Page 69 of The Dungeon Book

“Hello, Bait,” I said again.

She squeezed into the goblin tunnel to retrieve me from my shelf. It was a tight fit for her now, but she was exhausted, her face ash-streaked, and she curled up in the goblin tunnel as she’d done when she was a child.

“It’s done,” she said. “Nithscalpa’s dead.”

“Indeed! A most remarkable victory.”

“The ghast helped.”

I lacked eyebrows to express my surprise. “I’m very glad he did, but also disconcerted that he’d stray so far from his lair. I can’t imagine he did it out of generosity – or even to eliminate a rival.”

“He said he wanted a favour.”

“The ghast is not to be trifled with.”

“What’s trifle?” she yawned. Sir Peledon might have called it a most unladylike yawp. It was the sort of yawn that came from spending too much time with lion-mouthed manticores.

“Never mind. What’s done is done. Still, I do wish I had been there to witness it – from a safe vantage point, of course. I might have been able to provide some useful pointers – only you left me behind.”

“Had to.” She yawned again. “I couldn’t bring a talking skull down to the village.”

“No one wants any eye-catching desk ornaments,” I muttered to myself.

“What?”

“Never mind. Are you injured?”

“I’m tired.”

“Sleep, then.”

She screwed up her eyes tightly, and tossed and turned as much as the narrow confines would allow. Her legs twitched. Sleep evaded her.

“Is it over?”

“The dragon is dead. His death throes echoed through the whole Dungeon. Everyone heard him perish, child, and every Denizen knows you did it.” I gave her my best grin, which was identical to every other expression I could make, but in this case it was as heartfelt as I could muster. “I’m proud of you. Slightly terrified, too, but mostly proud. I’d never thought to know a dragon-slayer.”

“Will they let me stay?” She opened her eyes and sat up the fraction of an inch the tunnel allowed. “The dragon said—”

“The dragon,” I said, “was never the Master. His word is not the Rule. There’ll be another Levelling, I expect, and some will speak for you.”

“Others won’t.”

“You brought humans into the Dungeon, Bait.”

“There were already humans before.”

“Ah, you’ve decided you’re human again, have you? Not a fearsome changeling?”

“I don’t know what I am.”

“Humanity is overrated, in my experience.”

Her eyes were bright in the dark. “But you were human when you were Master. Orphir’s human.”

“Yrn Kyos was human. The Master’s position is unique in the Dungeon hierarchy. Nevertheless, as one approximation of human to another, well done. You deserve a rest, so sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

I watched her try to sleep again. She was clearly exhausted. As a child, she could sleep anywhere; in my tomb, in the crook of a corner, in a treasure chest, suspended in a goblin hammock over a chasm. But she was losing the knack of innocence. Her body craved sleep, but her mind roamed down unfamiliar labyrinths of thought.