“Right, off you go then.” The sergeant gave the young woman a shove with the butt of his spear and backed away from the cave entrance.

 

Iphigenia turned to glare at him tight-lipped, but he refused to meet her gaze, instead staring intently at a point somewhere over her shoulder. She straightened her back, sniffed haughtily and marched across the final patch of grass, but tripped over the hem of her overlong white dress. Fortunately, her hands had been tied in front of her rather than behind, so the main damage when she fell was to her pride. She picked herself up, awkwardly attempting to wipe the dirt from the dress that had been made specially—and hastily—for the occasion, and strode into the darkness of the cave entrance.

 

“Oi,” she called. “Dragon, are you in here? Well, come on, get it over with. I’m your sacrifice and I hope you damned well choke on me!”

 

A gust of hot air fluttered her hair, and a red glow appeared from beyond a bend in the depths of the cave.

 

The blood drained from Iphigenia’s face. She gulped, her bravado shrivelling into a solid lump before plummeting to the bottom of her stomach. She thought about making a run for it, but knew that was out of the question. If she didn’t continue into the cave, the village would be razed to the ground, and everyone in it—including herself—would be killed.

 

She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it would feel like to be burned to a crisp. I hope it’ll be quick. The thought brought tears to her eyes as she forced her legs to take her towards the source of the fiery glow. When she turned the corner into a wide chamber, she stopped and let out a gasp.

 

The glow came from a log-fired oven from which a tray of pastries was being extracted. Iphigenia couldn’t help but notice that the hand holding the tray was scaly, green and equipped with claws.

 

The owner of the hand was roughly twice human-size, with a long, lizard-like face atop a sinuous neck and a pair of leathery wings. Its other, equally green, equally clawed, hand held a spatula. An arrow-tipped tail flicked into view between the legs of the stool it perched on.

 

The creature’s slit-pupiled eyes blinked, and it smiled. Iphigenia’s world shrank to the bright array of dagger-sharp teeth until the dragon broke the spell by speaking.

 

“Don’t just stand there, my dear. I’ve been waiting for you. Something to eat?” The dragon gestured with its spatula towards a table holding a tea service, several plates of neatly-trimmed sandwiches and assorted pastries, and a bottle of wine. “Or a nice cuppa? Is it just you, or is anyone else coming?”

 

Iphigenia’s brow furrowed as her mind raced. She asked, “Is this some sort of grotesque game before you eat me?”

 

The dragon set down the tray of freshly-baked apple turnovers and turned towards her. “Eat you? Why would I do that?”

 

“But isn’t that why I’m here? Smoke coming from the top of the mountain, polite but menacing letter delivered to the mayor requesting prompt delivery of damsels to the cave—this cave. Can’t be any more obvious than that.” She waved her bound hands towards herself as best she could. “So here I am. But don’t think you’ll get away with it! Knights are already on their way to avenge me.”

 

The dragon scowled and smoke plumed from its nostrils. “Bloody knights. What is it with you lot and knights?”

 

Iphigenia shrank back as it thrust the spatula at her. “Many a time, there I am, minding my own business, staring at clouds and listening to birdsong, when suddenly, knights! Pointing their whatchamacallums, lances, at me and shouting, ‘Have at thee, vile wyrm.’ And then, because I have the audacity to jump out of the way, the drama queens leap off their horses and come at me, waving their swords like overexcited toddlers with new toys.” The dragon waved its spatula like such a sword. “I ask you, what’s a dragon supposed to do?”

 

Iphigenia snapped, “Well, if you didn’t demand damsels, we wouldn’t send knights to attack you!”

 

The dragon’s jaw dropped. “But I’m just being polite. It’s awkward when you’re new to town. The incumbents can be so suspicious of strangers, so I thought that a tea party for the ladies and some sort of friendly sporting event for the menfolk would break the ice. I don’t know what sort of sports are popular around here, so I figured on asking the women when they arrived. But what do I get instead? Just one unfriendly girl, and the threat of yet more knights.”

 

Its lips trembled, and its eyes started to glisten. “I’m going to have to move again, aren’t I? I’ve only just got this place the way I like it.”

 

It dropped the spatula and put its head in its hands.

