The room they’d entered was large and circular, and looked as if the walls had been papered with maps. Some were old and weathered, their edges torn and jagged with age. Others were fresh and bright, reflecting the room’s soft, white light. In the middle of the room were three tables holding heavy books.
“What kind of map are you looking for?” the Gnome asked.
“Well, my friend, I’m not exactly sure. Do you have anything from the olden days?”
“We have any and every map you can think of, from all the lands,” the Gnome answered. He wore an actual smile on his face now—this was a Gnome who loved his job.
“We need a detailed map of the northeastern section of the world. One that shows all the rivers, lakes, and towns from here to Trevilsom,” Agnes said.
Salem was grateful for her. She was always one to get down to business, while Salem often dallied around, too worried of what the future might hold.
“I have just the thing. Follow me.”
The walk down to the far side of the middle table felt like nearly a mile to Tabby and Claire, but they hardly noticed the burning sensation in their legs. They were too awestruck by the large room. It made the Akron Public Library seem like the size of a phonebooth.
“This is too cool,” Claire said, flipping through one of the books as Salem, Agnes, and the Gnome flipped through another.
The maps within the book were beautiful, hand-drawn creations. Each detail was sketched with care. On the maps were words—names of cities, villages, kingdoms, rivers, and oceans—that neither of the girls could pronounce.
“There it is,” Salem said, pointing to the word ‘Ashbourne’ on the map. It was located not far from the Light Elves’ Kingdom. "We could take the scenic route if time wasn't so short. Alas, it is."
Behind the town was Lake Fever, and the old tales Salem had learned in his youth came back to him. In the tale, the lake wasn’t called ‘Fever’, but ‘Ash Lake’—a more appropriate title, given the town’s name.
“We know where we need to go now,” Agnes said. “Let’s do it.”
The Gnome smiled again, this one as genuine as the last, and replied, “I’m glad I could be of help to you. If there is anything else you need, just let me—”
“There is one thing,” Salem interrupted. “It’s going to sound silly, so try not to laugh.”
“Oh, I would never. It is but my job to grant all requests of those who enter the library; at least the ones I can fulfill, that is.”
Salem nodded, thinking, Of course. You have to say that.
“I need a book on the legend of the Rogue Dragons.”
The Gnome’s face went blank, his smile vanishing in record time. “Rogue Dragons? You mean the silly tall tales told by children?”
Salem offered a weak grin. “Exactly the ones I mean.”
The Gnome rolled his eyes. Claire saw it and gained a little more respect for the odd creature. She was, of course, the queen of eyerolls, and the Gnome’s wasn’t half bad.
“I will see what I can do,” the Gnome said. “I’ll have to look. If you don’t mind waiting, that is.”
“Not at all, but we’re in a bit of a hurry, so please don’t make us wait too long,” Salem was jovial enough, but he put an edge to his voice to let the Gnome know he wasn’t joking.
The Gnome led them out of the circular room, and the rest of the library manifested once they were past the threshold.
Meanwhile, Agnes found a pen and copied the map down crudely on the back of her hand. She didn’t trust either hers or Salem’s memory enough to remember it. They were getting old—no way around that.
Once the map was copied to her satisfaction, she rushed to catch up with her companions.
It took the Gnome longer than Salem liked, but that was mostly because he ran the odd request through the other Gnomes.
They each knew the legend of the Rogue Dragons to be just that—a legend, and the secrets of those dark times were kept in the vault with countless other secrets. However, refusing to grant the wizard and witch’s request when he’d already deemed it a ‘silly tale’ would just raise suspicion. The library didn’t need any more suspicion, and if it got the visitors out of the library quicker, then what was the harm?
The Rogue Dragons would never rise again. In order to do so, one must possess the Dragon Rites, an ancient book made from the skin of the Rogue Dragons’ victims. The book was millennia old and long gone; lost, if not by the hands of evil men, then by the sands of time.
The Gnome found the book containing the legend in the hidden stacks and sent it to the wizard, who—despite being caught off guard as he studied the witch’s rendition of the map—snagged it with a speed that belied his age. Much to the Gnome’s displeasure; he was hoping to gain some revenge for the incident with the dog.
This odd group was somehow associated with those first travelers and the pee-happy beast that they carried along with them. Maybe a knot on the wizard’s forehead would’ve eased the Gnome’s pain and embarrassment of the incident—at the very least, a paper cut.
But revenge would have to wait. The Gnome supposed that, in due time, his anger would subside. After all, the beast that had done such a horrendous thing to he and his colleagues was just that—a beast.
“Thank you,” the wizard said, bringing the Gnome back to the present.
