on humans birthed by other humans."

"I think that's a wonderful idea. To be honest, we could also do more to learn about how our food is made."

The troll grunted in approval. He lowered his clipboard for the first time, content he'd done his job and could therefore now chat away.

"It should be an integral part of our education. Sadly, even if it's a law to make our farms open, it doesn't mean anyone visits. Public viewing is down 74% this month alone. You're our first visitors today. And one of you is here for business purposes."

"74% sounds like a rather steep drop. Is the season unfavourable for visits?"

"No. On the contrary, the period leading up to the harvest is usually our peak. It isn't unusual to entertain multiple school trips here to see the ash dunes."

I felt a familiar tingling in my spine. A sensation which made my ears perk up like a fawn sensing that the next sounds I'd hear would be very important.

"I see … and did something happen?"

The troll scratched his back.

Then, he nodded.

"Quite a few somethings. Seismic tremors. Landslides. Fissures. Corpse beetles disturbed from their hibernation. In short–earthquakes. School trips can't pass the risk assessment stage. A shame. Cafeteria always serves tiramisu on days when kids are coming."

"That's quite the list of concerns. Have you had any problems with dragons?"

"Very much so. After all, I believe the earthquakes is a dragon."

I nodded, glad that no dragon was around to hear that. Dragons may be heavy enough to routinely flatten trees, but that didn't make them any less self-conscious about it.

"By any chance, has this dragon only recently awoken?"

"Oh, yes. Practically saw him in his pyjamas the first time he soared over the farm. You could tell he was groggy. Only one working river in the Ashlands and he chose to drink downstream. That is not a good idea."

The troll shuddered, looking mildly embarrassed. I chose not to think about the ramifications.

"I'm actually here to investigate a recently awakened dragon. It may likely be the same one. Has he given you any trouble beyond causing seismic activity?"

"Me? No. The company? Yes. The gentleman has poached some of our workforce. None of our best or brightest, mind you. But when word got around that vacancies were going in his lair, a few of the new hires jumped ship. I don't personally blame them. We can't compete with the kind of entry level benefits a dragon can offer."

I nodded. It was a familiar tale.

Dragons regularly made up the top five of Best Employers lists for a reason. Aside from offering pay in either currency or treasure, they were as meticulous with their contracts as they were with their tails. If they offered six weeks of annual holiday, a company flying carpet and overtime paid by the minute, they stuck by their word. No funny business.

"Do you know what vacancies were available?" I asked. "It'll help me determine the disposition of the dragon."

"Goons, I believe."

"Goons? Not labourers or workers, but goons?"

The troll nodded. I couldn't help but let out a worried frown.

If Oirdan was already hiring goons to set the backdrop for his secret lair, then that usually signalled being in an advanced stage of an evil scheme. Disposable, incompetent and also highly talkative, goons were usually the last to be hired.

"I'm guessing there's a problem?" asked the troll, having little difficulty inferring from my expression that there very much was.

"There's always a problem," I answered. "The only question is to what degree."

"And may I ask what degree of problem the one you're currently mulling over is currently?"

The answer was delivered by fate.

A crackling tremor ran through the earth, the noise shaking the air as much as it did the ground. Ash spiralled in every direction, forming pretty swirls as the continuous upheaval rippled beneath our feet.

And then.

"GWWAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR."

The sound of a dragon's roar, its echo careening within the mountain valleys like a blaring choir, dusting snow off from peaks beyond the clouds.

I closed my eyes and allowed the chorus of the dragon's cry to sweep over me.

All I heard within that sonorous voice was hatred.

"Hmm ..." I peeked up at the mountains. "An eight."

"Excuse me?"

"An eight. On the calamity scale. Possibly."

"That sounds like quite a high number. For reference, what else is also an eight on the calamity scale?"

I gave it a moment's thought.

"Running out of toothpaste and toilet paper at the same time. And the last shops closed an hour ago."

The troll blinked, then joined me in peering up at the mountain peaks.

After a while, he sighed.

"Guess I better start packing, then."

 

[kayenano]

Despite having the capacity to create engineering feats of marvel, dragons will always choose a naturally formed cave as their lair.

This was not because caves were either particularly spacious, secluded or even comfortable. They were, after all, naturally damp environments, and for creatures that spewed flame as a matter of necessary biological function, caves were not conducive to a pleasant place to stay.

No, the reason why dragons chose caves as their primary abode was for their excellent acoustics.

Being creatures of a hierarchical society ordered by vocal projection, caves were among the finest locations for dragons to assess and improve upon their ability to control their pitch, tone and volume.

Although for most people, a dragon's roar was an inconvenient clarion call loud enough to dislodge plant pots from shelves, it was for me a song of thoughts and emotions, as whimsical as children's poetry and heartfelt as a widow's eulogy.

Not this time, though.

"GWWWWWAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR."

This time, there was only one thought put into that sky shattering roar.

It was unbridled hatred.

A clear statement of violence and destruction, lacking any empathy towards life.

And it was so powerful that it was preventing Marissa from landing her broomstick.

"The outward airflow from the roar is severe," said Marissa, one glowing hand on her hat and one on her broomstick as she fought to stabilise us. "It might be prudent to disembark and proceed on foot."

I peered down at the mouth of the cave built into the side of the mountain.

Although we'd not been directly facing the cave, the peripheral strength of the roar had been enough to almost swat us out of the air like drunken bees.

"I was going to suggest the same," I replied, eyeing out a landing site. "Aside from the dangers of flying in unannounced, I doubt the broomstick could have taken us far before the wards kicked in. Could you take us down by that patch over there?"

Marissa nodded, then deftly steered away from the cave's entrance and towards a set of boulders. They were still shaking when we landed.

