The Dragon's Lair (3 page)

24
A Promise Fulfilled

25
One Delivery Down, Two More to Go

26
Making Amends

27
Kiran Berries, the Exodus, and the Day the Sun Overslept

28
The Report

29
The Race Against Time

Endnote from the Documentarian

Acknowledgments

A New Note from the Documentarian

Reader's Guide

The Lost Journals of Ven Polypheme
THE DRAGON'S LAIR

1
A Surprising Guest

I was sort of hoping to have a moment to rest before my next adventure began
.

I hope for a lot of things that never happen
.

Don't get me wrong—I love adventuring. Unlike most people of my race, I go to bed at night dreaming of faraway lands and all the magical things waiting to be found there. It's only been recently that I discovered adventures can be less than magical, and very dangerous
.

My name is Charles Magnus Ven Polypheme. Most people just call me Ven. When I say "most people of my race," I'm referring to the Nain, an old race of people who live in dark mountains, far away from the upworld. I am fifty years and a few months old, but that makes me about twelve or thirteen in human years, because Nain live about four times longer than humans. Even though I am Nain, I have lived around humans all my life, and have never been downworld to see how Nain really live
.

I began life the youngest of the thirteen children of Pepin Polypheme, a shipbuilder of note back in my homeland of Vaarn, which is a city, not a mountain range. Now I live at the Crossroads Inn in the beautiful countryside just east of the city of Kingston on the Island of Serendair, far from my home and family
.

Even though Nain don't like to travel, I do. They don't know how to swim, either, but I do. They generally try never to leave home, but I did. Most Nain are suspicious and grumpy about trying new things, but I was born with a driving curiosity that burns so hot in me that sometimes I feel like my head is on fire or my skin is being eaten by ants when something new and adventurous comes along
.

Even though they are highly superstitious, the upworld Nain I know don't believe in magic. I imagine that's even more true for the downworld Nain I've never met
.

But I know it exists, because I've seen it with my own eyes
.

I guess in many ways I'm sort of a fish out of water. That's fairly odd, since most Nain don't even know what a fish is
.

Anyway, I have a brand new journal, bound in purple leather with crisp, blank parchment pages inside. I am supposed to be keeping track of all the magical things I see in the world, especially those that are hiding in plain sight. I was asked to do this by the ruler of this land, His Majesty, Vandemere, high king of Serendair. When the king gave me my first journal a short time ago, I thought it would be many years before I had filled all the pages with notes and drawings of the magic I had seen
.

This purple journal is my third one in only a few weeks' time. I've filled up so many pages with notes and drawings that I have worn an inch off the albatross feather I am using for a quill pen. Fortunately, the feather is as long as my arm, but at this rate it will be worn down to the size of a chicken feather in no time
.

Which is why I was hoping to give adventuring, and my fingers, a rest for a while
.

But that is not going to happen. My next adventure is beginning less than one day after the last one ended
.

And it's just as well, because it seems that if I don't get started on my next adventure—and out of here—quickly, the job of recording the world's magic may have to be finished by someone else
.

Because I may no longer be alive, having met my end in what is sure to be a very painful and unpleasant way
.

V
EN'S BEDROOM IN THE BOY'S DORMITORY KNOWN AS HARE
Warren was still dark when he heard the first
thump
, followed by horrifying sounds of snarling and screaming.

He had been sleeping soundly, so at first his head was fuzzy. His heart began to beat wildly as he fumbled for the lantern on his bedside table. After a few seconds he removed the hood of the lantern and light spilled into the room.

The snarling and screaming turned into hissing and moaning.

"Gah! Ven, douse the light, you're stabbin' my eyes!"

Ven looked down at the floor between his bed and that of his roommate, Char. Char was lying on the floor, covering his eyes with one arm and rubbing his shin with the other. Ven scrambled out of bed and helped him stand up.

"What happened?" he asked woozily. "What's all the noise?"

"Blimey, I dunno," Char replied, still rubbing his leg. "I just came back from the privy. I got to get to work, it's almost dawn. I was headin' for the lookin' glass when I tripped over somethin'. And it
stabbed
me."

Ven looked around the floor. "Spice Folk, maybe?" he asked. The invisible fairies who lived at the Crossroads Inn, behind which Hare Warren stood, loved to torment Char, but they weren't usually violent.

"Criminey, I hope not," Char said. "Never known a spice fairy to draw blood before." He raised his ragged pant leg. Three long red stripes were dripping down his shin, forming what looked like an
M
slashed into his leg. "Besides, it was bigger, like a pillow."

"Uh oh," said Ven. "Murphy, is that you?"

From under the bed he could hear the sound of a throat clearing.

"Murphy, what are
you
doing out here?" Char demanded. "And what the
heck
?" He pointed to his bleeding shin.

Slowly the head of a large orange cat emerged from beneath the bed. Murphy was an old tabby, a famous ratter who had caught rodents on the ships of Captain Oliver Snodgrass, the husband of the innkeeper.

He looked annoyed.

"I'm on an errand for Mrs. Snodgrass," he said testily. "I was sent to wake Ven up and tell him to come in with you when you report to the kitchen for work. Mrs. Snodgrass wants him to help you unload some of the supply wagons that are making deliveries this morning. I'll have to let her know that your response was to boot me across the room."

Char's mouth dropped open in horror.

"I did no such thing," he insisted. "I'd no idea you'd be on the floor. It was dark in here—I try not to wake Ven up when I go to work." He glanced sourly at his roommate. "He needs his beauty sleep."

Murphy came all the way out from under the bed. He stretched lazily, allowing his front claws to extend all the way out.

"That's no excuse for kicking me," he said, yawning. "I've been keeping the Spice Folk busy and out of your room for days, and this is the thanks I get. Well, I'd be sure to watch myself from now on if I were you. They've been cooking up all kinds of interesting tricks to play on you. I think I'll just let them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way back to the Inn, where no one would dare to trip over me. Next time you kick me, I'll write my entire name on your leg."