A skillet is not a traditional weapon of war. It is ill-suited to parrying, although it is pretty good at blocking if you can get the angle right. The other downside is that whatever force you can get behind the swing is dispersed over the surface that it connects to. A flanged mace has those little metal bar-things on the head so that all the energy of its weight and the strength of the wielder is focused onto as small an area as possible, which lets it wreck armour and smash bones. These facts didn’t seem to apply to Jenny.

  I picked Bragnor up from where he’d stumbled and turned him left and right to check he was ok before putting him down on his feet and patting him on the head with a claw. “I think you got him, Jenny?”

  “Fucking shitty little fucknugget scrotum!” she snarled as she brought her fryingpan down on the attempted kidnapper's head again. Another thing skillets can be used for, which was new to me, is turning a human skull into a mushy pancake.

  “Scrotum?” I asked and winced as she took a short run-up and kicked the now thoroughly dead man in the balls. “Have you been hanging out with Kat a lot recently?”

  She stood panting, the skillet dripping blood from where it dangled in her right hand. Her hair was in disarray, her dress was crumpled and skewiff, and there were splatters of what I assumed were brains on the skirt.

  “Jenny?” I asked softly. She looked up; her pupils were dilated, which, combined with her wild hair, gave her a manic look. “You know I could have just put him to sleep, right? I’ve got magic.”

  “I prefer my way. Anyone else want to get Tom and Jerry’d?” she asked, glaring around at the crowd that had backed up as she had beaten the man to death, and she shook her pan at them. There was a solemn, decisive, unanimous head shake from the onlookers in reply. “Good. Da, let’s go.”

  “Have you been a bad influence on my daughter?” the old man asked, looking up at me.

  “Do I look like I bludgeon people to death with cookware? I just eat people. Or crush them. Or stab them with a tail. Or burn and melt them. The skillet thing? That’s all on her. I blame the parents; it’s usually their fault.”

  Jenny snatched her dad’s arm with her left hand and marched him through the portal, the crowd too terrified to do anything more than stare.

  “You messed up the order there, Jen. You should kick them in the balls before you kill them. You break the eggs before you make an omelette,” Kat said from her desk without looking up.

  “Piss off, pixie.” Jenny ignored my primary minion and stormed through the portal to the Cod. I closed my portal on a job well done. Mission accomplished, town saved, temple of light defended.

  The sense of smug self-satisfaction faded as I looked around at the crowd of deeply disturbed onlookers. Their blank stares, faintly trembling limbs, and frightened faces robbed me of my joy.

  “Right. Well. It’s been a pleasure. Happy to help, and if you’re ever in Longbottom or Fidler’s Mill, please consider stopping by one of my fine establishments for a beverage and a delicious meal.” I started sidling towards the south gate. I needed to catch up with the troops, then we could exfiltrate or whatever the military lingo was for “going home again”.

  The crowd moved with me. I remained in the centre of the circle, and they didn’t get out of my way. I stopped and sighed. “What more do you want?”

  A little boy, grimy, wearing ragged shorts beneath a dirt-stained tunic and a pair of suspiciously reflective glasses, stepped out of the crowd and wrung his hands in front of his chest.

  “Please, Mr Dragon. My name’s Lubb, I’m just a random but adorable and surprisingly well-spoken orphan. Thanks ever so much for saving Baginton and my temple. Us peasants, we’re scared, mister. Couldn’t you spare some troops to help keep us kids safe until the Lady’s army can get here?” He pushed his glasses up his nose, and his bright blue eyes vanished behind the reflective lenses.

  Bulb. What a dick. The boy grinned as I thought that, confirming my suspicions. I had just robbed him blind, with his permission. Admittedly, I might have interpreted his words to take what I liked to imply an extremely generous offer that may not have been intended, and he seemed to be cool about that. The little shit was nodding along and smiling as I thought. Bloody gods. He gave me a thumbs-up.

  “I’ll leave the Bonkers and the Dolphins behind until Nardshire gets here,” I grumbled. “They’ll keep your rosy little cheeks safe until then.”

  “Uncle Neville, he looks after us kids a bit. Gives us food sometimes, cos he’s a good follower of the mighty and wonderful Bulb, and he's a charitable soul. He mentioned a minute ago he’d be looking to sign up the Baguette with your wotsitcalled… franchise? It’s a funny word. Would that be nice? It would mean you could keep one of your glowy blue portals in town!” the kid enthused.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I looked over at Neville, glowering down at the boy smiling up sweetly in return. The glasses flashed, and Neville went pale.

  “Yes. If Creville has already signed up, I’m sure it must be good. He always was a smart one,” Neville said carefully.

  Goddamn it. Bulb dammit. Whatever. The crafty bastard was making a little part of the town my own, so my instincts would force me to defend the place from all comers. Fucking gods.

  “You thought it, mister. I’ll go and tell the guard and your troops that they’ll be staying! Thanks so much, you’re the nicest dragon in the world!” Bulb ran forward and hugged my leg. I felt my scales creak as he gripped on more tightly than the golems had managed before he sprinted through the crowd towards the gates.