"Here we are," said Marissa, giving her broomstick a brief look-over before twirling it into a puff of smoke. She adjusted her hat and sucked in a short breath. "The dragon's lair. Oiidan's, you said?"

"Oirdan. There's an inflection."

"Well, I'm stunned you managed to pinpoint which mountain it was, let alone which bit of the mountain. Even for its size, this entrance was practically invisible to me. Is it being actively shielded from view?"

"Not at all. Otherwise, you would have picked up on it. It's just old fashioned use of mud, dust and lots of confidence in the fact our eyes are pretty terrible."

Yet another reason why dragons preferred caves.

Fortresses used to be in vogue at one point, but since gallant knights wouldn't stop climbing to the top of the highest tower after insisting there was a princess to be saved, they quickly fell out of fashion.

"I have to say, it does give a sense of scale for the dangers ahead," said Marissa. "This cavern opening is … well, big."

I smiled, then nudged towards it with my head.

"Dragons are big. Would you like to see?"

A fleeting look of nervousness dawned on Marissa's face, quickly replaced by starstruck curiosity instead.

"Would that be acceptable? I'd … well, I'd imagined my help would have ended upon delivering you to this location."

I wondered whether or not I needed to mention that I still needed her help getting back.

It was a long walk from here.

"Sure, why not?" I said, cheerfully ignoring the beginnings of another devastating roar about to erupt. "Despite how they always threaten to eat you, I find dragons appreciate the company."

"GGWWAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR."

Marissa waited until the echoes subsided before moving to respond.

"It just sounds like this Oirdan is feeling rather vexed. Is it wise for someone other than you to disturb him?"

I shrugged.

"I've never met him, so I don't know."

Marissa gave a small snort. She quickly hid it by fixing her hat, which didn't do the slightest to hide it.

"Ahem. Right. Of course. But I'm not sure if I'm strictly allowed to accompany you. Isn't there provisions against that?"

"Oh, there's no laws like that. It's just one of those things that nobody's ever needed to write down. I think it's just assumed that anybody who goes to see a dragon needs to see a dragon."

I blinked at Marissa.

"Do you need to see a dragon?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

Already, I was deciding whether or not I needed to mention this in my report to the duchess. Lady Uxna would read it, and she'd likely immediately stamp out dragon visiting for non-essential purposes.

I didn't want to spoil anybody's fun.

… And yet, it was probably a good precaution.

"Well, I think you'd be safe even without me," I said, taking a few steps towards the cave. "So feel free to say hello."

Marissa followed my lead with little hesitation. There was a spring in her step that could have outpaced her broomstick.

"Because of my magic?"

"No. Because we fell out of their diets centuries ago. Eating humans is seen as highly crass, and dragons actively avoid social faux pas as a matter of life and death. Even Martuk the Mad only set us on fire."

"What if we're set on fire?"

"Then you have your magic." I smiled at Marissa's ensuing pause in her footsteps. "Plus my sword. Let's head inside. I don't sense another roar coming."

"I hope not," she said with a sigh. "If possible, I'd like it if my nosiness wasn't punished with the complete degradation of my hair."

I glanced behind my shoulder, taking in the sight of an elegant bun which stood no chance whatsoever of surviving a polite snort from a dragon.

"When's your next shoot with Cosmos Magazine?"

"Tomorrow afternoon … why?"

"Hmmmmmmmmm."

"That is the most ominous hum I've ever heard."

"Really? I don't think that one even warranted measuring on the scale."

"I clearly need to spend more time with the archwitches, then. Dare I ask what an actually ominous hum sounds like, then?"

I turned, then shook my head seriously.

"Be careful. You just set yourself up. If I'd answered with, 'let's hope you never have to find out', catastrophe would've tripped over itself in order to reach you. By the time you get to your magazine appointment tomorrow, you'd be drenched in your own tears."

Marissa looked taken aback. She quickly turned a puzzled frown towards the ground.

"You're right. Odd. I don't usually make those kinds of mistakes."

I looked apologetically at her.

"Sorry, it's me. People have a habit of falling into these traps when around me."

"Ah." Marissa nodded. "The heroine's curse. Of course. I'll try to be more mindful."

I smiled, confident that Marissa was savvy enough to not tempt fate. At least not by choice.

She was tightly pursing her lips, quivering as if desperate to say something.

"You really want to ask, don't you?" I asked, my tone sympathetic.

"It's … like an itch. I'm not sure where it's coming from. This is highly uncomfortable."

"Try closing your eyes and thinking of barrels."

"What? Barrels?"

"Lize does it when she gets the urge to ask something destructive, too. She says it helps."

After a moment of confusion, Marissa closed her eyes. When they snapped open again, it was without the quivering of her lips.

"Wow. That worked," she said. "Why barrels, though?"

"I don't know. But it seems to work. Isn't it odd?"

"I'd say so. Strange."

I thumbed behind my shoulder towards the dragon's lair. Some mysteries, I knew, were never meant to be solved.

"Shall we?"

"Let's."

 

[kayenano]

The cavern was far narrower inside than the gaping entrance would have suggested.

A common theme. The mouths of dragon lairs, while wide enough to accommodate visitors, weren't actually used by their incumbents. Dragons usually entered through private passages only accessible from the sky.

This meant that everything else was for guests. And for intruders.

Lit up by well-maintained torches and bereft of the piles of dirt and ash that should have constantly swept its way into the cavern, the beginning of this dragon's lair had all the hallmarks of an adventuring party's dream dungeon. I could practically smell the varnished musk of recently refilled treasure chests waiting to be opened.

Probably because that's precisely what awaited nearby.

As the cavern walls narrowed into a tight corridor fit for the size of one traditional band of heroes, Marissa and I were soon presented with the first of our obstacles.

'You must be this tall to enter Oirdan's Lair.'​

"A … height requirement?"

