Like the museum, the Aston Public Library was another of Algy's regular spots when he ventured into town. He had yet to get a 'Kindle' or 'Audible'. He had no interest in turning his book reading digital, so the library offered an extensive catalogue of what Algy needed and was always open to procuring something he needed through the inter-library loan system. If a dragon hoarded books, the APL would be a trove worth jealously protecting. It was, thankfully, not the manner of things Algy was drawn to beyond the simple pleasure of reading.
The evening had been advertised extensively, a bid to increase interest in the library but also take the chance to raise money. A noble cause, thought the dragon, as he'd willingly bought up one of those fabled VIP tickets for himself and urged his staff to join him at whatever price point they felt most comfortable. He'd done it to offer it as a donation, happy to forego the perks if he found something more interesting. The rare books tour was compelling, but Algy treasured stories, especially local ones.
It was exactly one of those storytelling sessions the dragon was attempting to find right then, holding the brochure with the room names and the times. He could say with no shame that he rarely paid attention to the naming conventions, and other than the attention-grabbing murder mystery spots, the storytelling was somewhat harder to find. Hidden in the corners, he presumed, to be sheltered away from excited screams.
Turning corners to find more marble-covered hallways leading into larger library sections did not seem to work for Algy right then. Still, he'd found a rather interesting spot for future visits. More comfortable seating for his century-old back–admittedly, he didn't feel it nearly as acutely as a human would–and a rather eclectic fiction section that seemed to have no sense of order. Surely something to investigate later, if the librarians suffered it to exist.
He paused here, figuring the storytelling could wait to indulge in his curiosity. Stepping into the room, he circled the grouping of armchairs and couches–even a table! What luxury–to make a bee-line towards a large, heavily laden bookcase. Wide leather spines with faded gold lettering were undoubtedly eye-catching, Algy reaching out to pull one out without squinting at the title, too faded to read.
Opening it, he had a split second to read the black ink on yellowed paper before the book snapped shut at the speed and force of a crocodile snapping, sending a puff of dust and catching one of Algy's fingers. He let out a pained grunt, clenching his teeth on a subdued, “Diawl bach,” as he shook his head to get the dust out of his eyes and tried to tug his finger out of the apparently sentient book that had decided to teach him a lesson.
The evening had been advertised extensively, a bid to increase interest in the library but also take the chance to raise money. A noble cause, thought the dragon, as he'd willingly bought up one of those fabled VIP tickets for himself and urged his staff to join him at whatever price point they felt most comfortable. He'd done it to offer it as a donation, happy to forego the perks if he found something more interesting. The rare books tour was compelling, but Algy treasured stories, especially local ones.
It was exactly one of those storytelling sessions the dragon was attempting to find right then, holding the brochure with the room names and the times. He could say with no shame that he rarely paid attention to the naming conventions, and other than the attention-grabbing murder mystery spots, the storytelling was somewhat harder to find. Hidden in the corners, he presumed, to be sheltered away from excited screams.
Turning corners to find more marble-covered hallways leading into larger library sections did not seem to work for Algy right then. Still, he'd found a rather interesting spot for future visits. More comfortable seating for his century-old back–admittedly, he didn't feel it nearly as acutely as a human would–and a rather eclectic fiction section that seemed to have no sense of order. Surely something to investigate later, if the librarians suffered it to exist.
He paused here, figuring the storytelling could wait to indulge in his curiosity. Stepping into the room, he circled the grouping of armchairs and couches–even a table! What luxury–to make a bee-line towards a large, heavily laden bookcase. Wide leather spines with faded gold lettering were undoubtedly eye-catching, Algy reaching out to pull one out without squinting at the title, too faded to read.
Opening it, he had a split second to read the black ink on yellowed paper before the book snapped shut at the speed and force of a crocodile snapping, sending a puff of dust and catching one of Algy's fingers. He let out a pained grunt, clenching his teeth on a subdued, “Diawl bach,” as he shook his head to get the dust out of his eyes and tried to tug his finger out of the apparently sentient book that had decided to teach him a lesson.
Trans. Little devil
