Gwymr/Frina had only one library, the Sgrôli ac Neidr⁠ ⁠—⁠ something, Chwithach assured me, reflected the smallness of the town instead than any lack of culture. Even then, the one thing that stood out to me about the library was its location Up in Tädet/Pimeys, you would find libraries only in the highest districts, among the House palaces and the Cloud Constructor temples, or near the stone pubs and high entertainment centers. Meanwhile, the Sgrôli ac Neidr lay on the east side, the poor and dirty bruise of Gwymr/Frina. Each of our four libraries belonged to a noble House, whether Specter, Locrian, Obelos, or Cynosure; and each was a familial library that’d opened to the public as a charity, before taking some life of its own. Meanwhile the Sgrôli belonged to Chwithach only, and he’d opened it as a charity too, but in this case, the charity went both ways. plain-dwellers lined the streets here, most naked or near-naked; a lot of them looked dirty or haggard, some of them missed legs, one missed a wing. More than a few had those sifters faces, the ones that had been singed and burnt so often it became a part of their color. Whenever one caught sight of me, you could flip a coin whether they’d glare or scowl, or just not react. Still, I’d grown used to it all, coming here almost daily for cycles now. It’d started soon after meeting Hinte; her love for alchemy shone through even then, the one topic she talked about with any fluidity. She had been cool and mysterious, and I wanted her to know I could be a cool alchemist too. Maybe I still could. Unlike the rest of the roads on this side of town, filth had been raked from this road. And if you looked over at the near-spotless walls of the library, you could imagine the it had been lifted from across the canal. I stood in front of the library. By the standards of the rest of the street it looked big, sprawling across about three times as big space as the houses or storefronts around it. Yet by my standards, it looked so tiny. And still, the library survived, tried to flourish, just off the donations of its patrons. So even this size inspired, spoke some testament to Chwithach’s patience and passion. The doors stunk of cheap gray bamboo, and looked well-cared-for. Someone somewhere made money polishing and smoothing the wood, keeping it from tending worn or sooty with ash. I pulled at the handle and stepped in. The floor was bamboo too, and smelt it. The interior sprawled, even while cut up into four areas. Nearest to the door was a cozy reading area with a bunch of cushy pycnofiber mats sat in a semi-circle and facing out of the window. Three dragons sat apart on mats, poking scrolls. One was a sharp brown drake with bright, alert eyes, had a hefty pile of scrolls on either side of him, and he scanned the page rolled out in front of him at a quick pace. The second closest to me, a big red wiver with a flower held by her frill, lay in front of a thick double-scroll, tracing its lines. She had a smile I recognized. The last one, a dark mud-dweller with long straight horns, lay on his back, wings spread, looking relaxed and lazy. His foreclaws held the scroll close to his snout, almost resting there, and his brilles had clouded and didn’t seem to clear. All of them looked familiar, and they were here often enough I could almost put names to their faces, names that seemed to danced up to the tip of my tongue. Only one did come to me: Awld, the wiver. We’d been friendly when I’d volunteered, she’d even gifted me some scent, once or twice. But she worked in the evenings, and once I got my morning job at the Llygaid Crwydro, we’d drifted apart. Why was she here now? I’d ask later, after I’d checked in with Chwithach. Behind the reading area stood rows upon rows of scrollshelves. They stretched to the ceiling, high enough that footholds extended up them all. In between these shelves flitted the librarian, organizing shelves, replacing scrolls. I slinked over, gaze roaming the rest of the bottom floor. At the back wall, a bunch of alcoves for private reading ate into the wall in two rows, one above the other. The last section of the library I looked at — but the first thing you’d probably see⁠ ⁠—⁠ was a low counter just in front of the doors. A few scrolls sat open, recording checkouts and other record-keeping. Chwithach or one of his volunteer assistants would sometimes be found behind it. The plan was ‘always,’ but there was none right now. I frowned. He only had a few assistants, and they were paid a pittance — I used to work here, when I’d just arrived in town. I couldn’t put together the time now, but I sometimes promised myself to start again, and I always would after a sight like this. Yes, Chwithach was only a short flight away, and yes, there was even a little bell to get his attention; but it stood as a reminder of how thinly he was stretched. The only library of Gwymr/Frina deserved more. I leapt over to the shelves. I was careful to only glide. Never flap in a library. Chwithach had disappeared behind one of these shelves. Where was he? I had just seen him. “Hello, Kinri,” came a voice from behind, a thick, rich hiss that always