Marissa's mouth was agape as she eyeballed the sign stuck in the middle of the corridor.

"Mm, sounds about right," I said. "It's a dragon's lair belonging to a fully mature adult male, with presumably his own hoard. Certain criteria need to be met in order to be eligible to proceed."

"What? To speak to him?"

"To steal, actually."

"Why would a dragon care about his thieves meeting a minimum height requirement, then? To protect them?"

"No."

I bent down and picked up a loose stone.

Then, I casually tossed it past the sign.

Swishswishswishswishswish.

Immediately, rotating blades burst forth from hidden crevices in the walls, intertwining into a deadly barrier of spinning death. The blades spun until they fully rotated, slotting back into the invisible gaps that held them.

"It's to ensure that the traps work," I explained. "They're very intricate, but also prone to frequent jamming if they're triggered without hitting anything, hence the height requirement. It's easier to fetch the blades from a torso than it is if they're stuck in the walls."

Marissa's mouth remained wide open.

Then, she took off her hat and used her palm to measure the height of her head against the board. She put her hat back on, a glum look on her face upon seeing that she was well above the height requirement.

"There's more," I said, cheerily pointing to a section where the wall wasn't lit up. "Look closely. Do you see that? Where the shadows are slightly more pronounced?"

"Yes, I see it," replied Marissa, her demeanour becoming more serious. "Spikes embedded within the walls."

I nodded.

"That's just a decoy. There's a false ceiling above. It's wide enough to hold a doom ball."

"What's a doom ball?"

"A ball which causes doom."

Marissa nodded.

"So the spikes aren't real?" she asked after a moment.

"No, the spikes are real. As is the trap door beyond the doom ball."

"I don't see a trap door."

"It's invisible," I said, pointing at the runes on the ground. "Hidden even against witches. It can't be seen unless you already know what to look for. And what you should be looking for are a pair of draconic illusionary runes."

Marissa craned her neck forwards, as though unsure whether a step could be afforded. Her eyes lit up with shock when she noticed the magical patterns.

"Astonishing. It's as if they suddenly popped up in front of me."

"Dragons are masters of magic. They don't weave it so much as breathe it. I can only see what I do because of my sword. Their concealment wards are tricky, but now you know they exist, part of the spell has already been broken."

Marissa nodded as she took in the sight of the glowing runes on the ground, their markings clear in the flickering darkness.

"The archwitches say as much. The magic of dragons is supposedly overpowering to the extent of spontaneous vomiting. It's why they're one of the few residents of Ouzelia we cannot deliver to."

She turned to me, fresh curiosity mixed with a complicated, frightened excitement in her eyes.

"I can't wait to vomit. Can your sword protect us both from the spinning death blades, doom balls and plethora of other lethal traps lying in wait?"

I shook my head.

"Not in the slightest. My sword isn't an instrument of invulnerability. At least, not if I purposefully wade through a trapped maze expecting it to save me."

"I see. Then, how do you navigate these dangerous corridors?"

"I don't. I'm a heroine, not an adventurer."

I smiled, before turning towards the nearest wall.

It wasn't that long ago that the two roles were the same. Thankfully, the fact I wasn't the least bit interested in scooping up treasure made all the difference.

I was here to talk. Not to loot.

And that meant I could take certain liberties not available to adventurers destined to take the long, winding path down the spinning death tunnels.

"We'll go this way," I said, nodding at the smooth wall devoid of any markings. "A short cut."

Marissa glanced at my sword. Already, I could see her wondering if it was prudent for her to start enveloping herself in a protective bubble.

"Another shortcut? You're going to slice your way through again?"

"Not this time. Too many walls to cut. This isn't a minotaur's labyrinth. It's a dragon's lair with multiple levels. If I start cutting down walls, I also start cutting down weight bearing structural support. There'd be an avalanche outside. And only after we're fully buried inside first."

"So … what will you be slicing?"

I was slightly pained by the genuine thought that Marissa assumed I'd slice my way to any destination.

I mean, I probably could, but that would definitely rack up the sort of bill that I couldn't just casually hoist onto the Ducal Estate as heroine expenses.

"No slicing walls today. After all, this time there's a door."

"A door?"

"An employee door." I placed my palm against the cavern wall, sliding it across as I began to walk back towards the entrance. "Goons, hirelings and henchmen need to be able to traverse the lair without mortal threat to their well-being. It'd be a serious breach of the dragon's responsibilities as an employer if workers needed to navigate a maze of deadly traps in order to do their jobs."

Marissa joined me in running her hand across the cavern wall. She looked slightly bemused.

"Does every maze come with a shortcut?"

"Dragon mazes? Sure. And not as an added feature either. The shortcut is always the first thing made. A design philosophy lifted straight from the Spiral Isle School of Labyrinth Design. The minotaurs consider it good practice to build with a view of not accidentally trapping themselves."

I continued trailing my hand across the length of the cavern wall.

It was smooth to the touch. This close to the outside, it'd been sanded down by the elements long before any dragon had made its home here. As a result, the only part of the wall that was actually particularly jagged was the typical giveaway that something was amiss.

At the first sharp edge, I poked around for a tell-tale notch. It wasn't hard to find. Nor was the small button buried into it.

Pressing down, I was rewarded with a satisfying click and the sight of the wall swinging outwards. A shabby looking wooden door emblazoned with the words 'PRIVATE – EMPLOYEES ONLY' was revealed, as was a dustpan and broom falling limply to the floor, clearly placed there in haste and left for the next person to deal with.

Marissa peered down at the grimy unemptied contents of the dustpan.

"I see someone clocked out on the dot. Did our arrival frighten away the workers?"

I shrugged. It might just be that some people didn't take enough pride in their work. Then again, most people didn't have Madame Zaiba as their boss.

Compared to a dragon, I knew who frightened me less.

