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.

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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.