The man Josh wanted to see about a dragon was Sir Doug, but when he arrived at Crosskeys, he found it boarded up. A neighbour told him that they’d all gone, and good riddance to the lot of them. Sir Doug and his adventurers must have already set off on their expedition to the Cult of the Shining Light of the Moon, still under the impression that the key thief was after the third key.

Josh felt obscurely guilty about that.

Lacking Sir Doug’s counsel, he was forced to fall back on his second option.

The second option was currently sitting on a haybale and picking his nose.

Josh sat on another haybale opposite him.

“I’ve got work to do, you know,” Lalf said, inspecting his finger. In the background, an elderly groom who was mucking out a horse stall gave a little snort of laughter. Lalf scowled in response, and half turned around. “I’m a page, now,” he insisted.

“Page!” the old man said, hugely entertained. “A scrubby little brat like you!”

“Am so!”

“I want to talk to you about dragons,” Josh interrupted quickly. “I need a dragon expert.”

Lalf immediately whipped back round.

“Oh? I know everything about dragons.”

“In that case,” Josh said, “Why don’t they let people fly?”

This was something he had read in passing while at the Marquis of Silbury’s library. He had marked it for further research, but never got round to investigating it, and now he didn’t want to show his face at Silbury’s house just in case the Order of the Unyielding were searching for him.

Lalf stared at Josh in amazement.

“People can’t fly,” he said scornfully. He sounded like he thought Josh ought to know this.

“They could with magic,” Josh pointed out. “If they tried.” He didn’t know any spells for flying himself, but was certain they ought to exist.

Lalf screwed his face up as he tried to imagine it.

“Would they make wings?” He flapped his arms. Josh tried not to drop his head in his hands in frustration.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe? Or maybe they could just levitate with a flying spell or something.”

“The dragons forbade flight a long time ago,” the elderly groom said, leaning on his rake. “They declared that the earth is for creatures of the earth, the sea is for creatures of the sea, and the air is for creatures of the air.”

Josh wanted to say, “But what about frogs? Or flying fish? Or sugar gliders?” He restrained himself, and merely asked, “Did the dragons say why?”

If Six Spires had been deliberately created as a fantasy world, then a draconic moratorium on flying was a handy way to explain the lack of floating ships and mages zipping around on broomsticks or magic carpets. But if Six Spires was its own world, which had developed organically, then maybe it was just because dragons were territorial, and had decided they didn’t want to share airspace with a bunch of shaved apes.

The elderly groom immediately launched into the tale of the Man and the Moon Maidens, in which a mortal man had crafted himself wings and attempted to fly to the largest of the six moons. However, according to Six Spires mythology, the moons were the six daughters of the Father Sun, and He grew angry at the temerity of a mortal man attempting to seduce one of His Moon Maidens. To prevent the Moon Maiden from succumbing to her seducer’s wiles, He had created a guardian dragon for each moon. Ever since then, men have been forbidden to trespass in the skies, which are protected by the dragons.

That didn’t explain anything useful to Josh.

During this tale, the elderly man had joined Lalf on the haybale.

“How do the dragons enforce their no-flying policy?” Josh asked.

“Ah!” the elderly groom exclaimed.

Lalf sat up excitedly as he recognised a question he could answer.

“They have big webs around their heads,” he said, gesturing with his hands cupped around his hears. “And the wind sings to them about … about …” he looked at the elderly groom.

“…of all things in far off lands,” the groom supplied.

“Yeah!” Lalf said, wriggling on his haybale. “And … and the wind tells the dragons about all the wyverns and birds and what each one is doing, and if there is anything that shouldn’t be there, then …” Lalf crooked his fingers in dragon claws and pantomimed a dragon roaring, along with sound effects.

“The air belongs to them,” the groom nodded. “And woe betide any who keep not to their own sphere.”

Josh began to appreciate exactly where Lalf had learned most of his dragon lore.

“Have you ever heard of the invisible floating tower of Wizard Hawthorne?” he asked.

From the burgeoning expression of fascination on Lalf’s face, the invisible floating tower of Wizard Hawthorne was rapidly taking third place in his esteem, right after Heroes and dragons.

Josh could sympathise.

“Why would the dragons allow an invisible floating tower to be built in the first place?” he added. “Or, once it was built, why would they let it float around?”

The elderly groom ruminated, while Lalf excitedly pestered Josh with questions about the tower, such as how it floated, or where it was now.

“The seventh moon!” the groom exclaimed triumphantly, after several minutes.

“The what?” Josh sat up. “I thought there were only six!”

That was the whole theme of Six Spires—six spires, six moons, six primary deities, six dragons. Everything was in sixes.