"Actually, we should've already been challenged by a hopelessly underqualified and unsupported guard. Maybe two, given the size of this lair. I'm not sure where they are. This is normally when I'm explaining who I am and why I'm wearing a waitress uniform."

Marissa glanced at the walnut accents and frills on my skirt.

"By any chance, do you actually possess a dedicated heroine outfit?"

"I do, actually. All shiny armour, faux wings, 500 pound shield, everything."

"Have you ever worn it?"

"Nope," I happily replied, just before swinging open the employee door.

Immediately, my nasal sinuses were crushed by the overwhelming scent of burnt toast and extra black coffee. What came after was the sight of a smaller cavern chamber filled to the brim with a healthy population sample of nearby Troll Country, minus the trolls themselves.

Heavily armed goblins, ogres and orcs milled around a dozen stone slabs serving as tables, their faces filled with glee to match the raucous sounds of hooting and laughter so clamorous that I was surprised even the magic surrounding the door had silenced it.

What didn't surprise me, however, was that even though the muffling spell was released upon opening the door, a veil of total quiet was instantly cast on the occupants of the room at my arrival..

Dozens upon dozens of eyes turned towards me as I stepped into the chamber. Confusion, alarm and hostility made the rounds, asking questions better than any words could have.

And then—

"Royal flush! Hah! Suck it, losers!"

Groans as a room filled with busy gamblers returned to their tables.

All of a sudden, cards came slapping down or were tossed to the wayside. Atop their stone slabs, flushes, straights, pairs and three of a kinds did battle amidst a fanfare of noise.

I cleared my throat. Nobody answered. Not that I expected as much. This was a communal area, not a working one. And that meant the two squishy humans intruding through the secret door was only a problem belonging to whoever chose to actually address them.

"Fifty six occupants in this room are actively engaged in card manipulation," said Marissa, peeking her head past my shoulder. Her already bright eyes were lit with a faint glow. "Including collusion, bottom dealing, deck stacking, card switching and outright threat of assault."

I looked at her, just as impressed as I was puzzled.

"The archwitches teach you a spell for detecting people cheating at card games?"

"I spent a summer working at a Queensholme casino." Marissa looked faintly embarrassed. "Being an apprentice doesn't pay much."

I sympathised with her.

Apprentices in any profession weren't paid much. But for witches, they also had to deal with the sizable expenses of purchasing their own enchanted robes and broomstick from their initial salaries, even if the cost was later reimbursed upon their successful advancement.

For all their magical gifts and arcane talents, even witches had no spell to ward away immense debt … and also the smell of burnt toast lying scattered on every available surface.

Marissa visibly wrinkled her nose.

"Somehow, this is even worse than a witchly dormitory. But I suppose it's only typical that the only place people don't clean up after is their own."

I thought about the cafe's excellent cleanliness standards, then of my bedroom sitting just above, littered with the combined clutter of both mine and Tutu's late night adventures with leftover snacks and cakes.

"I know. It's terrible, isn't it?"

Marissa nodded. However, before she could agree any further, a grim-faced goblin approached from one of the nearest tables. He left a trail of low value cards behind him, and presumably, also his earnings.

"Well?" he said, planting himself in front of us with his arms crossed. "Who are you?"

I did my customary twist to show off my sword. Marissa didn't need to do anything. Her uniform was actually appropriate.

"Elise Rowe," I said. "Anointed heroine to the Duchy of Witschblume. This is Marissa Haycroix. Delivery witch. Sorry for the bother. We're here to see the dragon residing in this lair. Oirdan?"

The goblin narrowed his eyes at my sword. Then he did the same to my face.

"He's not in," he said after a long pause.

I nodded, then promptly put on the smile I reserved for people who let their tea sit for thirty minutes and then complained that it was cold.

"Should I wait for the dramatic roar or just skip to the next part of the conversation?"

The goblin's right ear twitched. I wasn't quite sure why goblin ears had evolved to be able to direct both lobes separately. But I wanted to do that too.

"It's poker night."

He crossed his arms, speaking in a voice which plainly stated that this was enough of an explanation.

It wasn't. I was here in an official capacity. And while I didn't like waving the Queensholme Accords over those who had an employer to defend, when push came to shove, I had a world to save.

"I have a quest. In accordance with article 8b of the revised–"

"It's poker night," he repeated simply. "We don't accept visitors on poker night."

"Is Oirdan also playing poker?"

"No."

"Then I can be on my way. Don't worry, I'm not here to disturb anybody's poker night. In fact, I'm up for a game on the way back. I just need to speak with Oirdan."

The goblin narrowed his eyes further.

By the end of it, they were two tiny beads in a maelstrom of general distrust. I didn't fault him. The sword on my back meant many things. And to goblins, it was more than a legendary artifact. It was the stick of unemployment.

"You got a visitor's pass?" he asked gruffly.

"No."

"Then go get one."

"Where can I get a visitor's pass?"

"At the end of the lobby. Turn back and go left."

"Past the spikes, doom ball and trap doors?"

"Yeah, then past the spitting magma runes and the loosely chained starving sphinx. Ask at reception."

I leaned in, adopting a serious expression I rarely had the need to use.

"Did you just inform me that you're deliberately holding a malnourished sphinx in captivity? A critically endangered creature that's illegal to remove from its natural habitat and to possess in every state in Ouzelia?"

For a brief moment, the goblin simply looked confused.

Then, his eyes widened. He took a step back and shook his palms.

"What? No, no, of course not. That's not what I meant at all. It's just, well ..."

I planted my hands on my hips. It was serious business time. Tutu nibbling at customer's food while they were at the restroom time.

"I'll need your name as my first contact. And the name of your manager."

The goblin groaned. All of a sudden, the veil of needless grumpiness was swept away from his eyes.