  “Shit.” I shifted back into human form and ignored the blushes and outraged gasps from the crowd as I slipped my trousers on. “C’mon, Neville, let’s have a pint at the Baguette to make this official.”

  As we entered the pub, Neville somehow teleported behind the bar and stood polishing a glass as I made my way through the tables to join him.

  “Brother Shining-Scales, I trust I’ll get a fair deal under the light?” he asked, buffing an imaginary smear off the mug.

  I sat down and put my elbows on the counter. I had just made a lot of gold by killing all those Umbrati soldiers. Greed-goblin was currently placated, but one of his long green ears perked up like a dog hearing their owner say the word walk.

  “A pint of Grumbler’s, please, bar lord. How much for a fifty per cent stake?”

  He began doing the honours, working the tap to pour a perfect pint. I had to respect his professionalism. “Only half?”

  “You stay on as co-owner, you get final say on the ales to be sold. I’ll install a portal and hook you up with the Cod’s kitchen. I’ve just acquired another chef,” I grumped at the end.

  “Why should I want a portal?” he asked, sliding the amber beer, frothy, not bubbly, into position in front of me.

  “It connects you to the dungeon. I’ll set up a market floor, I think, so traders can come there. Folks from Baginton who want to trade can step from your pub to my dungeon, do their deals with people from Longbottom and the Mill, then step back through into the pub for a celebratory pint. Or go to any other town with a portal.”

  “Longbottom makes cement, the Mill makes… some agricultural goods?” he pointed out.

  “For now. I’ve got some crafters in the dungeon, an alchemist and some techwizards, but I’ll be adding more pubs to the chain, more towns and cities where merchants can, for the price of a modest subscription, avoid the roads and exploit the low tax environment I offer at the Mill.” I ignored the Greed-goblin that was starting to punch the walls of my sanity. Smaller slice of a much larger pie, you greedy asshole! I’ll make millions!

  “I’d need to try the food.”

  “I can arrange that. Jenny doesn’t normally bludgeon people to death in the street, and is usually kind of sweet in a hirsute sort of way. She can do some sample platters for you. Be very respectful to Esme,” I finished in a growl.

  “And Esme is?”

  “My partner. She’s a sultry gin slinger, don’t know what level.”

  “Ah, a rare class. Very good. I think I can offer you a fifty per cent stake in the Baguette for… ten thousand.”

  I controlled myself beautifully. I achieved levels of restraint that would make Gandhi blush with shame. It was saintly. I didn’t burn him alive, for a start.

  “That’s a bit steep. The Empressesses Head was two and a half.”

  “Creville ended up with a rum deal. Longbottom is not a thriving town, and Hateskale is not a good noble.”

  “Was. He was not a good noble. I ate him.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was kind of an accident?”

  “Really?” Neville arched a single eyebrow.

  “No. Longbottom is going to turn around, trust me.” I gritted my teeth as I prepared to say the next part. “There is a Hardprick ruling the Longbottom again.”

  “Really? That line is extinct. Wherever did you find a real Hardprick?”

  I was glad Kat wasn’t here to snigger at all the wrong moments. “He spawned on a dungeon floor as a prisoner.”

  “So the system wanted the prophecy fulfilled. That’s worrying.”

  “What prophecy? The locals all started babbling about that when I mentioned Harald.”

  “When the Hardprick reclaims Longbottom, and the ancient line of kings is restored, a wave of revolution will sweep the world, leading to the return of the Primal Empire when all races lived in relative harmony. The Pixies are expected to remain assholes.”

  “Come again? Why did no one mention this before I put the meathead in charge?”

  “Peasants believe many strange things, Bob. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t put much stock in it, but if the system gave you a Hardprick, it must have done so with some driving intention.”

  “Hah. Usually, the system is trying to fuck me, so it checks out.” I sipped at my beer appreciatively. Having Neville and his selection of fine ales a portal hop away would be nice. “How about six?”

  “Nine.”

  “Six and a half.”

  “You’re not very good at haggling, are you? Nine, Bob.”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “Eight and a half.”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “You already offered that. Look, I’ll agree to eight, but that really is as low as I’m going to go, even with Bulb telling me directly to do this. You’re getting sparkles in your beer, by the way.”

  “They aren’t solid.”

  “Light is a solid when it wants to be. So we’re agreed on eight?”

  “Yes,” I muttered, sending the goblin in my mind mental images of mountains of gold flowing from my planned trade network to try to placate the vicious little bastard. I counted out the gold, enduring an internal revolution, and Neville made them disappear behind the counter.

  “A pleasure to be in business with you,” he said with a grin. He reached out to offer me his hand, and we shook.

  “Likewise.” I opened a portal beside me. “Kat will sort out the paperwork.”

  “Like bloody always,” she called from her desk.

  I put an arm over Neville’s shoulders and led him through to the dungeon. “She’s got it down to an art form now. Consummate professional and all that. So I’ll leave you in her capable hands, I’ve got a corpse to drop off with a necromancer,” I finished cheerfully, ignoring the funny look Neville gave me as I headed off to find Tim.