As the Lady disappeared down the dragon’s gullet, the collars fell from the necks of the Spellhounds. The sketters, mor-kits, horned globs and minch-wiggins discovered that they could move again.

Everyone started to rejoice …

Until the dragon licked his lips.

The sketters flinched and snarled. The mor-kits hissed. The horned globs became more forgettable than ever.

But the minch-wiggins pushed Auntie Grub towards Flax, whispering, ‘Tell her, Grub. She’s got to do it. Now!’

Auntie Grub teetered from one foot to the other. She straightened her whiskers. She cleared her throat. (Very quietly.)

‘Now you must destroy the dragon,’ she whispered to Flax. ‘Quickly, while he’s resting.’

Flax blinked at her. ‘But he saved us. He saved the Floating Forest. He ate the witch.’

‘And next he will eat us,’ hissed Auntie Grub. ‘It’s what dragons do. So you must get in first. Destroyer-of-Dragons isn’t just a nice title, you know. It’s your job. It’s your duty!’

The dragon raised his head, as if he had caught the edge of the conversation. He beckoned to Flax with an enormous claw. ‘I DON’T THINK WE HAVE BEEN PROPERLY INTRODUCED, LITTLE MINCH-WIGGIN.’

Auntie Grub gave Flax a shove. ‘Go on.’

Flax took a cautious step towards the dragon. She tilted her head and gazed up at him. ‘My name is F-Flaxseed, sir.’

‘And the rest,’ hissed Auntie Grub, from a safe distance.

‘No,’ whispered Flax.

‘Yes,’ insisted Auntie Grub. She raised her voice. ‘Not just Flaxseed. She’s Destroyer-of-Dragons-and-Protector-of-her-People.’

‘So don’t try any funny business, dragon,’ shouted Cousin Violet. ‘She’s got a famous sword and a satchel full of magic.’

The dragon lowered his head until the end of his enormous nose almost touched Flax. A puff of steam surrounded her.

‘IS THIS TRUE? DO YOU HAVE A SATCHEL FULL OF MAGIC?’

Flax thought about lying.

And decided not to.

‘N-no, sir. I only ever had a little bit.’

There was a buzz of voices behind her as her relatives exclaimed in shock and dismay.

But the dragon said, ‘THAT IS WHAT I THOUGHT. YOU DO NOT NEED MUCH MAGIC AT ALL TO SUMMON A DRAGON.’

‘To summon a dragon?’ squeaked Flax.

‘PERHAPS YOU PREFER THE WORD “SIGNAL”. OR “CALL”? OR “WARN”?’

‘B-but why would I want to call a dragon?’

Uncle Edwin sat back on his haunches. ‘WHEN I GAVE THE SATCHEL TO YOUR MANY-TIMES-GREAT-GRANDMOTHER—’

‘You gave her the satchel?’ squeaked Flax. ‘But – but – but why? And what about the sword?’

‘I DO NOT RECOGNISE THE SWORD,’ said the dragon. ‘ONE OF YOUR ANCESTORS MUST HAVE FOUND IT.’

‘Told you so,’ whispered the sword.

‘AS FOR WHY, IT IS MY DUTY AS A DRAGON OF HALLOW TO GUARD THE FLOATING FOREST. AND SINCE I COULD NOT ALWAYS BE HERE, I NEEDED SOMEONE TO WARN ME IF A WITCH CAME SNIFFING AROUND. SOMEONE WITH EXCELLENT HEARING, WHO KNEW EVERY PART OF THE FOREST. WHO BETTER THAN A MINCH-WIGGIN?’

He bowed his head again. ‘YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO BE DESTROYER-OF-DRAGONS, LITTLE ONE. YOU WERE MEANT TO BE CALLER-OF-DRAGONS. THAT IS WHAT THE MAGIC WAS FOR; TO CALL ME IF EVER A WITCH APPEARED IN THE FOREST. BUT SOMEWHERE OVER THE YEARS, THE ORIGINAL WORD WAS LOST AND CHANGED.’

Flax’s head swam. ‘So – so I never needed a lot of magic? I never needed the sword?’

‘Now hang on a minute,’ said the sword.

‘NO,’ said the dragon. ‘BUT IT WAS JUST AS WELL YOU HAD IT.’

‘Thank you,’ muttered the sword. ‘At least someone appreciates me.’

It was too much to take in all at once, especially after everything else that had happened.

Flax sat down rather quickly.

After a moment, the pup came and sat beside her.

So did Rose.

Flax leaned against them and closed her eyes.

She could hear Auntie Grub telling everyone that she had always known it was supposed to be Caller, not Destroyer, and that she was surprised no one else had realised.

She could hear the sketters arguing (very quietly) about whether it was possible to make soup out of a dragon, and the mor-kits giggling (even more quietly) about dragon sandwiches.

She could hear the frogs croaking and the birds singing—

And the deep, slow song of the trees of the Floating Forest.

We saved them, she thought. We saved nearly all of them.

Above her head, Rose said, ‘Uncle Edwin, I don’t want to go back to being Felicia. Can I be Rose from now on?’

‘OF COURSE,’ said her uncle. ‘SO WHAT DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD DO NOW, ROSE?’

‘We should put everything back the way it’s supposed to be,’ said Rose.

And so we come to the end of our story.

Which is also a new beginning.