"Okay, look. That's Jeff in a suit, okay? It's just for show. We obviously wouldn't keep a real sphinx here. It'd eat us all for breakfast, then our remains for lunch, and then probably throw a riddle towards whatever's left for us to solve."

I tapped my shoe. The goblin looked exasperated.

When it was clear I wasn't going to budge, he rolled his eyes, then pointed towards a large red door off to the side.

"Main corridor," he said begrudgingly. "Take the first stairs to the very top. Oirdan will either be in the sauna or his vault."

I thought about feigning suspicion, but then decided to break off into a smile instead.

It was time to get to work.

"Thank you."

I nodded at Marissa, then motioned for her to follow. I made it two steps before a cough from the goblin brought him back to my attention.

"Out of curiosity, what do you need to speak to the boss about?"

"I'm here about his general motives and plans for the future, primarily regarding the fate of the land and whether or not he intends to harm, enslave or otherwise dominate its various peoples."

"And if he does?"

"Well, I'll have to explain that's illegal."

"And if that doesn't work?"

I plopped a finger against my cheek as I considered the likely ramifications.

"I suppose an argument will ensue," I said simply.

The goblin put on a worried expression.

He glanced at some of his colleagues, all of whom were happy to let him take the responsibility for engaging me in conversation.

"Rogotz," he said suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Rogotz. My name's Rogotz."

"Oh, I see. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rogotz. However, I won't be needing your name or your manager's anymore. Not as long as that sphinx really is just Jeff in a suit."

Rogtoz gave a casual flick of his hand.

"Nah. It's not that. Just suddenly feel like increasing my chances of survival. You know how it is."

I did. More than he knew, most likely.

"Enjoy the rest of your poker night," I said, smiling before turning to Marissa again. "Shall we?"

"Let's." Marissa nodded at me, then did the same with Rogotz. "A good evening to you."

The newly introduced goblin grunted in response. He turned back to his table.

Nobody else stopped us as we headed for the door.

After all, anybody who went to meet a dragon was someone who needed to. And it was always better me than them.

 

[Spectrum]

@kayenano A courtesy note that chapters 9 and 10 are out of order in the threadmarks.

This is quite enjoyable. Coming from Villainess, there's always been jokes that Ouzelia is just sort of Like That and getting a glimpse of the madness is fun. The different approach from the hero is also nice for contrast.

 

[kayenano]

@kayenano A courtesy note that chapters 9 and 10 are out of order in the threadmarks.

This is quite enjoyable. Coming from Villainess, there's always been jokes that Ouzelia is just sort of Like That and getting a glimpse of the madness is fun. The different approach from the hero is also nice for contrast.

Click to shrink...

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it. The threadmark order is incorrect but the post order is correct. I'm uncertain how to fix this, unless there's a re-order button I'm missing.

 

[kayenano]

It wasn't a particularly heroic journey, but it didn't need to be.

Since there were already more tales of heroines fighting through the lairs of dragons than there were pages to write them in, I was happy to accept the dull uniformity of an emergency fire staircase as I climbed the thousands of steps necessary to ascend the interior of a mountain.

Back in the old days, dashing white knights in silver armour and valiant maidens wielding the power of the valkyries would have made their way through via shoulder barging hordes of bloodthirsty minions.

But back in the old days, health and safety laws were also far more lax.

As Marissa and I passed a pair of very large drake guards, who assumed that since we were here it meant we were supposed to be here, I was thankful that the only shoulder barging I had to do was when the expansive door to Oirdan's lair refused to open. And even then, the guards kindly helped.

That was how I was presented with the innermost sanctum of a dragon.

A place of wondrous beauty. Of ceilings etched with dwarven architecture and elven runes. Of walls filled with golden braziers. Of gold and trinkets unending.

A treasure vault.

And also a bedroom.

"Hrwoooom … Hrwooooom … Hrwooom ..."

Within a glittering cave pierced by shafts of magical starlight, a dragon slept atop a mound of treasure so vast that it could even purchase Madame Zaiba's super fluffy omelette sponge recipe. A single step was all it took to be met by silver goblets rolling past my feet, jewellery clinking against the ebb and flow of ancient coins, and gemstones glittering like polished eyes from the shadows.

Here was a history museum as much as a treasure trove, each exhibit forged or minted when the fate of the Ashlands was still a distant prophecy.

And yet none of it compared to the majestic being snoring atop the highest treasure pile.

"Hrwooom … Hrwwrooom … Hrwooom ..."

Oirdan, who within his domain was ruler of both mountain and sky, scratched an itch on his tummy before regally wiping away some drool.

Scales, claws, teeth and wings. Here was a dragon whose body was a kaleidoscope of colour, signifying his centuries of age as he retained pigments of each colour palette he'd possessed. Blades as sharp as honed axes lined the length of his spine, while only the most lucky of adversaries would be able to experience the cutting edge of his claws.

Everyone else met their end with that most famous of a dragon's weapons.

Their fiery breath.

As he snored, puffs of smoke so hot that it visibly distorted the air shot out from his snout. The entire cavern was akin to a rising oven, and I knew immediately that there was a business opportunity to be had. If Oirdan ever decided he lacked for income, then dragon flame coupled with the optimal temperature for proofing bread made this an ideal kitchen for a bakery.

"What a truly wonderful day," said Marissa, gazing up with both academic interest and childish excitement in her eyes. "Although dragon sightings are an almost daily occurrence with some of my peers, this moment has linked arms with fate to continually elude me. I can say with utmost certainty that the scale models in my … my teacher's home do nothing to convey the grandeur on display."

I smiled.

"Happy?"

"Yes. I am thoroughly satisfied. I also require a paper bag."

"Ah."

I viewed Marissa's slightly green face with concern.

As dragons were the original custodians of magic, they demonstrated it on a level that even the archwitches could not replicate.

