The Eye of Zoltar (The Last Dragonslayer #3)

by Jasper Fforde

I don’t do refunds. —The Mighty Shandar

The technical name for magic is variable electro-gravitational mutable subatomic force, but the usual term is wizidrical energy, or, simply, crackle.

Troll Wars were like Batman movies: both were repeated at regular intervals, featured expensive hardware, and were broadly predictable.

“How about this,” I said. “We modify our plans with regard to ongoing facts as they become known to us, then re-modify them as the situation unfolds.” “You mean make it all up as we go along?” asked Perkins. “Right.”

“It’s a lovely night to be eaten by nine tons of hunger-crazed monster.”

“Better show yourself,” I said to Perkins, “and try to look appetizing.” “Yes,” he said sarcastically, “I’m well known for my pie impersonations.”

“Concert pianist,” Kevin murmured thoughtfully, still holding the baby’s foot, “and make sure he likes boiled cabbage, tasteless stew, and runny porridge.” “He’ll be a pianist?” asked the mother excitedly. “No, he’s going to murder one at age twenty-six, so better get him used to prison food from an early age . . . hence the boiled cabbage.”

“Cut it out, you two—what happened to dragons being creatures of great dignity, learning, and wisdom?” “Sorry, what did you say?” said Colin, removing one of his iPod earbuds. “I was listening to the Doobie Brothers.”

“We can discuss human literary output further if you’d like,” said Feldspar, “but we’d only get round to Aristotle before you’d do that thing where you stop working and fall apart. What’s it called again?” “Dying?” “That’s it.

“I was a little disappointed about all that killing.” He was a strict pacifist, and as much a vegan as any dragon could be. “There is quite a lot of it in our history,” I conceded. “I knew how much before I went,” said Colin. “I was just unprepared for the range of ridiculous excuses. It’s somewhat bizarre to learn that many of you think other humans are somehow different enough to be killed, when you’re all tiresomely similar in outlook, needs, and motivation, and differ only in peculiar habits, generally shaped by geographical circumstance.” “We’re not all bad,” I said, suddenly finding myself defending my own species. “No,” agreed Colin, “some of you are hardly rubbish at all, and a few—there are always a few—are quite exceptional.

She was right. Little information crossed between our borders. If you were visiting across the border, a war might be raging in your own country and the first you’d know about it was when you returned home to find your house a smoking ruin, with armed militia eating the contents of your pantry and Viva el Presidente painted on the walls.

The tribes who populate the Cambrian Empire are a murderous bunch of cutthroats, bandits, and ne’er-do-wells, but they are polite, hospitable, and won’t tolerate bad manners.

“Your grandmother must be very scary,” I said. “She ate a live whippet once,” said Addie, “which is pretty scary, especially during a wedding.” “What did the bride and groom say?” “She was the bride. I think she wanted to make a statement to her in-laws.” “That would be quite a statement,” I said.

“Don’t even think about it,” I replied. “We are both victims of a random chance of birth: you a princess, me an orphan. But we’re both working against it to improve ourselves.”

Death cannot be avoided forever, but it can be postponed—it’s very much like doing the dishes.

“Execution?” I echoed. “Isn’t that a little severe?” “If we didn’t execute bankers and rogue traders found guilty of financial mischief, it might give them a clear signal that it’s actually okay, and then where would we be?”

I’ll be on the cover of National Geographic, as long as that woman with the gorillas hasn’t done anything exciting that month.

“‘To Shipmate Fly-Low Milo, the finest aerialist that ever there was,’” I read. “Sounds like pirate grammar to me,” said Perkins. “Everything but the ‘Argh!’” “No, that’s engraved on the strap; look here.”

But when you took that leap, well, I wasn’t going to let you die.” “For the second time.” “Fourth, actually, but who’s counting?” “You are.” “Agreed.

“The Grand Scheme of Things. Bigger than me, bigger than you, and everyone plays a part. It might be something simple like opening a door, encouraging somebody to take action, or even, as in Curtis’s case, simply giving people a focus of someone to dislike. But sometimes it’s for the greater good, like bringing a tyrant to his knees and leading an enslaved nation to freedom.”

“To have a purpose is the right of all sentient beings,” said Gabby, touching my shoulder. “To have a vitally important purpose is an honor not often bestowed.”

We shook hands in silence, and as I looked from face to face I could see that none of us rated our chances very high, yet there was no hesitation from anyone. Truly, I was in the very finest company.