had a friendly growl underneath. “Gah!” I jumped and spun around. “Oh, hi there, Chwithach-sofran.” I coiled my tail around a hindleg. I looked at the burly red cliff-dweller, the Gwymri librarian. Calculations and neat clawings. Maybe there was nothing else worth mentioning about me. I smiled at the librarian, but for just a few breaths, I wasn’t sure if I would. He smiled back, and flicked his tongue. The librarian wore few clothes, a halfrobe hiding his rear and hindlegs, and sandals on his feet. The robes looked plain and ragged; lifeless beige and patched over many times, a few of the larger patches had designs covering the stitching. Chwithach always wore halfrobes like this. He had a few others, but I’d seen them all. Turning around, scraping his hindclaws, he said, “Caught up in the flow of life, I see. I do hope it was a nice thing that delayed you.” I stepped after him. “Well… I met a stranger out in front of the library. They talked too much and asked too many questions. They were so smarmy.” In front of me, the red drake tilted his head. “What were they doing in front of the library?” “Walking around, I guess. They didn’t seem to be doing much of anything. But they left in a rush, saying they something to do.” He tilted his head further, but tossed it and only said, “Well, no telling what his story was.” We walked over toward the counter, and Chwithach asked, “Is there anything you’d like for today?” “Hmm, yeah. Do you — do we have any scrolls on crysts? Or humans?” “Crysts, crysts,” he said, tapping his chin. “From the Berwem?” “Yes.” He seemed to peer at me. After a few beats, he spoke with deliberation. “Well, they aren’t very common, or valuable, and there has scarcely been⁠ ⁠—” I popped my tongue “—⁠ What?” “Nothing, nothing, go on.” “There hasn’t been much research on them, a few papers I’d licked here and there, not all I am sure I can find again. Prepare for disappointment, I’d reason.” “Okay.” “And humans, hmm. The mountain-dwellers and sea-dwellers have much more contact with those creatures than the cliff. Do you speak either language?” “Well, my mountain always stank, but it still is — was —- better than my y Draig. And I don’t think I actually ever learnt to read the sea’s script.” “You should. Their orthography is quite fun, and most expressive.” I fluttered my tongue. “I don’t think it compares to Käärmkieli⁠ ⁠—” “Oh, but it does! You will recall sea was the last dragon nation to sign the Severance of Earth and Sky. The sea always had good ties with the sky. Some even considered sea a part of sky, at intervals.” The red drake shook his head. “But I digress,” he said. By now we’d reached the alcoves, but Chwithach turned to finish explaining. “The sea-dwellers were masters of trade, and their languages reflects that — a creole, an amalgam of many tongues. And the clawing system has been developed, standardized by some of the best minds. Learn it, please⁠ ⁠—⁠ I am sure you will appreciate it.” He waved a wing and meant something by it. “Now, I take your sudden interest in these creatures has to do with that messy business in the lake?” I nodded. “Unfortunate, that. Was it your friend who grounded them?” I lowered my head again. “Ah. Well, I disagree with her actions on principle. Humans are creatures just as us, some I even count as friends.” “But–but they shouldn’t have been in our cliffs. They were creepy and threatening.” “Our cliffs? They are but formations of rock. We have no special right to them. Why, Gwymr/Frina has existed for fewer than twelve generations.” I wrinkled my frills. “My point is, our names are inscribed nowhere upon the cliff faces. Do you think the Ulfame would allow travelers if they had known dragons lived here?” “You know their name?” “Yes, Rhyfel the younger came by this morning, to share his findings and thoughts.” “Did he show you their creepy bodies?” “Creepy? They may be strange, but they find us just as uncanny.” “Then they are blind.” I scoffed, frills bending. He gave a twist of his head. “Have some empathy, Kinri. Do you think tortoises think they look strange?” “Probably. Turts look funny at anything they have never seen before — apes definitely count.” “The tortoises, I mean. Do they think of themselves as strange-looking?” “Tortoises are cute!” He gave another, bigger roll of his head. “Then how about wraiths, then? Do they find themselves as ugly as we do?” “The beastly things probably like it.” “Ough. Kinri, my point is their creepiness is subjective! They do not think of themselves as creepy.” “So? They are creepy.” He covered his face with a wing. “Moving on, how long do you have to study today?” “I can’t stay as long as usual today.” I licked my eyes. “Actually, do you, um, have any newspapers? Since I don’t have time for studies I could lick what the papers are saying about the incident.” “Of course, I read every paper.” He patted a bag by his side, reaching in. When I looked back, his head had snaked forward a bit. “Why can’t you stay as long, if I may ask?” “I have to head out the market later, at the… seventh ring? I think.” “Ah, shopping?” “No, just helping Adwyn with — err, I probably shouldn’t have