The cavern was far narrower inside than the gaping entrance would have suggested.

A common theme. The mouths of dragon lairs, while wide enough to accommodate visitors, weren’t actually used by their incumbents. Dragons usually entered through private passages only accessible from the sky.

This meant that everything else was for guests. And for intruders.

Lit up by well-maintained torches and bereft of the piles of dirt and ash that should have constantly swept its way into the cavern, the beginning of this dragon's lair had all the hallmarks of an adventuring party's dream dungeon. I could practically smell the varnished musk of recently refilled treasure chests waiting to be opened.

Probably because that’s precisely what awaited nearby.

As the cavern walls narrowed into a tight corridor fit for the size of one traditional band of heroes, Marissa and I were soon presented with the first of our obstacles.

'You must be this tall to enter Oirdan's Lair.'

“A … height requirement?”

Marissa's mouth was agape as she eyeballed the sign stuck in the middle of the corridor.

“Mm, sounds about right,” I said. “It's a dragon's lair belonging to a fully mature adult male, with presumably his own hoard. Certain criteria need to be met in order to be eligible to proceed.”

“What? To speak to him?”

“To steal, actually.”

“Why would a dragon care about his thieves meeting a minimum height requirement, then? To protect them?”

“No.”

I bent down and picked up a loose stone.

Then, I casually tossed it past the sign.

Swishswishswishswishswish.

Immediately, rotating blades burst forth from hidden crevices in the walls, intertwining into a deadly barrier of spinning death. The blades spun until they fully rotated, slotting back into the invisible gaps that held them.

“It's to ensure that the traps work,” I explained. “They're very intricate, but also prone to frequent jamming if they're triggered without hitting anything, hence the height requirement. It's easier to fetch the blades from a torso than it is if they're stuck in the walls.”

Marissa's mouth remained wide open.

Then, she took off her hat and used her palm to measure the height of her head against the board. She put her hat back on, a glum look on her face upon seeing that she was well above the height requirement.

“There's more,” I said, cheerily pointing to a section where the wall wasn't lit up. “Look closely. Do you see that? Where the shadows are slightly more pronounced?”

“Yes, I see it,” replied Marissa, her demeanour becoming more serious. “Spikes embedded within the walls.”

I nodded.

“That's just a decoy. There's a false ceiling above. It's wide enough to hold a doom ball.”

“What's a doom ball?”

“A ball which causes doom.”

Marissa nodded.

“So the spikes aren't real?” she asked after a moment.

“No, the spikes are real. As is the trap door beyond the doom ball.”

“I don't see a trap door.”

“It's invisible,” I said, pointing at the runes on the ground. “Hidden even against witches. It can't be seen unless you already know what to look for. And what you should be looking for are a pair of draconic illusionary runes.”

Marissa craned her neck forwards, as though unsure whether a step could be afforded. Her eyes lit up with shock when she noticed the magical patterns.

“Astonishing. It's as if they suddenly popped up in front of me.”

“Dragons are masters of magic. They don't weave it so much as breathe it. I can only see what I do because of my sword. Their concealment wards are tricky, but now you know they exist, part of the spell has already been broken.”

Marissa nodded as she took in the sight of the glowing runes on the ground, their markings clear in the flickering darkness.

“The archwitches say as much. The magic of dragons is supposedly overpowering to the extent of spontaneous vomiting. It's why they're one of the few residents of Ouzelia we cannot deliver to.”

She turned to me, fresh curiosity mixed with a complicated, frightened excitement in her eyes.

“I can’t wait to vomit. Can your sword protect us both from the spinning death blades, doom balls and plethora of other lethal traps lying in wait?”

I shook my head.

“Not in the slightest. My sword isn't an instrument of invulnerability. At least, not if I purposefully wade through a trapped maze expecting it to save me.”

“I see. Then, how do you navigate these dangerous corridors?”

“I don’t. I'm a heroine, not an adventurer.”

I smiled, before turning towards the nearest wall.

It wasn't that long ago that the two roles were the same. Thankfully, the fact I wasn't the least bit interested in scooping up treasure made all the difference.

I was here to talk. Not to loot.

And that meant I could take certain liberties not available to adventurers destined to take the long, winding path down the spinning death tunnels.

“We'll go this way,” I said, nodding at the smooth wall devoid of any markings. “A short cut.”

Marissa glanced at my sword. Already, I could see her wondering if it was prudent for her to start enveloping herself in a protective bubble.

“Another shortcut? You're going to slice your way through again?”

“Not this time. Too many walls to cut. This isn't a minotaur's labyrinth. It's a dragon's lair with multiple levels. If I start cutting down walls, I also start cutting down weight bearing structural support. There’d be an avalanche outside. And only after we’re fully buried inside first.”

“So … what will you be slicing?”

I was slightly pained by the genuine thought that Marissa assumed I'd slice my way to any destination.