“Ah,” the groom held up a finger. “But it is rumoured that there were once seven. The dark moon, the invisible one, veiled where her sisters shine with radiance. She was bitter, so the story goes, that her sisters were so beautiful and so admired. In her grief she climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the sky, and cast herself from it in despair. Down she plummeted, and smote the earth with a thunderous crash. And shine brightly she did, with the light of a thousand stars. For one moment, she was the most beautiful of all, and all the heavens gasped in amazement. But the next moment she shattered, and pieces of her were cast all over the world.”

It was the first time Josh had ever encountered a fallen moon myth in Six Spires.

“Some you find to this very day,” the groom went on. “Dark moonstone, it’s called. Always it seeks to return to the sky from whence it came. If a wizard found enough of it, why, they might build a tower that could float to the heavens. And since it is made of one of the very maidens the dragons were created to protect, then why, they might let it be.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

If there was a type of floating stone, and the dragons did indeed feel that it had a right to be in the sky, then maybe that was how Wizard Hawthorne had got away with his creation. Assuming that the floating tower had, indeed, existed, and wasn’t a figment of his imagination. And that it hadn’t, in fact, subsequently been destroyed by an angry dragon.

“So presumably the dragons would know where the tower is now,” Josh said.

The groom nodded his head slowly.

“Aye,” he said. “Aye. But if they know, why, they ain’t telling!” He tapped the side of his nose.

“Do dragons ever talk to people?”

The groom shook his head, slowly and sadly.

“Oh, oh!” Lalf bounced up and down excitedly. “Tell the story of the dragon thieves!”

The groom needed little urging.

“Not so long ago,” he said, “There were some thieves…”

They were poor, living in the wild forests to the north, where no-one with a lick of sense goes, and their only victims were poor travellers. So they had very little. All they could steal were crude pots and copper coins. In winter they shivered by their fires and drank cheap wine, and told each other how much better it would be when they could finally hold up a fat merchant with a chest of gold coins. They talked of that chest often, and how it would buy them riches beyond their wildest dreams. As they sat and passed around the cheap wine, this legendary chest grew bigger and bigger, and the heap of coins greater and greater, and their dreams grew ever more fantastic.

But every morning, they would wake to snow and cold ashes, and the grim struggle of survival that was their lives.

One day, however, one of them had an idea. They lived in a forest at the foot of a mountain, and on the peak of the mountain lived one of the six dragons.

“What if,” said the thief, “What if we sneaked up to the top of the mountain, and took a dragon’s egg? Think how much it must be worth?”

And the others all laughed at him—who would be so stupid as to steal a dragon’s egg? But as the days went on, and got colder, and they shivered by their fire at night, and drank thin gruel that was all they had to eat, the idea began to seem better and better. They told themselves all sorts of things—that dragon eggs had a shell made of gold, that dragons slept during the winter, and would not wake if they ventured near, that if they travelled fast enough, the dragon would have no idea where they had gone when it woke.

And so, foolishly, they mounted an expedition to the peak of the mountain to find the dragon’s nest.

I won’t tell you of all the trials they encountered on the way, but make it they did to the mountain peak. There they found a nest of dragon eggs, and they were lucky, for the mother dragon was away hunting.

They took one of the eggs, which did indeed have a shell speckled with gold, and lashed it to a sled. As quicky and silently as they had come did they leave, making their way down the mountain and heading for the nearest town, where they hoped to sell the egg for a fortune.

On the road, however, they met a knight. He was not a handsome knight, and his armour was scratched and dented, but he had a horse and a sword and shield. When he saw the thieves, he hailed them and asked them what they were hauling.

The thieves were suspicious of him, and told him that they had naught but a cargo of cabbages destined for the market.

The knight was immediately suspicious, for he knew it was the middle of winter, and who grows cabbages in winter? But he said nothing, and invited them to join him that night at his fire. And he shared with them a flask of good quality wine.

The thieves liked the wine so much they drank heavily, and this loosened their tongues. Eventually they confessed that they carried a dragon’s egg, and boasted that they would soon be rich. The knight acted impressed, but even as he did so, they all heard a bestial scream echoing around the valley.

At once the thieves were afraid, for they knew the dragon had discovered the theft, and would be hunting for the missing egg.

“Do not fear!” the knight said. “Although I am but a lowly knight, I have been taught the ways of the arcane. I know a ritual that will render you invisible to dragon sight. You must merely stay in the centre of it, and the dragon will pass you by.”

The thieves begged him to teach them the ritual, which he did, telling them to fetch sticks and soak the heads in pine sap to create flaming torches.

“But will the dragon not see the flames?” the thieves asked, fearfully.

“Not at all,” the knight said, “For I will build the greatest fire of all, upon yonder hill, and summon the dragon to me, where I will fight it.”

The thieves were amazed at his daring and bravery, but also sniggered amongst themselves, for surely the knight would perish. Nevertheless, they agreed that if the knight were to die distracting the dragon it would be no bad thing, and the next day they would continue their journey with the stolen egg.