It didn't mean that they fully controlled it, though. As the heat from my sword suggested, the magic being continually emitted from the sleeping dragon was a force as great as a sweeping wave. Or to a witch with acute magical senses, something like being grabbed by the ankles and swung around like a house cat in a tornado.

I reached down and picked up a goblet for her.

"Here you are."

"Thank you."

The moment Marissa received the goblet, the gentle cascade of coins brushing past our feet rose to a swift tide.

From the highest treasure mound, the master of the lair stirred like a hornet shaken from its nest.

Before Marissa could even begin to ruin her public image, the colossal figure of Oirdan the dragon rose from his stupor with an urgency that belied his sleeping form. A tail whipped against the mounds of gold, sending coins billowing past in every direction, while a great pair of spindly wings unfurled to blast what remained against the walls of the cavern.

Then, a pair of golden eyes snapped to attention.

And the fiery glow of retribution formed in the back of a freshly opened maw.

"Impudence! Who dares to trespass in my sanctum?! Who dares to thieve from the riches of a dragon?!"

Within moments, those golden eyes locked onto us, and the goblet in Marissa's hands.

The fiery glow ignited into a blazing flame within the Oirdan's throat as he rose on his hind legs. Mighty claws swept up a confetti of coins as he put on full display his stature, his wrath, and the top of his head bumping painfully against the roof of the cave.

"GGWWAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR."

An ear blistering roar echoed within this space.

It was more than a cry of pain. It was a bellow of pure frustration sewn with every fibre of his being. And it was exactly the same roar we'd heard since entering the Ashlands.

A roar filled with hatred and malice for all things.

The kind that could only be born out of stubbing one's toe. Or stepping barefoot on a sharp object. Or banging a head against the ceiling. Repeatedly.

Wincing from the pain, Oirdan let out a breath of draconic flame. It was not directed at us. But rather, the bit of the cave where he'd banged his head.

My sword burned on my back to shield me from the residual heat as the temperature in the cave rapidly rose. Beside me, a refractive bubble surrounded Marissa's form, its outline clear against the hazy air.

"GWWAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR."

With another earth shattering roar, Oirdan directed a stream of magical fire at a blackened area of the ceiling. It was only after expending himself for a solid thirty seconds that he relented, leaving only smoke and scorched rock in his wake.

I knew from the glassy obsidian that not even a solid minute of dragon fire could create that kind of varnish. He'd been melting through the stone for quite some time. Or attempting to.

"I! Detest! This! Hateful! Ceiling!"

With fresh ire in his golden eyes, Oirdan opened his maws once again.

"Excuse me." I raised my hand. "Um, would you like assistance?"

Instantly, just as the telltale embers of light began to form yet again in his throat, the dragon's attention snapped towards his pair of guests.

"It's this awful ceiling," he answered, the light not entirely fading from his throat. "It is too low. It was carved for me when I was but a drake. Now each time I wake, I suffer the indignity of meeting my head against the mountain. It makes me rage."

Well, that would explain the unrestrained enmity in his roar. I too would be annoyed if I hit my head every time I woke up.

"I see … can't you clear some headroom? I notice your hoard is quite large. Have you considered reducing or removing it altogether?"

A puff of smoke emitted from Oirdan's snout as he proudly raised his head. He just barely stopped himself from meeting the rock again, a look of trained panic in his eyes as he twitched away.

"I am a dragon, not a beggar. I will not remove the bed upon which I have built. Only silver and gold may be my cushion as I ponder and dream."

I glanced up at the still smoking obsidian.

"Have you considered chiselling away more space?"

"Please. I have twice hired engineers to survey this cavern. The maximum amount of stone has been excavated. The rest is weight bearing and cannot be safely removed without risk of structural collapse."

"Oh, I see. Then, why not build a new abode altogether?"

"Impossible. That would necessitate moving the door. It is an invaluable example of progressive naturalism in construction. Its frame is built into the surrounding stone, while its jewels are extracted from ore deposits within this very mountain. It is a piece of artwork unto itself, and I will not risk its damage."

The next moment, Oirdan's golden eyes narrowed.

Then, he remembered why he'd woken up.

"Humans!" roared the dragon, as his eyes swept to the goblet that was no longer in Marissa's possession. "Who are you to lay your hands on the hoard of a … what is wrong with her?"

He paused, taking in the rather telling way Marissa was swaying. The witch looked up despondently, her face conspicuously no longer just green, but also slightly blue as well.

I raised an eyebrow, then wondered how many spells she knew for wishing away unwanted vomit.

I hoped the dragon wasn't wondering the same thing.

"She has acute magical overload," I explained to the dragon. "I'm sorry, but could I ask you to turn off your overpowering aura for a little bit?"

Oirdan looked as aghast as a dragon without facial muscles could be. For a moment, his maw opened to explain precisely why he wouldn't be doing that. Then he saw Marissa's face shifting ever more to the blue scale.

The next moment, I felt the temperature in the cave rapidly diminish. The perpetual echo of every word the dragon had spoken faded in my ears. The tremor beneath the ground subsided. And most of all, the colour returned to Marissa's cheeks.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, letting out an exhausted breath. "I thought I was about to have a traumatic memory. My sisters would never let it go if I disgraced myself in front of a dragon."

Considering that most people ran away screaming at the sight of a dragon, I thought she should be lauded for being able to indulge in her curiosity so far. And I wasn't the only one.

Bravery often came in short supply when it came to being within fireball distance of a dragon. And while that didn't mean it earned any respect from a dragon, it did at least shock them enough that they were willing to hear visitors out before tossing them from their lair.

"Name yourselves," said Oirdan, golden eyes further narrowing in suspicion even as his tail relaxed around his treasure pile. "How did you gain access to my deepest abode?"