I mean, I probably could, but that would definitely rack up the sort of bill that I couldn't just casually hoist onto the Ducal Estate as heroine expenses.

“No slicing walls today. After all, this time there's a door.”

“A door?”

“An employee door.” I placed my palm against the cavern wall, sliding it across as I began to walk back towards the entrance. “Goons, hirelings and henchmen need to be able to traverse the lair without mortal threat to their well-being. It'd be a serious breach of the dragon's responsibilities as an employer if workers needed to navigate a maze of deadly traps in order to do their jobs.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Marissa joined me in running her hand across the cavern wall. She looked slightly bemused.

“Does every maze come with a shortcut?”

“Dragon mazes? Sure. And not as an added feature either. The shortcut is always the first thing made. A design philosophy lifted straight from the Spiral Isle School of Labyrinth Design. The minotaurs consider it good practice to build with a view of not accidentally trapping themselves.”

I continued trailing my hand across the length of the cavern wall.

It was smooth to the touch. This close to the outside, it'd been sanded down by the elements long before any dragon had made its home here. As a result, the only part of the wall that was actually particularly jagged was the typical giveaway that something was amiss.

At the first sharp edge, I poked around for a tell-tale notch. It wasn't hard to find. Nor was the small button buried into it.

Pressing down, I was rewarded with a satisfying click and the sight of the wall swinging outwards. A shabby looking wooden door emblazoned with the words 'PRIVATE – EMPLOYEES ONLY' was revealed, as was a dustpan and broom falling limply to the floor, clearly placed there in haste and left for the next person to deal with.

Marissa peered down at the grimy unemptied contents of the dustpan.

“I see someone clocked out on the dot. Did our arrival frighten away the workers?”

I shrugged. It might just be that some people didn't take enough pride in their work. Then again, most people didn't have Madame Zaiba as their boss.

Compared to a dragon, I knew who frightened me less.

“Actually, we should've already been challenged by a hopelessly underqualified and unsupported guard. Maybe two, given the size of this lair. I'm not sure where they are. This is normally when I'm explaining who I am and why I'm wearing a waitress uniform.”

Marissa glanced at the walnut accents and frills on my skirt.

“By any chance, do you actually possess a dedicated heroine outfit?”

“I do, actually. All shiny armour, faux wings, 500 pound shield, everything.”

“Have you ever worn it?”

“Nope,” I happily replied, just before swinging open the employee door.

Immediately, my nasal sinuses were crushed by the overwhelming scent of burnt toast and extra black coffee. What came after was the sight of a smaller cavern chamber filled to the brim with a healthy population sample of nearby Troll Country, minus the trolls themselves.

Heavily armed goblins, ogres and orcs milled around a dozen stone slabs serving as tables, their faces filled with glee to match the raucous sounds of hooting and laughter so clamorous that I was surprised even the magic surrounding the door had silenced it.

What didn't surprise me, however, was that even though the muffling spell was released upon opening the door, a veil of total quiet was instantly cast on the occupants of the room at my arrival..

Dozens upon dozens of eyes turned towards me as I stepped into the chamber. Confusion, alarm and hostility made the rounds, asking questions better than any words could have.

And then—

“Royal flush! Hah! Suck it, losers!”

Groans as a room filled with busy gamblers returned to their tables.

All of a sudden, cards came slapping down or were tossed to the wayside. Atop their stone slabs, flushes, straights, pairs and three of a kinds did battle amidst a fanfare of noise.

I cleared my throat. Nobody answered. Not that I expected as much. This was a communal area, not a working one. And that meant the two squishy humans intruding through the secret door was only a problem belonging to whoever chose to actually address them.

“Fifty six occupants in this room are actively engaged in card manipulation,” said Marissa, peeking her head past my shoulder. Her already bright eyes were lit with a faint glow. “Including collusion, bottom dealing, deck stacking, card switching and outright threat of assault.”

I looked at her, just as impressed as I was puzzled.

“The archwitches teach you a spell for detecting people cheating at card games?”

“I spent a summer working at a Queensholme casino.” Marissa looked faintly embarrassed. “Being an apprentice doesn't pay much.”

I sympathised with her.

Apprentices in any profession weren't paid much. But for witches, they also had to deal with the sizable expenses of purchasing their own enchanted robes and broomstick from their initial salaries, even if the cost was later reimbursed upon their successful advancement.

For all their magical gifts and arcane talents, even witches had no spell to ward away immense debt … and also the smell of burnt toast lying scattered on every available surface.

Marissa visibly wrinkled her nose.

“Somehow, this is even worse than a witchly dormitory. But I suppose it’s only typical that the only place people don't clean up after is their own.”

I thought about the cafe's excellent cleanliness standards, then of my bedroom sitting just above, littered with the combined clutter of both mine and Tutu's late night adventures with leftover snacks and cakes.

“I know. It's terrible, isn't it?”