They arranged the torches as dictated by the knight, driving them into the ground in a pattern all around them, chanting the spell words the knight had given them as they did so. Once the spell was complete, they retreated to the centre of the torches, waiting for the dragon to pass them by, while the knight sat upon a nearby hill next to his bonfire.

But instead of ignoring the thieves, the dragon circled the valley, and then plunged directly towards them. With one exhalation of its breath it killed every thief in an instant, leaving its egg unharmed.

For unbeknownst to the thieves, who could not read, the pattern of torches had spelled out the words ‘WE STOLE YOUR EGG’ and thus had summoned the dragon instantly.

A little way away, on a hilltop, the dragon landed by a bonfire tended by a knight. It spoke with the knight, and learned the story of the torches. The dragon laughed uproariously at the tale, for dragons love a good joke, and told the knight that he was a true friend of dragonkind, and if he ever needed the favour of a dragon, he would receive it.

“And that,” said the groom, “Is the tale of the Dragon’s Friend Knight.”

“Was the Knight one of the Heroes?” Lalf asked breathlessly, his eyes shining.

The groom shook his head.

“Ah, no, not at all. He was but a simple hedge knight. Sir Robyn the Foul-Mouthed I hear his name was.”

Josh started.

Robyn? Rob? As in, Fuck You Rob? The guy he had met on his way to the forest of the Druid’s Grove, who had given him a purse, and who had hared off the moment he had heard Josh mention his encounter with the Fey Queen? That Rob?

When Josh left, Lalf and the groom had apparently completely forgotten about the half-mucked out stall, and the groom was busy telling Lalf another dragon story.

Back at the house, Josh paced aound, thinking furiously. He had all the clues he needed, and he knew what he had to do next. When Rachel returned from her day’s gleaning, he sat down with her and went over his plan.

“So you think,” she said sceptically, “that Wizard Hawthorne made an invisible tower and Karl, his apprentice, was the one who stole it?”

“Yes. After all, it must be very easy to lose track of an invisible floating tower,” Josh pointed out.

She rolled her eyes, but continued.

“So Karl has the tower, and later on, after Tylas the Undying is killed and his power is taken, Karl steals it for himself, and becomes the Dreamer.”

“Yes.”

“And the reason no-one has ever been able to find Karl the Dreamer is because he floated away in this magical invisible flying tower he just happened to have sitting around.”

“Yes!”

“And you think the dragons will know where the tower is.”

“Yes.”

“And the only person in the world who is friendly with dragons is this Rob guy you met on the road a few weeks ago.”

“Yes.”

“But you have no idea where he is and even if you did, why would he use up a favour, given to him by dragons, to help you?”

Josh drew in a breath with his finger raised in the air, then hesitated.

“I’ll think of something,” he said, deflating.

“That’s a lot of assumptions.”

“I know. But it’s what we have to go on. We have to try.”

Unexpectedly tears filled Rachels eyes, and she blinked and looked away.

“Yeah,” she said. She hugged her knees to her chest, and Josh knew she was thinking of her family. Her mother, her brother Timothy, her friends. It was more important than ever that Josh find a way home for them.

He didn’t tell Rachel that he had already thought of a way to contact Rob.

Later that night, after Rachel had gone to bed, he sat down on the edge of his own bed with his forearms resting on his knees. What he was about to do was risky. But, as he had said to Rachel earlier, he had to try.

He took a deep breath, and summoned as much of his magic as he could. And then he spoke the Fey Queen’s name, the one he had learned during the Fey questline in Spiralia Online.

“Elarieth,” he said, enunciating each syllable with care. “Elarieth. Elarieth.”

He said it three times, and then waited tensely. After a few minutes, when nothing happened, he got up and paced restlessly around the room. Babel watched him curiously from his place curled up at the foot of the bed.

Eventually he admitted to himself that it had been a stupid idea. It hadn’t worked, and he would just try again in the morning. Come to think of it, maybe his bedroom wasn’t the best place to try summoning the Fey Queen. She might get the wrong idea about his intentions. Not that he expected her to physically pop into existence, but he had expected some response. And the summoning wasn’t something he wanted to do in public. Or in front of Rachel.

At last he undressed, climbed into bed and tried to sleep. His mind was churning too fast to make that easy, but he closed his eyes anyway, and tried to calm himself. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, he felt himself start to drift away.

He woke up, panicked, in the middle of a nightmare of being smothered. There was a heavy weight on his chest, and he couldn’t move. There was something around his throat, choking him. His eyes flew open, and for a moment he saw nothing except an ominous black shadow hovering over him.

He would have screamed, but for the iron grip around his throat.

A light grew from somewhere, and the visage of the Fey Queen materialised above him. She was crouched over him, her knees on his chest, and her hands tight on his neck. Her eyes were narrowed and glittered with malevolence.

When she spoke, her voice was low with threat.

“You had better have a very good explanation for this,” she hissed.