Day One-Thirty-Two: Dowdy, with a chance of rage

I guess I shoulda expected as much, diary, but working in the library isn't as fun as I woulda figured. And, uh, it's… kinda… Robert's fault…

Don't get me wrong. Robert's one of my favourite men in the whole world. He put you together for me, diary, and besides that he's given me a ton of guidance and shown me kindness where most castle officials just spit in my face. I'm not gay, but if I were… well, actually Robert's kinda ugly so I probably wouldn't shack up with him, but I would CONSIDER it.

But… he's such an asshole when he's your boss.

Robert's an odd bird in that I've never actually seen him outside his library. I think I know why, too - he doesn't leave. EVER. After only two days at work it's clear that he doesn't set foot outside the place, 'cause his sleeping pallet's shoved in the back and he gets food delivered three times a day.

But that's not why he's an asshole. It's 'cause he can't stand a book that's not sorted.

Robert's got this system set up that has every book marked with a series of numbers. Follow the numbers and you can tell where a book is supposed to go. Problem is, Robert also seems to have ANOTHER system of placement that changes the order of the books, to the point that knowing your numbers means squat. (I'm not so good with my numbers anyway so that doesn't matter.)

Oh, and he knows where all the books are supposed to go anyway. So he doesn't even look at the numbers! The hell's the point?

But that's not why he's an asshole. No, Robert is an ASSHOLE because he throws a little temper tantrum if I so much as look at the wrong spot for a book when I'm sorting. Like, for example, the first time I tried to shove a book in a spot (which was, of course, the wrong spot), he inched up so close to my face that I thought he was going to suck my soul out through my nose. And then he said:

"An orderly space is a happy space and the space isn't happy if it's out of order so you'd best get it right Dragomir, you'd best get it right! I want to see my space smiling!"

Which is just a freaky thing to say on its own. And then I tried to put the book in the spot I'd picked anyway, and he hit me. (Luckily, Robert's an old dude and about as strong as an irate snail.)

But yeah. After eight hours of getting told off for putting things in the wrong spots, I happily went home. I was really tired of that asshole - especially after he claimed that I "must hate the very concept of libraries, and therefore, must be an enemy of the state." What a dick! I don't even wanna go back tomorrow!

I will, of course. I owe Robert, and I'm still not strong enough to handle guard duty. But… gods, diary. Asshole.

Disillusioned,

Dragomir the Crappy Librarian

Day One-Thirty-One: So woozy

Hi, diary.

I didn't get promoted. All of my spikes are at the bottom of the moat. Or frozen into the moat, or… whatever. Apparently King Jeffrey likes the idea of a collapsing moat so much that he's just gonna leave it as-is. Spikes will keep people away, or something, and he wants to see 'em frozen into the water whenever he looks over the battlements.

No promotion.

I more or less remember what happened, at least. I was finishing a couple more spikes to impress the king when I felt the ground rumbling. Then there was this huge BOOM that shook the entire castle, and, well, that was the end of the ice. Disintegrated under me.

I should probably investigate that boom. Yeah. T'ain't the first time.

Then came the moat monsters. I'm not too keen on remembering them. Thank the gods they only nibbled me once or twice - my last mental picture was one of that stupid underwater spider, and it looked ready to chomp me down, no questions asked.

But I was saved, and here I am, with at least a small reward for spending a week in a cold-induced coma: I get to work in the library. There's no guard there normally since nobody wants to steal books, so I've never had a posting there before. I'm actually a little excited. Can't believe Robert managed to swing this for me - or that Captain Cedric's a writer! Wonders never cease.

The library's such a neat space, diary. There're old, musty books and scrolls jammed into every corner, windows and candles light the reading tables, and it's two levels tall! Not many rooms can claim that. Don't know why it's usually empty - it's like the nobles don't GET how neat it is to have a library.

Robert the Librarian started me off slowly today, since my limbs are still stiff as hell. All I had to do was sweep. Good thing he didn't expect much, 'cause my hands didn't want to cooperate at all and I kept dozing off, chin propped on my broom. Tomorrow I'll start sorting books, and THAT should be interesting, so I hope I'm less groggy.

I guess I'll end today by thanking everyone who wrote in my diary. I didn't think about much in my stupid coma, but if I had, I'm sure I woulda been all sad that I couldn't fill those empty days. Seeing five entries by friends was a nicer birthday present than I coulda ever asked for - and it's not even my birthday yet!

It's lovely to have pals,

Dragomir the Librarian

Day One-Thirty: No coma can stop this man

Well! That was a most unexpected honour. I didn't even know Dragomir was on a first-name basis with Prince Logan, let alone the queen! He's become quite a notable young man, despite his position as worst guard in the castle. Though I suppose that in and of itself is worthy of notoriety…

(But... WAS that the prince's writing? He appears to be a polarized child. So elegant, and yet so crude! The tint of aristocracy is obvious enough, but... the constant use of capitalization? Perhaps he has a friend who peers over his shoulder that he refuses to reveal. Yes, that must be it.)