 

A pang of guilt hit Iphigenia. She went to the dragon, and after a nervous hand-hover, awkwardly stretched up to pat its shoulder—the scales were smoother than she expected, not stiff and unyielding. “There, there. I’m sure it’s not all that bad. You’re a Gods-damned dragon after all.”

 

The dragon wailed, “It’s just not fair.”

 

Iphigenia clumsily extracted a lace handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and handed it to the crying dragon. She crossed to the table and poured two cups of tea. “Come over here. Let’s have a drink, and you can tell me all about it.”

 

Watching the dragon blow its nose, she decided she probably didn’t want the now sticky and slightly charred hankie back, even though the embroidery was some of her best work. She sipped her tea while she waited for the creature to compose itself.

 

Eventually, it shook its shoulders, wrapped both hands around the cup and stared into it. It grumbled, “Frogs get kissed by princesses; mermaids get their princes, not to mention a free pair of legs. Even Beast ended up with a nice wife and a makeover. Humans fawn over unicorns, but what about me, eh? All I ever see are screaming villagers and homicidal knights. And they usually end up screaming, too. I’m a majestic mythical creature, and everyone wants me dead.”

 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad…”

 

“Oh yeah, you think? Things were great up until about three thousand years ago. In China, you humans worshipped us. Then, just one teeny-weeny little accident with the Emperor’s son, and that was the end. He had plenty of other sons, so why get so worked up about this one? Do shepherds worry about one little sheep out of their flocks? I mean, it’s—”

 

“Actually, they do. Every lamb is important.”

 

The dragon blinked. “Really? But you eat them.”

 

“Well… Hang on, are you implying you consider humans a source of food?”

 

“Uh, um…” The dragon glanced away. “No, not at all. Not now. Maybe in the distant past, before we knew better. We didn’t distinguish between all you mammals. Soz.”

 

Iphigenia absentmindedly picked up an apple danish.

 

“Oh, do help yourself, my dear. Wait, let me get that for you.”

 

Before she could react, the dragon had swiped a claw through the rope binding her hands. Once her heart had stopped hammering at the sight of the razor-sharp claw missing her skin by a hairsbreadth, Iphigenia rubbed her wrists and mumbled, “Thanks.”

 

The dragon’s lips turned down. “Shame nobody else bothered to turn up. I spent all morning baking, and for what? Just one skinny girl.”

 

“Hey, who’re you calling skinny? You’re a bit of a shrimp for a mighty dragon, yourself!”

 

“I’m small because I haven’t been eating well—it’s not my fault.”

 

It smiled, and Iphigenia shrank back from the dazzling teeth.

 

“Oh, look, I’m sorry,” the dragon said. “Nobody likes dragons. I blame bloody Heracles. After China, we moved to the Mediterranean. That was pleasant—lovely blue sea, miles of beaches. Human and dragon living together. But then Heracles came along with his sodding twelve labours. I ask you, how ridiculous is the idea of giant dogs, bulls, boar and all the rest?” It threw its hands into the air. “They were all dragons. He really didn’t like having us around and set about eliminating all of us. We weren’t even eating humans by that stage—well, not many.”

 

The dragon thumped the table, spilling some of the cup of tea and startling Iphigenia.

 

“It’s just not fair. Bloody humans. Why do I bother?”

 

Smoke drifted from its nostrils again.

 

Iphigenia thought she’d better distract the dragon. “We haven’t been properly introduced yet. My name’s Iphigenia. Iphigenia Penelope Heppelthwaite. But you can call me Effie—all my friends do.” She did a sort of seated half-curtsy.

 

The smoke subsided, and the dragon said, “Friends—are we fr…? I haven’t been able to call anyone a friend for centuries.” It bowed. “Pleased to meet you, Effie. My full name is Dracona Behofnungiskranticaldera Hyphonicastigon, but you can call me Callie.”

 

Iphigenia pursed her lips. “Callie, that’s a nice name. I wonder if I could ask a personal question.”

 

The dragon raised an eyebrow.

 

“Are you—this is awfully embarrassing—male or female?” Iphigenia had assumed the dragon must be male, what with the damsels and so on, but the ending of “Dracona” as well as the name “Callie” made her think that perhaps she was mistaken. “I do apologise if that’s overly-intrusive.”