I twisted around. A gentle glow was emanating from my sword, in contrast to the very ungentle heat it was also displaying.

"Elise Rowe. Anointed heroine for the Duchy of Witschblume. This is Marissa Haycroix. She's a delivery witch. Your guards let us in."

Immediately, a veil of smoke hid Oirdan's expression as he gave a mighty huff. A tail lashed out in anger. Among the sound of scattering coins, the word 'demotions' and 'mop duty' could be heard weaving between the rolling grumbles.

"You. Witch. Step forth."

Then, Oirdan set his sights on the girl beside me. She answered at once. Her witch's shoes barely brushed against the dry stone as she strode forwards to present a curtsey.

"Salutations, Mr. Oirdan. It's a privilege to be able to take in the sight of your grand visage. The strength and wisdom of your race is legend among the witches. I've awaited the opportunity to spy the lustre of—"

"Yes, yes. My glittering scales and jewelled wings. I didn't pay for the courtesy service. Where is my package?"

Marissa blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"My package." Oirdan's eyes suddenly hardened. "I presume that is why you're here, escorted by a heroine. You are late."

Marissa's blank face was all the answer anyone needed. Even so, she didn't allow it to persist for longer than a few seconds.

Drawing on all her professionalism, she entered delivery mode, conjuring up a sizable book in front of her that flicked through its own pages.

"I apologise. I'm not aware of any package marked for delivery into the Frozen Peaks. Which delivery service did you choose?"

"2nd class." Oirdan paused. "It was on special promotion."

"We haven't used a numbered class system for postage in quite a long time. When did you place your delivery?"

Oirdan frowned, letting out a deep hum.

"327 years, 11 months, 15 days ago. My delivery was guaranteed within 2 days."

Marissa nodded. The book in front of her vanished in a puff of smoke, only to be replaced by a much larger and older one. Its cover was peeling and many pages were falling from the spine. Still, that didn't stop it from enthusiastically flicking itself open.

"Our records show that your delivery was successfully received by a resident at your address."

"What? Who?"

Marissa squinted her eyes as she leaned in.

"I believe the signatory's name is Underpaid Goblin."

For the first time, Oirdan could do nothing but blink. It was only after several moments had passed that he rose on his hind legs, flame forming in his throat as he hit his head against the ceiling again.

"GGRRAAAAAAWWWWWWWW."

Rage poured forth as a billowing line of magical fire, once more directed at the scorched stone.

This time, however, even this outpouring of hatred wasn't enough to quench his grief.

"Impudent wretches! They dare deceive their lord and master! Me who hired them despite their checkered employment history! Underpaid? Death is not enough to safeguard them from my wrath! I will find what is left of their rotting bones and melt them until their souls burn from my fury!"

Marissa and I both patiently waited as the dragon vented his frustration. It was understandable. If my disposable minions were mishandling my mail, I'd be inclined to huff a bit as well.

After a few minutes, the fresh smoke began to dissipate from around his head.

"There will be retribution," said Oirdan, giving no specifics as he forced a measure of calm on himself. "Much has been explained. To think that I have suffered centuries of betrayal all this time. You have done me a service, witch."

Marissa offered a professional smile in return. If there was a part of her wondering how the angry dragon would seek revenge against people who by now were dust, she chose not to indulge it.

"The Bewitching Postal Service thanks you for your custom, and regrets the circumstances surrounding your loss of mail. Unfortunately, we cannot assist in matters where criminal activity was involved and where it falls outside our terms of service."

Oirdan emitted a clearly unimpressed puff of smoke.

"I do not seek a refund. I seek answers. Why do you trespass, if not to explain centuries of poor customer service?"

"Well, I wanted to see a dragon."

"What? Is that all?"

Marissa looked ponderously to the corner, searching for something enlightening to add.

She couldn't.

"That's all."

For a moment, it seemed as if the dragon was struck speechless by the ignominy of it all. He stared at the witch, unable in all the ancient and forgotten languages he knew to convey his indignity at being treated like a zoo attraction.

But then—

"Understandable."

He unfurled his wings, puffed out his chest, and stood as tall as he could without banging his head once more against the ceiling.

Dragons.

"Excuse me, Mr. Oirdan." I held up my hand. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not here as an escort. I actually have a few questions I need to ask you relating to matters of worldly conquest."

Oirdan very, very slowly turned his eyes towards me. It didn't take heroine senses to know that he'd tried particularly hard to ignore my presence, and that he was now considering whether I seemed the type to return after being kicked out.

Unfortunately for him, I was.

"Heroine." Oirdan's voice was deep with irritableness. "Speak."

I nodded.

"I'm here regarding reports of an evil aura emanating from your person, brought to me by a concerned member of the dragon community. As per article 7a, subsection 5 of the revised Queensholme Accords, I'm required to make general inquiries as to any aspirations you may have for subjugating all the free races of Ouzelia or beyond under an iron rule."

Oirdan shifted slightly atop his treasure pile. His tail flicked absently at an impressive armoire half-buried within the coins.

"I thought as much. Very well, heroine. I will answer your answers, truthfully and without omission, as is required of me by contract."

I clapped my hands together and smiled broadly.

"Excellent! Then, do you have any aspirations for subjugating all the—"

The dragon held up a clawed digit.

"Wait. First, approach. I am old, even by the standards of my kin. For such an important matter, it would be best if I do not mishear."

I nodded and enthusiastically stepped forwards, immediately finding myself up to my knees in dragon treasure. In no time at all, I was forcing my ankles as though trudging through wet sand.

"Closer."

I pushed forward until I was no longer walking, but practically wading. As I attempted to climb the hill of treasure, a new sinkhole appeared to absorb me back down.

"There. Right there. Good. Stay right there. Now, what were you asking?"

I smiled above a pile of glittering coins up to my neck.