Enough about that. You will be very happy to learn, diary, that Dragomir has awoken! Yes, if Libby is to be believed he opened his eyes in time for work this morning. He was still wonderfully drowsy, however, so his darling wife forced him to remain bedridden for the remainder of the day. Excellent news!

And it gets better. Dragomir may be awake, and the powers that be may expect him to work again, but I have secured a most lucrative position for the boy that will help him recover: my assistant! There is no environment in the castle more conducive to recovery than this library, as it's seldom visited during the day and remains deathly quiet. If Dragomir tires I will happily allow him to rest, and by the end of next week he should be fit to resume his duties as a guard.

The price for this transfer, you ask? Well, allow me to tell you a little secret, diary: Dragomir's captain is also an avid writer. He may even be better than his subordinate! I know, it's ridiculous to think that a burly, gruff fellow like Captain Cedric sits down at his desk with a quill and a heart full of passion (ALL writers are passionate), but inspiration comes in all sizes - and it comes to all types. So I gave the captain a book, one he's been taking out of the library for ages, and in exchange he grudgingly agreed to transfer Dragomir for the week.

(Don't ask what the captain writes, however. Like Dragomir, he's very tight-lipped about his craft. Even violent! At least Dragomir's denials are friendly.)

I wonder if this revelation will allow Dragomir to see his captain in a different light. Time will tell!

At any rate, I must get back to work. This library won't sort itself - and I want it to look as good as possible when my new assistant shows up on Monday. Farewell until then, diary! I thoroughly enjoyed our time together!

Sincerely,

Robert the Librarian

Day One-Twenty-Nine: Prepare for trouble, and make it double

HAY DRAGOMIR

GUESS WHOS WRITIN TODAY

LOLOLOLOL

Though I suppose I should stop with my normal, bourgeois writing. It's hardly becoming of a prince. The Baron needles me incessantly about the need to 'communicate with the masses', and my impenetrable scribblings are less about communication and more irritating my tutors.

BUT GODS I LUUUUUUUV EM YAR HAR HO

Ahem. Dragomir's wife seemed at odds over who would take the fourth day, so I volunteered. Without asking. I don't ask permission, I'm the prince - when I decide to do somebody a favour, I simply do it. Asking is for peasants. I know better, so why delude others into thinking they're somehow superior? It simply won't do.

All that said I have become rather fond of the owner of this book, even if he is a lowly guard. He has a naïve charm about him that calls out for friendship. How could I not provide assistance in a time of need?

PLUS IM GONNA BE SHACKIN WITH HIS DAUGHTER

He will be a father to me, and I, a son to him. I appreciate his efforts to better the castle, and I further appreciate the, ah, 'services' he has rendered to me in the past - primarily vis-a-vis ending the unpleasantness between my father and myself. I regret what happened, and I'm glad I now know more of my father than I did before.

Though he looks marvellous with an asscrack running down the middle of his head.

Given that I've read much more of this diary than anyone else, I know how it goes. I spent my day:

- Enduring The Baron's dull lessons
- Fleeing from The Baron - quite ineffectually, as well; he seems to have a natural radar for my location, which is no surprise given that he's been chasing me around the castle for two years
- Playing tricks on The Baron (I DUMPED MAYO IN HIS BREECHES)
- Siccing my kangaroo on The Baron
- And, after tiring of the old man, charging him with treason and locking up in the dungeon - I do this all the time, so you'd think he wouldn't mind, but he still gave me his usual "You think you can win but I'll outlast you and turn you into a gentleman, young man, my resolve has never been stronger" speech as I locked the cell door

And now I'm outside with my mother, writing in this diary, and I see that she's sending a guard to free The Baron. Fiddlesticks, I shouldn't have written that.




Hello, Dragomir! This is Queen Daena. I'm sorry for all the trouble my son has caused you. I never did thank you for telling me the truth about what he did to his father, so… thank you!

I would add something about my day to round out the entry, but it's usually the same each time: I wake up, I greet my guard for the week, I read a few books, I bundle up when the snow blows in and I ravage any animals that come close with my legs. I've killed more curious rabbits that way. Sorry, little bunnies, but I can't help my kicking!

Quite long enough for one entry. My son will return the diary now. Get well soon, Dragomir! Even though Logan speaks like his pompous prig of a father, I know he's worried about you - I can see it in his eyes!

Sincerely,

Queen Daena N PRINCE LOLGAN

Day One-Twenty-Eight: A cook's life is a glamorous affair

Hi.

It's Robert again. The Cook, not the Librarian.

