Стража! Стража!

           Thiswasn’tthepoorfereithadbeengivenbefore.Thiswastherightstuff.Therewasnoendtowhatitcoulddo,withpowerlikethis.

           Butfirstithadtopayitsrespectstocertainpeople...

           Itsniffedthedawnair.Itwassearchingforthestinkofminds.

           Nobledragonsdon’thavefriends.Thenearesttheycangettotheideaisanenemywhoisstillalive.

           Theairbecameverystill,sostillthatyoucouldalmostheartheslowfallofdust.TheLibrarianswungonhisknucklesbetweentheendlessbookshelves.ThedomeoftheLibrarywasstilloverheadbutthen,italwayswas.

           ItseemedquitelogicaltotheLibrarianthat,sincetherewereaisleswheretheshelveswereontheoutsidethenthereshouldbeotheraislesinthespacebetweenthebooksthemselves,createdoutofquantumripplesbythesheerweightofwords.Therewerecertainlysomeoddsoundscomingfromtheothersideofsomeshelving,andtheLibrarianknewthatifhegentlypulledoutabookortwohewouldbepeekingintodifferentlibrariesunderdifferentskies.

           Booksbendspaceandtime.Onereasontheownersofthoseaforesaidlittlerambling,pokysecond-handbookshopsalwaysseemslightlyunearthlyisthatmanyofthemreallyare,havingstrayedintothisworldaftertakingawrongturningintheirownbookshopsinworldswhereitisconsideredcommendablebusinesspracticetowearcarpetslippersallthetimeandopenyourshoponlywhenyoufeellikeit.YoustrayintoL-spaceatyourperil.