It was just as Kadav feared. Sending for a dragonslayer was worse than a bad idea. The moment news reached Alvaron, the entire region would be crawling with soldiers and fortune seekers. Manfred's Mill may have been outside the official boundaries of Alvaria, but boundaries had a way of shifting whenever something of value was found outside their circumference. No, news of the dragon must not be allowed to reach the capital—not yet anyway.

But the idea naturally appealed to the masses, who were always looking for the easy way out. The thunderous roar of affirmation might have discouraged a lesser man, but Kadav Ersley was not one to buckle under pressure. This town meeting wasn't over, nor would it be until he adjourned it.

"An excellent suggestion," the mayor acknowledged. "But how do you propose we pay for this dragonslayer of yours? Surely you don't expect a noble crusader to risk life and limb out of the Rhojë-fearing goodness of his heart, do you?"

"I sure wouldn't kill no dragon for free," Bert said.

"Mayor's right," came another.

"I once knew the uncle of the squire of a dragonslayer," said a third. "He said that no respectable dragonslayer would accept less than twenty-five crowns."

"Twenty-five crowns!" exclaimed the priest. "Why that's—"

"Highway robbery," Kadav said. "But how's the saying go? 'Never short the headsman when it's your neck on the chopping block.'"

The priest regained his composure. "Very well. If it's twenty-five crowns we need, then twenty-five crowns we shall get. We'll take up a collection. Rhojë will provide."

"You can use my hat," Bert offered. And before anyone could object, he had removed the grungy head covering and passed it to the person next to him, but not before producing a colorful object from a fold in his clothes and dropping it inside.

The hat slowly wended its way around the room, which was quiet aside from the chinking of coins and Dinkoll's snores. "May Rhojë multiply our bounty," the holy man pronounced as he dropped in some coins and handed it up to the mayor. The hat felt uncomfortably heavy in Kadav's hand as he deposited a handful of his own. In the dim light, it would have been difficult to make out their color and imprint.

Kadav was stepping down from the hearth to count the collection when he was greeted by a lean, dour-faced man by the name of Engle. "If you wouldn't mind, Mister Mayor," he said. "I do the counting for the chapel."

The mayor's mouth gave an agitated twitch. "Of course not."

Holding the hat reverently in both hands as if it were the sacred sacrament, Engle conducted it over to the oak bar where people squeezed aside to make room. One at a time, he lifted each coin from the hat and placed it atop one of three growing stacks, pausing occasionally to straighten them. Meanwhile, mayor and priest eyed each other with contempt from across the room.

"The counting is complete," Engle pronounced at last. "Three crowns, seventeen silva, eight coppies, and..." He held up an object for scrutiny. "Looks like a painted wooden egg."

"It was my pappy's," Bert said proudly. "He paid three silva for it."

"Looks a bit scratched."

"A cat liked to play with it."

Tak-tak came a noise at the window.

"Less than four crowns," the mayor said with feigned disappointment. "For that price, we could hardly attract a second-rate gleeman."

"Can I have my egg back then?" Bert said.

"Surely there are funds in the town treasury..." suggested the priest.

"I fear the treasury is quite depleted," Kadav disabused him.

"Is that a fact? I wonder who's been depleting it."

"The funds were spent on civic improvements. I have the records to prove it."

"Looks like most of the civic improvement took place right here."

"Perhaps the chapel would be willing to donate some of the gold from its coffers?" Kadav countered.

"That money is consecrated to Rhojë! Would you rob the house of the All-Maker?"

Rak-tak-tak, came the noise again.

"Need I remind you that this was your idea," said the mayor. "I believe your exact words were, 'Rhojë will provide.' So where is this divine providence you're always going on about?"

"Perhaps the Lord of the Skies is withholding his bountiful blessings because of the ambition and greed lurking in our midst," homilized the priest.

"Not wanting to be reduced to a life of penury—how is that greed? Doing things your way would squander our last copper on some would-be dragonslayer."