I wish they would make it so there's only one person per name in a place. That should be a law. It gets so confusing being Robert, because by my count there are at least seven other Roberts in Castle HairGrowingBack. There's me, the librarian, a guard, a royal guard, a maid (she must have had stupid parents), a noble, a candle maker and there's a labourer named Rob. I don't know if he counts. Seven and a half Roberts?

I guess I have to talk about my day now. It's the same as every day. I get up before the sun rises, I bang on the doors of my assistants until they come out, they get the food, I start making breakfast for everyone. Once everyone's left the Beefiary I experiment with the leftovers to see if I can make anything better. Eventually the king shows up with that big hood he's wearing lately, and he eats whatever I make.

I wish he would let me make some other stuff. He usually likes my experiments. Why can't everyone else share in my inventions?

After that I keep serving food and beer and stuff to anyone who comes in. By this time the nobles are usually sending in orders from their apartments, so I prepare whatever they want and send out my staff to deliver the food. Sometimes it arrives, sometimes it doesn't. I got yelled at last week by Driscol the Count because his soufflé didn't get to him on time… he's lucky I made one in the first place, I'm not supposed to go fancy for anyone but the king.

He IS right that I shouldn't have to limit my menu, though…

To cook is to suffer. Yeah. Is that fancy enough for you, Dragomir?

Eventually I get to dinner, which is more of the same stuff from breakfast and lunch, and then after that I keep an eye on the place until closing time in the early evening. After that my assistants give out late night snacks and beer, and deal with that goblin ambassador. He gets drunk almost every night in my Beefiary. Always smells like a pile of puke in the morning. Somebody needs to deal with that guy.

I guess that's my day. Every day. Was that exciting?

Although there is something I can share with you, Dragomir's diary: I've got a secret planned. Every year I make Dragomir something special for his birthday, and even though we still have a few weeks to wait I know what I'm going to prepare. I'll need his help to get it, of course, but he won't mind - because the food isn't the secret. He'll be so surprised.

Oh yeah, Dragomir's still in a coma. How long do those things last?

Yeah. That's long enough. Writing hurts my wrists. Why both, I don't know.

Sincerely,

Robert the Cook

Day One-Twenty-Seven: Persuasive punching

This is Libby again. Hello, diary.

I asked Robert the Librarian if he wrote my full name in you yesterday. He promised he didn't. But then he showed me my name from what he wrote, and it looked a lot longer than Libby. So I punched him in the stomach. His face is green now. I didn't punch hard so he shouldn't complain or anything.

Dragomir is still asleep. I keep changing him and feeding him and putting diapers on him, but he won't wake up. I tried to bring our daughter down to see him, like I said, but she ignored me. When I tried to punch her, she flipped me into a fruit cart. She is a bitch and I do not like her.

I went to work again today. Teddy, one of the workers who brings me wood when I'm too busy to get it myself, was late bringing me today's shipment. I punched him. When he was down on the ground, he grabbed my butt. I kicked him. I think he may also be in a coma, but I will not change his diapers.

Who will bring me wood to make all the tracks ordered by the castle? I do not know. I should punch somebody until they agree to bring me wood. Punching usually makes people do whatever you want.

Dragomir never did what I wanted when I punched him. Except when I was pregnant. Then he brought me pickles.





Libby started crying, so I'll take over from here. I've sent her away to tend to her comatose husband. Poor thing. She's so strong most of the time… I suppose Dragomir means a great deal more to her than she lets on. I'm glad she insisted on filling these days in his diary - it will lift his spirits when he wakes up and finds these notes from the people who love him.

Though Libby really should work on her temper. Make a note of that, Dragomir - one of these days she's going to punch the wrong person. At least we know where the Lord Knight got her spunk!

Sincerely,

Robert the Librarian

Day One-Twenty-Six: From mouth to hand

Greetings, diary! I've heard a lot about you over the last couple of months, and gods know that I've seen you enough times, but I've never had the chance to look inside you. That Dragomir is such a stringent young man when it comes to privacy.

I should introduce myself. I am Robert the Librarian, caretaker of the largest collection of periodicals, novels and non-fiction literature in Castle WhatHappenedToMyDamnMoat. I've been tutoring Dragomir on the finer points of maintaining a daily account of one's life, and I can tell by the bulk of this volume that he hasn't put my lessons to waste. I'm so proud of him!

But enough about me. Dragomir's wife, Libertine, has asked that Dragomir's closest friends each take turns writing in his diary, so no page goes unfilled. He's already so stressed about a two-week period worth of pages that remain mysteriously blank, no matter how much ink you apply to the parchment, and we wouldn't want to drive him any closer to the brink than he already is. (Oh, dear, I ended a sentence with 'is!' And I suppose I did it again. I'm so sorry, Dragomir!)

I agreed to take the final day of the week, but Libby's illiteracy forces me to write while she dictates. I do believe this is her first visit to the library - she looks quite bewildered, surrounded in books. Perhaps I have another student-in-waiting on my hands?