"Why, I was just asking if you have any aspirations for subjugating all the free races of Ouzelia or beyond under an iron rule."

Oirdan gave a hum, then craned his head towards me. A shadow the length of a small castle poured over me.

Then, his eyes shone with an enterprising light.

"You wish to know if I seek to follow the wings of my brother. To embody the Last Great Evil as the Next. To sow destruction upon this land. The answer to your questions is that I do not. Such maleficium is beyond my wishes or dreams."

"Oh, excellent."

"Which is why I can only apologise."

"What for?"

Oirdan craned his head even closer.

"For ensuring that remains the case."

The next moment, his tail, which had been prodding at the armoire, instead flicked the cabinet doors open. A large lever poked out from within.

He promptly pulled it all the way down.

Several seconds passed.

And then, even more seconds.

Instead of a mountainous groan echoing throughout the cavern, or the sounds of chains, cogs and mechanisms grinding at work, there was only silence.

Eventually, it began to build like a cacophony of awkwardness, interrupted only by the rumbling of a certain witch's tummy behind me as nothing of note proceeded to happen.

I blinked up at the dragon.

"Um, Mr. Oirdan, did you just activate a hidden mechanism after revealing nefarious intent?"

"... No … ?"

Dragons did not have sweat glands, and yet I had the distinct impression that if this one did, there would be a small river forming past his brow.

Especially as he continued to tug at the lever.

I frowned.

"Mr. Oirdan, please desist in any and all attempts to harm, murder, remove or otherwise incapacitate me. I've yet to conclude my visit, and I will remind you that it is illegal to actively obstruct the lawful duties of a heroine."

Oirdan released his tail from the lever, then let out a cough, spewing tiny puffs of flame as he did so.

"A misunderstanding. This was a lever to summon my waiting staff. It is unacceptable to receive such an honoured guest without the proper courtesies being observed. A heroine in my lair is a momentous occasion indeed."

"I see. Thank you for the consideration, but no formalities are necessary. I'm merely here to ask a few questions. Now, regarding–"

The dragon let out another cough, this time rough and hacking. As he prepared to speak again, he opened his maw to its widest.

"Yes, a heroine has appeared," he said very loudly, his booming voice blasting past my ears and down the many flights of stairs. "A true heroine, within the heart of my sanctum, wielding with her a sword of heroism stained with the blood of my brood. Alas that I am alone. For if I had, say, an army of minions at my beck and call, surely with overwhelming numerical superiority we could crush this tiny heroine and her witchly companion in a single strike. If all my loyal minions were to rush up immediately, I would reward them each with their choice of invaluable treasure from my hoard."

Following the direction of his voice, I glanced behind.

A drake guard outside the door peeked his head inside, made eye contact with me, then quickly returned to his post.

Somewhere, I heard whistling.

"Hmm." Oirdan slowly settled back down on his treasure pile. "Very well. It appears that you cannot even hire good help these days."

"Mr. Oirdan, this is quite a serious matter. If you intend to conquer the world, we'll need to have a conversation."

"Indeed. I fully agree. In fact, I believe that this is a matter that should be amicably resolved through civilised discourse."

Using his tail, Oirdan none-too-discreetly heaved a significant pile of gold towards me.

I looked at it, then the dragon.

"Are you, um, bribing me?"

Oirdan reacted by being very still.

"Yes."

I raised an eyebrow.

That was as far as the business end of the conversation went. As I prepared to say exactly why bribery was an insult to Madame Zaiba's industry leading waitress pay scale, I was interrupted by the scent of steaming tea leaves.

Turning around, I found Marissa placing a platter of warm cupcakes, fruity pastries and buttered toast down on a wooden table patterned with a floral tablecloth. A generously sized bowl filled with various jams was placed alongside a full tea set.

Marissa looked up from the respectable spread. Then she glanced back down and conjured a vase with orange tulips into existence.

"Tea?" she said, looking between myself and the dragon. "It's my own brew."

Oirdan's head snapped up with interest.

"Would coffee be possible?"

"Certainly. How do you take yours?"

"Milky, preferably." Oirdan glanced over the spread of baked food. His deep eyes settled on the buttered toast. "By any chance, has the witchly dimension any freshly poached eggs today?"

Marissa smiled with professional pride.

And before I could so much as wave my arms incoherently, the customer-minded delivery witch accidentally conjured certain doom upon us all.

"Oh!—"

It was to her credit that she realised this. And at the last moment, attempted to sidestep fate by turning the poached eggs into an omelette.

Her hopeful eyes looked up at me.

I looked at the eggs. The jug of coffee. The toast. And all the constituent ingredients required for a prophecy spelled out by a questing minotaur and derived from the surface of a witchly pond.

"Oh dear," she said. "What should we do?"

I thought for a moment, then went to take a seat at the table.

May as well not let the poached omelette go to waste.

 

[Spectrum]

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it. The threadmark order is incorrect but the post order is correct. I'm uncertain how to fix this, unless there's a re-order button I'm missing.

Click to shrink...

At the very tippy top of the thread (right above where it shows number of threadmarks), there should be a "..." in the upper right. One of those dropdown options should be Reorder threadmarks.

 

[kayenano]

At the very tippy top of the thread (right above where it shows number of threadmarks), there should be a "..." in the upper right. One of those dropdown options should be Reorder threadmarks.

Click to shrink...

What a useful feature, done!

 

[Otritzi]

I love just how intimidating our little Heroine is. She doesn't have to do anything, people see her and immediately go into full panic mode. That attempt at trapping Elise was hilarious to me. Oirdan tries to summon minions, minion takes exactly one look at our little waitress heroine and says "F' that sh' I ain't putting myself in front of her blade."

I think having the floor drop out from under her and her not fall would have been hilarious too.

I think I should probably read Villainess if it takes place in this world too.