Marissa nodded. However, before she could agree any further, a grim-faced goblin approached from one of the nearest tables. He left a trail of low value cards behind him, and presumably, also his earnings.

“Well?” he said, planting himself in front of us with his arms crossed. “Who are you?”

I did my customary twist to show off my sword. Marissa didn't need to do anything. Her uniform was actually appropriate.

“Elise Rowe,” I said. “Anointed heroine to the Duchy of Witschblume. This is Marissa Haycroix. Delivery witch. Sorry for the bother. We're here to see the dragon residing in this lair. Oirdan?”

The goblin narrowed his eyes at my sword. Then he did the same to my face.

“He’s not in,” he said after a long pause.

I nodded, then promptly put on the smile I reserved for people who let their tea sit for thirty minutes and then complained that it was cold.

“Should I wait for the dramatic roar or just skip to the next part of the conversation?”

The goblin's right ear twitched. I wasn't quite sure why goblin ears had evolved to be able to direct both lobes separately. But I wanted to do that too.

“It's poker night.”

He crossed his arms, speaking in a voice which plainly stated that this was enough of an explanation.

It wasn't. I was here in an official capacity. And while I didn’t like waving the Queensholme Accords over those who had an employer to defend, when push came to shove, I had a world to save.

“I have a quest. In accordance with article 8b of the revised–”

“It's poker night,” he repeated simply. “We don't accept visitors on poker night.”

“Is Oirdan also playing poker?”

“No.”

“Then I can be on my way. Don’t worry, I’m not here to disturb anybody’s poker night. In fact, I’m up for a game on the way back. I just need to speak with Oirdan.”

The goblin narrowed his eyes further.

By the end of it, they were two tiny beads in a maelstrom of general distrust. I didn’t fault him. The sword on my back meant many things. And to goblins, it was more than a legendary artifact. It was the stick of unemployment.

“You got a visitor's pass?” he asked gruffly.

“No.”

“Then go get one.”

“Where can I get a visitor's pass?”

“At the end of the lobby. Turn back and go left.”

“Past the spikes, doom ball and trap doors?”

“Yeah, then past the spitting magma runes and the loosely chained starving sphinx. Ask at reception.”

I leaned in, adopting a serious expression I rarely had the need to use.

“Did you just inform me that you're deliberately holding a malnourished sphinx in captivity? A critically endangered creature that's illegal to remove from its natural habitat and to possess in every state in Ouzelia?”

For a brief moment, the goblin simply looked confused.

Then, his eyes widened. He took a step back and shook his palms.

“What? No, no, of course not. That's not what I meant at all. It's just, well ...”

I planted my hands on my hips. It was serious business time. Tutu nibbling at customer's food while they were at the restroom time.

“I'll need your name as my first contact. And the name of your manager.”

The goblin groaned. All of a sudden, the veil of needless grumpiness was swept away from his eyes.

“Okay, look. That's Jeff in a suit, okay? It's just for show. We obviously wouldn't keep a real sphinx here. It'd eat us all for breakfast, then our remains for lunch, and then probably throw a riddle towards whatever's left for us to solve.”

I tapped my shoe. The goblin looked exasperated.

When it was clear I wasn't going to budge, he rolled his eyes, then pointed towards a large red door off to the side.

“Main corridor,” he said begrudgingly. “Take the first stairs to the very top. Oirdan will either be in the sauna or his vault.”

I thought about feigning suspicion, but then decided to break off into a smile instead.

It was time to get to work.

“Thank you.”

I nodded at Marissa, then motioned for her to follow. I made it two steps before a cough from the goblin brought him back to my attention.

“Out of curiosity, what do you need to speak to the boss about?”

“I'm here about his general motives and plans for the future, primarily regarding the fate of the land and whether or not he intends to harm, enslave or otherwise dominate its various peoples.”

“And if he does?”

“Well, I'll have to explain that's illegal.”

“And if that doesn't work?”

I plopped a finger against my cheek as I considered the likely ramifications.

“I suppose an argument will ensue,” I said simply.

The goblin put on a worried expression.

He glanced at some of his colleagues, all of whom were happy to let him take the responsibility for engaging me in conversation.

“Rogotz,” he said suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Rogotz. My name's Rogotz.”

“Oh, I see. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rogotz. However, I won't be needing your name or your manager's anymore. Not as long as that sphinx really is just Jeff in a suit.”

Rogtoz gave a casual flick of his hand.

“Nah. It's not that. Just suddenly feel like increasing my chances of survival. You know how it is.”

I did. More than he knew, most likely.

“Enjoy the rest of your poker night,” I said, smiling before turning to Marissa again. “Shall we?”

“Let's.” Marissa nodded at me, then did the same with Rogotz. “A good evening to you.”

The newly introduced goblin grunted in response. He turned back to his table.

Nobody else stopped us as we headed for the door.

After all, anybody who went to meet a dragon was someone who needed to. And it was always better me than them.