"Better to squander gold than to squander lives, I say. Tell me honestly, mayor, this whole dragonslaying business wouldn't have anything to do with those old wives' tales about dragon gold, would it?"

"Dragon gold?" Kadav sounded duly shocked. "Now who's been listening to tall tales? This is about fighting for what is rightfully ours."

"For what is treacherously yours, more like."

"At least I'm willing to stand up and fight instead of cowering like a little church mouse. Admit it, you just care about saving your holy arse—or your holy bald head. I confess I find it difficult to tell the difference."

The priest's face went ripe as a tomato. A few in the crowd snickered. "Jest all you want, but this plan of yours is jack-craziness, pure and simple! Just what do you intend to fight this dragon with, anyway? Rat poison and toy catapults? You heard what the hermit said. The dragon will squash you like the puffed-up bullfrog you are."

"Why, you self-righteous, prattling coward! How dare you speak to me like that under my own roof!" Kadav's mouth twitched like a loose guy-rope in a gale.

"And how dare you—you conniving, gold-mongering excuse of a mayor—blaspheme Rhojë's chosen mouthpiece!"

Flushed and breathless from rage, the two adversaries eyed each other with mutual vitriol.

RAKTAK-RAKTAK!

"WHAT IS IT?!" mayor and priest shouted in unison.

The old man slipped nimbly inside the tavern, causing those nearest the entrance to beat a hasty retreat. "Did someone mention a dragonslayer?" Inclining his head, he swept the walking stick in an arcing motion across his body, giving the impression of a bow without any actual bending of joints. "Moribus Ansol Polibdemus the Third at your service!"

"This is no time for your antics, old man," Kadav said. "As you can see, we're conducting a town meeting here."

"My apologies, sounded like a row was going on. At any rate, here I am. One first rate dragonslayer in the flesh."

"Let me get this straight," Kadav said. "You expect us to believe that you're some sort of, um, famous dragon hunter?"

"Technically, I'm retired. But it's like spitting, really. You never lose the knack of it."

"Funny, I've never heard of a retired dragonslayer before."

"No?" The old man looked a bit crestfallen. "That's to be expected, I suppose. Most dragonslayers don't enjoy very long careers, what between the squashing and mangling and burning and poisoning and—"

"I believe you've covered that already. If you'd be so kind..." Kadav waved a hand in front of his nose.

"Sorry 'bout that." The hermit shuffled back a few steps. "Skunks, you know. Real stinkers. As I was saying, seems to me that you're in need of a dragonslayer, and I happen to be in need of gainful employment. That's what I call a fortuitous circumstance. I know what you're thinking—you're not sure if you can afford my rates. Not to fret. I'll dispatch this dragon for the price of the foam—that's how we say something's free back where I come from. I suppose I'm feeling a bit magnanimous today, but at my age, a man could do well to sow a little good will, I say. One wants to be remembered well, after all."

"You mean to tell us that you plan to singlehandedly—"

"Slay the dragon, rescue the young maiden, and bring back the dragon's gold," the old man finished for him.

Kadav laughed out loud. "Why, you really are out of your gourd." But no sooner had he said the words than he realized this was just the opportunity he needed. Not only would the offer buy him time to regroup, but it had the added benefit of getting rid of the meddlesome hermit. "That is, to do it for free, I mean, seeing how dragonslaying is so dangerous and all. How could we possibly refuse the offer of a, um, adventurer of your, uh, experience and renown? Do I hear a motion on the floor to commission Sir Polly Demus here to slay the dragon?"

"I motion to—" Bert began.

"Do I hear a second?" the mayor spoke over him.

To his surprise, it was the priest that answered, "Second!"

"So be it! Moribund Sandlesole Polly Demus the Third, you are hereby charged to discharge your duties in accordance with the trust of the people and your honor as a dragonslayer. God speed and may your mission meet with success."

"May Rhojë strengthen your arm in the day of battle." the priest added his blessing.

The mayor struck the frying pan for the last time. "The town has spoken. This meeting is hereby adjourned."