said that, it’s kinda high secret stuff.” The intent contraction of his light red frills and the steady flicking of his tongue marked him curious. But he waved a wing. “Oh, I tasted nothing, forgot you even said anything.” I smiled and clicked my tongue — then paused, in my mind a certain orange drake looming. “Oh! I forgot something… It’s kinda secret too, but Adwyn wanted to know who here has checked out scrolls about humans, or human-related stuff like the Gorphonic mines. He wants the information on some parchment.” Chwithach had his gaze lowered. “I don’t have parchment. Only fernpaper.” “Maybe he won’t mind?” The red drake only had a frown for that. “Blame me if he does. I’ll have it ready before you leave.” He turned round and almost started off⁠ ⁠—⁠ but then he flared his frills and he reached into his robes and pulled out a jingling pouch. He dug through it and piled its contents⁠ ⁠—⁠ all strange devices that might’ve a purpose⁠ ⁠—⁠ and after several found a sort of mechanical ring-glass. “Here,” he said, winding up a wheel on the side until the sand reached some marker, “this will go off just before the fourth ring, should be enough to get you in time to the⁠ ⁠—⁠ market.” He left the ring-glass on the table as he swept the other things back into the pouch; and as if forgetting he left an aluminum thing that looked like a metalworker’s impression of a seashell. “Thanks, Chwith —” A bell was dinging by the front. Interrupted, I looked over to the source, where a portly cliff-dweller hung by the counter, wearing a half-robe and haphazardly clutching several messily rolled scrolls in wing and looking around with waxing impatience. “Ooh. I need to handle that.” The librarian stood up. Before I could remind him of the metal shell, he pulled his foot from his bag, revealing a clawful of rolled newspapers. “Here you are. I hope they are of help.” Chwithach darted off, leaping and gliding to the front counter, landing on his mat without a hitch. I couldn’t see it, but I could imagine his lazy smile and frill-flutter, looking as if he hadn’t just performed those acrobatics for their sake, as if he had been sitting there all along. So silly. But, he gave me what I wanted. I rolled his scrolls to me and glanced them over. They were clawed in y Draig, with notes scrawled in the margin. “Oh, perfect,” I murmured. I smiled now, because it wouldn’t last. I had dipped my attention into two of the papers, but couldn’t immerse myself with the trip into the lake later today still looming over me. I kept peeking at the little ring-glass Chwithach-sofran had sat down near me to remind me of the ‘shopping trip’ later today. And these dry newspapers, or maybe the book of nothing, were all that offered any distraction⁠ ⁠—⁠ I had glanced over, and the red wiver, Awld, had disappeared at some point while I found and talked to Chwithach. It was then I heard a voice. “Hello, Kinri.” “Ah!” I turned around, all around, but the librarian hadn’t sneaked up on me again, yet it had sounded like his voice. “Where are you?” “In my office,” he replied in an opaque tone. “Are you intrigued? This is an old Aludu Dymestl heirloom I bought for cheap. They called it magic. I don’t quite understand how it works, but it carries sound from the distance. I thought you might appreciate it.” Listening close, from the aluminum shell you heard his voice buzzing faintly, and the opaque tone was a very dull roaring or humming that infected the timbre of his voice, like a wind’s wuthering. I picked up the shell and poked it. There was a very warm glow creeping from within it, and I put it down. “It is an utterly fascinating implement, but alack, I am no mage. That said, there is someone whom I’ll have look at it, and perhaps there’ll be a chance of making another, and, spirits willing, one with less evidence of wear and malfunction. If so… the possibilities boggle.” The nastiness infecting the sound was waxing worse, garbling his words, and even eclipsing some. Even then, I still heard that cute curiosity-tinged smile of his in the tone. I said, “Chwithach, I can’t really hear you. Your voice is getting kinda messy.” “Is it? Ough, that tends to happen after a short while. Here, let me come to you.” The red drake was lighting down behind me not two breaths after. He had a twin of the aluminum shell in his wings, and slipped it into a pocket as he slinked forward. Smiling, the librarian grabbed the shell beside me and started to ask about how I liked the scrolls he’d left, but I interrupted him. “Oh!” I said, “have you ever heard of a, um… synkén rrávdos? A strange kind of rod thing?” “No,” he flicked his tongue. His frills worked for a beat before he said, “Are you sure of that pronunciation?” “That’s how it sounded.” The librarian’s frills flared, and he fixed me with an intent look without losing his usual warmness. “Odd. The word sounds archaic and⁠ ⁠—” his head dipped a bit “—⁠ from some language I can’t place. Where did you hear it?” “From this weird customer at the shop today. They had a black cloak with Dwylla slashed out and yellow eyes and this accent I’d never heard before.” His frills worked, and I could see