 

“Oh, dragons don’t do all that complicated business of him with the dangly bits and her with the, you know’—the dragon gestured with its hands in front of its chest—“the bumps on the front.” We’re whatever gender we want to be, whenever we want to be.”

 

Iphigenia thought the matter over for a moment. “But then, how do you, um, reproduce?”

 

Callie leaned its head back and laughed. A burst of flame escaped its mouth, singeing the cave’s ceiling and making Iphigenia flinch.

 

“Oh, my dear, there are so few of us around that we couldn’t possibly rely on pairing up. No, when the time is right, we spontaneously ignite and spawn offspring from the ashes. Have you heard of the phoenix?” Without waiting for an answer, Callie continued, “More Greek lies. It’s a description of a dragon, not a bird.”

 

“But that must mean the parent… er… dies.”

 

Callie shrugged. “The memories live on in our offspring, who add their own experiences to pass on to the next generation. I’m physically only a hundred and twenty, but I can remember the siege of Troy and the construction of the pyramids.”

 

“Wow!” A thought struck Iphigenia, and she added, “How come no one knows this?”

 

Callie gave her a look. “After Heracles and the rest, what human has ever paid attention to anything a dragon says? You’re all too busy screaming and running away, or waving swords and running towards us.”

 

Iphigenia settled into her chair, and picked up another pastry—a maple pecan plait this time. She took a bite, and with a sigh, said, “This is heavenly. Anyone would think you’re fattening me up, ready to eat.”

 

Callie snapped, “Don’t even joke about that!”

 

Iphigenia set the half-eaten pastry on her plate. “Sorry.”

 

Callie rested its head on the table. “Oh, it’s not your fault. I’m no good with people. I try, but all the screaming and shouting…I don’t get a lot of practice at simply talking.”

 

Iphigenia chewed her lip. “Sit up, Callie. We’re talking now. Tell me something… I know, tell me about gold—is it true dragons have lots of treasure?”

 

“Pah, as if!” Callie waved a hand around. “Would I be living in a cave like this if I had treasure?”

 

“Oh. More dragon misinformation?”

 

“No, it’s all to do with spawning. That needs a lot of energy—an awful lot of energy. We can live quite happily on just one sheep or…the like” —Iphigenia was pretty sure Callie meant humans— “per week, but when we’re ready to ignite, we need much more. As many as a hundred sheep. Ha, I remember one of my ancestors ate so many mammoths, they went extinct. But that’s rather inefficient—takes ages to catch that many animals who don’t especially want to be eaten, and takes almost as long to consume them.” The dragon patted its stomach. “Really puts a strain on the lower intestine, too. No, our ancestors discovered metal was a much better source of energy than carbon. Say, you don’t know if there’s any gold around here?”

 

“Gold?”

 

“Oh, never mind. Seems to be something only a few humans have in quantity—I don’t really understand why, since it’s not very useful to you. So, dragons who want offspring would collect the equivalent of a few hundred sheep in gold, consume it, and then: bang! Flames, noise, baby dragons.”

 

Iphigenia grimaced, and reached for another pastry.

 

“Iron’s acceptable too, though not as good as gold. The one nice thing about knights is all that armour they insist on wearing.”

 

Iphigenia paled, then changed the subject. “What about you? Any plans to…” She lifted her hands and pulled them apart in an explosion sort of gesture.

 

Callie shook its head. “No, not ready yet. Can’t get into the right frame of mind. I wouldn’t want to pass on my miserable memories to a bunch of babies.” It sighed. “No, I need to find something to make me happy so I can pass on a worthwhile legacy.”

 

“Maybe I can help.” Iphigenia’s voice faltered. “No, wait, that sounds like I want you to die.”

 

Callie chuckled. “I must say, I’ve not smiled so much in decades. You’re a nice person for a human.”

 

“So, what would make you happy?”

 

“A quiet, comfortable life. With a few sheep and some friends. Then, eventually, enough gold to spawn.”

 

Iphigenia pulled at her lower lip. She cast her eyes about the chamber, until her gaze landed on the plates of baked goods.

