“I’ve told you. If you’re not on the list, you’re not coming in.” The guard folded the slip of paper down the middle and tucked it into his chest pocket.

“I’m sure I must be on there somewhere, Sir,” said Mal. “Maybe if you just have another check… It’s er Albert… Albert Thingy.” He couldn’t for the life of him remember the blacksmith’s surname, and the longer he took, the more of the chief archivist’s helpful hints he was missing. The new stone holders were probably in the restricted section already. They’d be making notes by now, huddled over shedloads of books and esoteric stuff while he was out here trying to get in.

“There’s no Albert Thingy on this list.” The guard patted his pocket. “Nor any list by my reckoning.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, look, I’m sorry, Sir. I’m not Albert Thingy at all see. I should have known an experienced guard like you would see straight through my little uh, ploy.” Mal stumbled. His legs felt weak all of a sudden. Something flashed green across his vision. He blinked.

The library guard sniffed. “And don’t be thinking you can swoon your way in either. The very foundations o’ magic are secured inside this building. We ain’t gonna be givin ‘em away to any Tom, Dick - or Albert.” The man grinned to himself.

“The truth is my name’s Malcolm,” said Malcolm. His mouth had gone all dry and the strange sensation pulsing through his head made his stomach heave. “I’m a new stone holder. My sponsor is the healer, Zipp-ohhh.” He trailed off, woozy.

The guard raised his eyes. “And my name’s the Chief Archivist Potat-ohhhhhhh. Get out of here with you. Zippo’s ne’er taken a stone holder on in ever. Go pull someone else’s leg. I’m done with it.”

The door slammed. Of course, Zippo hadn’t bothered to tell the guards she’d taken on a protégé. Any hopes Malcolm had of the menagerie helping him trigger were fast becoming a dead loss. He leaned against the door and flicked down his scroll. Nothing had changed, and he could still feel the up stone digging into his side. Maybe he’d almost triggered his spell. How though? He hadn’t even been moving, never mind jumping. He’d just been standing there.

Back in the woods, Albert had known straight off when he triggered his spell – shoot the breeze, and now, he really could! What a skill! Mal had never heard of it before, but damn, it sounded amazing. How come the girl knew it? Despite himself, he smiled. He hoped the others hadn’t caught up with her. Somehow, he doubted it.

He pulled out his dictionary and flicked through the pages. The trouble is… He sighed, running his finger over the tiny, indented word under the book’s title. – CONCISE. The same as every other skill dictionary he'd ever seen. He gazed up at the ornate filigree on the stone walls. What if somewhere in there was the unconcise dictionary – the original? His spell would be in it, printed in black and white. He needed to get into the library. He kicked the door in frustration, then set off at a jog around the walls.

Three times, he circled the outside of the building. There were loads of doors but they were all closed and half of them looked fake.

Somewhere up amongst the gargoyles, a bell tolled. Hanging around in bushes was more time consuming than he’d thought. He sprinted for the gates.

* * *

Malcolm made two hollows in the sand and wriggled his elbows into them. It was impossible to lie still. Everything itched, and if it didn’t itch, it stung. It had to be well past three o’clock. He’d never known Todd to be wrong, but there was no sign of anyone on the shore, save for an old couple casting nets into the shallows. If someone really was planning to relieve a grey of its egg, this place ought to be heaving with folk wanting to take a shot at it. The only way greys got eggs was by finding them unguarded, or by killing the creature that birthed them. The eggs held magic, and the greys craved it.

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Below, the old couple pulled in their net, teeming with tiny silver fish, and dragged it away down the shore. Something felt off. The idea niggled Malcolm’s brain. Magic creatures were safe on Feor. If one intended to nest on the island, then it would head straight for the safety of the menagerie – not the wilds where a grey could attack at any time. It made no sense.

Something flickered at the corner of his eye. Two figures rounded the dune, one broad-shouldered and lumbering, the other tall and slim, striding easily along the sand. Something glittered at the slim boy’s wrist, flashing silver as it spun. Malcolm’s stomach lurched. Damn Todd! This was supposed to be secret information. He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to find the rest of the new stone holders behind him. No. Just these two losers, then.

Slater walked with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going. Malcolm stayed low to the ground, upwind of the two boys and hopefully hidden by the scrubby bushes. He counted to thirty then moved, cringing at the shower of sand behind him. He waited to another count of thirty, then chanced a quick peek.

The pair walked with their heads down like they were searching for something in the sand. A gap had opened between them. Bentley puffed at the back, stopping to wipe his face with a red, spotted handkerchief. Slater spun on his heel. He yelled, brandishing his crop. Whatever he said was enough to get Bentley moving again. He ran, the huge bag on his shoulder clanging with every step. He slung the bag at Slater’s feet and dropped to his knees.

“Get it then!” shouted Slater.

This ought to be good. Their equipment was probably in that bag. A boy who had the coin to buy top-tier, underhand information and silly riding gear must easily be able to afford the latest seeking relics.

Bentley pulled his arm out of the bag and handed something over to Slater – an old silver goblet by the looks of it – hardly earth shattering. Was that all? No, Bentley was shoulder deep in the bag again. Now what? A decanter of fine wine? Mal groaned – half with disgust at the pair for wasting valuable egg searching time, half with pure envy at the thought of refreshments. He blinked the sweat from his eyes, and the side of the dune exploded.

Malcolm threw himself to the ground under a hail of stone and sand. He curled into a ball, hugging his knees, his exposed skin peppered by stinging missiles. What the hell just happened? He cracked one eye open. Halfway up the dune, something roared.

The dragon stood on her hind legs, wings outstretched. Her golden underbelly proclaimed her a creature of magical purity – an extremely angry one at that. Another roar rent the air, so loud it sent shockwaves through his brain. Ripples danced across the sand. He threw his hands over his ears and rocked.

Malcolm waited until his vision swirled and his heart hammered in his throat. He eased in a breath as deep as he could without choking on sand. Breathing secured. He lifted his head. If the dragon saw him, she paid him no heed. Her attention was entirely focused on the threat in front of her.

The Bentley half of the threat in front of her wiped vomit from his mouth and ran for the water, hands flapping above his head, stains creeping down his too tight trousers.

And his partner in crime? Malcolm scrabbled onto his side and stared. Slater stood on what was left of the dune, large as life, not a scratch on him, the stupid goblet still in his hand. The she-dragon screamed, trying to drive the boy away from her precious cargo, a shining egg tucked beneath the swell of her belly.

She’s beautiful. It was a feeling more than a thought. Mal had never seen a true dragon in the flesh before. He’d seen the dragon type greys, but compared to the beauty in front of him, they were simply dragon shaped. No one could confuse this magnificent creature with a grey, but it seemed Slater had, and now the idiot needed to get out of her range. This ought to be good.

The air wavered. Malcolm blinked. The mother dragon’s belly pulsed with a soft golden glow. Excitement leaped in his throat. The dragon was affecting the space around her. He’d heard of this happening before. When a creature of magical purity experienced deep emotion, a little of their power escaped the confines of their body. For the first time in his fifteen years, a tiny trickle of mana flowed into Mal’s core. All he needed now was a stone skill to use it with. Did Slater get mana too? Hang about… Why wasn’t he running?

Slater hadn’t moved. He stood facing the dragon. She shrieked and beat her huge wings, sending clouds of sand churning into the air. Slater laughed. He raised his hand in a mock toast, then hurled the stupid goblet, sending it tumbling end over end in an arc headed straight for the dragon. “CHEERS!” he yelled.

In a flash of silver light, the mother dragon’s chest burst open.