their brilles clearing when he said, “Did they greet you with anything strange like, ‘Omoù Ptèromai?’” “They did!” Chwithach lowered his head, licking his eyes. “The miser. Yes, they light by the library often enough.” “Do they have a name? I can’t imagine a mother naming their child ‘the miser.’” Maybe my mother, if she could rename me. Chwithach looked away. After a beat they said, “While he does, he’s in hiding. If he hasn’t identified himself to you, I’m afraid I cannot.” I peered at the red drake. “You’re the last person I expected to have secrets, Chwithach-sofran.” Somehow, he nodded. “I don’t have secrets, but I keep secrets,” he said. “Consider your interest in alchemy. Just as I wouldn’t tell anyone of that without your willing, I wouldn’t reveal the miser’s secrets.” “Well, where could I find him if I want to ask him?” “I’d rather not say.” His head turned, still not facing me, but I could see a sliver of his pupil. A beat. He turned to me in full, “I can, however, arrange for him to be here at a good time one day. Or try.” “That would be fine.” I glanced back at the papers I had only opened, and the librarian seemed to take the hint and started stepping away⁠ ⁠—⁠ before he stopped, and peered back at me. “Before I go, could I ask something of you?” I nodded, and Chwithach paused for a moment, as if to give his words time to bloom before he released them. He said, “You know, Kinri, I love this library.” His gaze moved to somewhere beyond the window by the entrance, and he continued, “It’s like an ickle hatchling. And running it is my giving something back to the town. But it feels… passive. We have readings here on occasion, and I’ve gotten to know the patrons and⁠ ⁠—⁠ well, my point, I think, is that it seems I could do more for Gwymr/Frina than just run a library.” It didn’t sound like he was done, but I said, “I think you’re doing just fine, Sofrani.” I tried to give him a smile, and at least he wasn’t looking at me just then. “Of course, the library is good,” he said with a tossed head. “But there are other possibilities. As I said, I could do more. But… not alone. I know a few things about languages, about literature. You are a stargazer. Your friend, Hinte, is an alchemist. The miser is… a mage.” Chwithach paused, and there was significance. “It’s enough to start an odd little school. We could have it in the library, and teach⁠ ⁠—⁠ it would be the first proper school in Gwymr/Frina. Free for everyone. I think the town needs it.” I was silence for a bit, and I frowned, but it was only a frown because a smile wasn’t coming. The librarian shook his head. “Ah, don’t answer me just yet. This isn’t small, so sleep on it. I’d just wanted to bring it up before you left.” He gave me a smile and a nod, and then turned around. For once, the librarian walked instead of flying. He walked away slowly, thoughtfully. I tried reading the papers again after that, and I stopped when there was only a scratch or so of sand left in the ring-glass. I rolled the cheap paper up onto their cheap scrolls, unrolling and trying again and again to convince them to roll up just right, then slipped them all into my bag. They fell into the pocket where the crysts’ glass flakes had settled, instead of the one where I still hadn’t cleaned the dried crab blood. It might take a vigorous scrubbing to get rid of, now. And it smelt. Had everyone been smelling that? Oops. I low-walked over to the counter. Chwithach looked from his page, where his wing-digit scratched spicy ink with what looked the tooth of some creature. It was bigger than what a rockwraith would have, and the wrong shape to be from a skinhound. He finished a word with a flourish and met my gaze with a small smile. “Ah, farewell, Kinri-ychy. Say, before you leave let me give you this little flyer I designed for the school. I’d like an opinion of it before I hand it to someone with a press.” He held out a scroll. I took it with a polite smile⁠ ⁠—⁠ and felt a bump of folded fernpaper underneath. Adwyn’s report. It slipped discreetly in my pocket before the scroll was unrolled. Of the advertisement, the first you saw was a charcoal rendering that resembled the librarian with bigger horns and tighter scales⁠ ⁠—⁠ yet somewhere off. I licked my eyes and peered a little closer⁠ ⁠—⁠ and saw he’d drawn his reflection. Opposite the rendering was wiggly text naming the library and some hours and some directions. The glyphs were outlines that alternated being shaded and not. I was frowning when I glanced back up. “Um.” “You don’t needed to answer now. Sleep on it. I’ll see you soon.” He slid out some drawer into which went his inked paper. He glanced back slowly, eyes clouded. “I don’t suppose you have anything to donate today?” “Oh, of course I do, Sofrani. Here.” I searched my bag with my wing, searched a coinpurse, and gave a few electrum pieces. “Take this. I appreciate for all the help.” He took the coin, dropping it behind his counter. Giving me a salute and a crinkling smile, he said another farewell, just in case: “And always, it is my pleasure. Fragrant readings to you, and see you soon.” I smiled and returned the salute. “You too.” * * *