 

“I’ve got an idea…Dad’s the village baker, and I can tell you he’d be proud to have danishes like these in his shop. Maybe you could, um, do some work for us, making pastries.” She snapped her fingers “I know! You could help out at the blacksmith’s as well—he’s always complaining about how difficult it is to keep his forge hot. We could show everyone you’re a good egg, and they’d pay you in sheep or scrap metal.”

 

“But they’d still just look on me as a monster and run screaming.”

 

“Maybe initially, but we just need to work on presenting a positive image. Look, I’ll take some of these pastries back with me. I won’t tell people where they came from, but I know they’ll love them. I’ll come back to work on our marketing strategy, and collect more of your baking. It won’t be long before people will be begging for more pastries, and then I’ll bring a few villagers out here to meet you.”

 

Callie tapped its teeth with the tip of a claw, making a disconcerting clicking sound which Iphigenia tried to ignore.

 

“We might have to work on your presentation,” she said. “Tone down the teeth and the fire and the whole eating people thing.”

 

“Oh, it’s never going to work.”

 

Iphigenia patted Callie’s arm again.

 

“It’ll just take a little time. As soon as the villagers taste your baking, they’ll be desperate for more. And once you take charge of the forge, the smith will make better weapons than anyone in the area.”

 

Callie scowled. “Weapons for knights.”

 

“Well, maybe. But the villagers would keep them from bothering you—you’d be an asset to us. Anyway, sometimes the village needs weapons to protect us from our enemies.”

 

Callie gave a tentative smile.

 

“Enemies—you mean other humans? Would your village folk mind if I ate some of them?”

 

Iphigenia gulped. “It depends. Maybe. People tend to be a bit touchy about things like that. Anyway, there’s other stuff you could do—say, fly overhead and scare them away instead of killing them.”

 

“I suppose I can give it a try. What have I got to lose? If I’m going to be hounded out of my home, at least this’ll delay things for a bit.”

 

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Now, have you got a box or something for a few of these delights?”

 

Just as Callie stood up, a shout came from outside. “Ho there, vile wyrm! Come out and meet your doom at the swords of the Knights of Justice and Humanity.”

 

“Oh, for fff….” Callie hissed, smoke billowing from its nostrils, engulfing the chamber and making Iphigenia’s eyes water.

 

She coughed, and spluttered, “No wait, Callie. Don’t do it. I’ll go out and calm them down.”

 

Callie stopped smoking instantly, and the fumes cleared rapidly.

 

I suppose it makes sense that a creature who can create fire would have efficient ventilation, Iphigenia thought. Maybe Callie can help with house design, too.

 

She strode out of the cave carrying a plate of pastries, and confronted five hulking knights seated on five enormous horses.

 

“Have at thee, vile—” the leader started. ‘Wait, you’re not a dragon, are you?”

 

Iphigenia smiled sweetly. “How astute of you. There’re no dragons here. Just me and my secret bakery.”

 

She followed the knight’s eyes to the smoke wafting from the cave.

 

“Oh, I burned the last batch. Ha, serves me right for getting caught up in my maidenly needlework and not paying attention to the oven. You know how addled us helpless girls get.”

 

The knight attempted to scratch his head, but bumped his gloved fingers against his helmet.

 

“So… You’re certain there are no dragons here?”

 

Iphigenia looked left and right, exaggeratedly craning her neck. “Nope, not a single one. I’m afraid you’ve been mustered under false pretenses.” She held up the plate. “Would you care for something sweet?”

 

One of the knights stretched an arm out, but the leader of the group snapped, “Oh, for pity’s sake. Right, lads, about face. Back to the village. Lucky we’ve got that clause in the contract about our non-refundable callout fee.”

 

The knight who’d been reaching for a danish looked disappointed, but obeyed his commander’s order.

 

Iphigenia called out, “Drop by the village bakery during your lunch break. We’ll have more pastries.”

 

She watched the knights disappear into the distance, then called over her shoulder, “You can come out now.”

 

Callie stepped out, scowling in the direction of the departing knights, its tail swishing irritably.

 

“There, that was easy, wasn’t it?” Iphigenia said.

 

Callie harrumphed and stomped back into the cave.

 

Iphigenia smiled. “Oh, you old grump! Give it a chance. You’ll be part of our little community in no time.”

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Original published in: West Avenue Publishing’s A Flight of Dragons in March 2023