Enough from kooky old Robert. Take it away, Libertine!





Hello.

I am Libby.

Don't call me Libertine, I hate that name. It's dumb.

Today, I changed the sheets on the bed. And I fed Dragomir some soup. And I gave him some water. And I made sure Dragomir had lots of quilts, because he was really cold when he came out of the water.

He won't wake up. I punched him in the nose but he still won't wake up. The doctor says he will be okay, but he won't wake up.

Maybe if I bring our daughter to the apartment, she can wake him up. But I don't want to see that bitch. I don't trust her.

I went to work. I did stuff with wood. I do stuff with wood every day. Maybe I can make a cure for Dragomir out of wood.

That makes me sound retarded.

Why is this guy's head so huge?

Stop writing, I'm do





Yes! Well, that was informative. And insulting. (I should have stopped before we got to the size of my noggin.) Thank you, Libertine, that's a page filled and a day finished. She will return tomorrow for an encore, and then I'll pass the book off to my namesake in the kitchen for a second round. We haven't gotten anybody for Friday yet, but we will, just you wait!

Sincerely,

Robert the Librarian

Day One-Twenty-Five: Change in management

Hi.

This is Robert, Dragomir's brother. The cook? I see he mentions the Beefiary in here a lot… that's nice.

Sorry, I'm not good at writing. I only learned to read and write so I could read recipes.

Uh, Dragomir had an accident on the moat. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but there was this big boom, and the ice gave out under him. One of the guards fished him out. The whole moat is slush, though it will probably freeze over again in a few days.

Dragomir's okay. He got bit by moat monsters a few times, but he's okay. He's resting in bed for the day.

The doctors say he's in "a state of advanced hebetude." I don't know what that means at all. It sounds bad. I'm a cook, not a doctor. Maybe I should

Okay, I went and asked for a word that makes more sense. He's in a coma. That's bad. But at least it's English.

Libby said I have to write in the diary today, because Dragomir can't miss a day. She says I have to do it next week, too.

I don't know what to write about. How does he do this every day?

That's enough words.

Sincerely,

Robert the Cook

Day One-Twenty-Four: Awesome in all but title

PROMOTION. I'M IN LINE FOR A PROMOTION.

Ohmygod diary, this is it! This WAS it! THAT was it! That was promotion material! I can feel it, I can SMELL it in my veins! That doesn't sound right but DAMMIT I'M OVERDUE FOR JOY!

I've done so much for this castle. I've guarded its hallways. I've learned its many nooks and crannies. I've helped people stay happy and healthy during their days with my witty banter, because, gods know, you don't need EVERY guard working away, right? Nope. Unnecessary. Somebody should be morale officer, and that should be ME!

But I'm not gonna be morale officer. Maybe they'll make me a general for my strategic brilliance. I'm at LEAST gonna get a bigger room, diary, and even though I'll miss waving at people through the missing door, I'll put up with it if it takes more than two seconds to cross the apartment! I WILL LOVE IT!

Okay. Okay. Freaking out with joy. Calm down, Dragomir. Tell the diary what is the matter. Tell it why you are so. Damn. Cool.

Right. Diary. Here's how it happened. My plan yesterday? The one with the spikes and the moat and all that? It worked. It totally worked. Libby made the spike containers so freaking well - and she made sure they were waterproofed, which, ah, I guess I shoulda thought of - that the spikes all ended up looking the same. Between that and my innate artistic sense, by the time one of the castle's TOP OFFICIALS came out to have a look at my work, I had the entire front of the castle finished.

And who was it, you ask? What lucky aristocratic soul saw me working away? Who else but THE BARON, the king's right hand man - and a dude who already seems to like me! It was fate, diary. My life has been leading up to this moment!

I was setting up a fresh batch of spikes when The Baron called to me from the ramparts, and this is exactly what he said:

"Hey, Dragomir! This is excellent! Everything is going as planned. You may be a lousy guard, but you're quite an architect! I'll pass along the good news - no doubt the king will want to come see the finished job personally!"

He left before I could shout anything back, so I whooped it up, right there on the ice, baring my bum at those stupid carnivores frozen in the moat! It was the best moment of my life. The best!

I'm a shoo-in for a promotion. I know it. I can feel it. Everything's gonna go right this time, diary, and none of that crap back in that stupid ancient city will come to pass. And that dream? Peh! I'll be too busy living it up in the lap of luxury to worry about polar bears or vicious kangaroos or weird doors or… or… well, that guy.

I'm off, diary. Got to finish a few more before the king gets out there to check what I've done. Just felt the need to write in you before I got to work - I can't wait, I can't wait!

Beaming,

Dragomir the Awesome

Day One-Twenty-Three: Possible exaggeration

I've got it, diary! I've GOT IT! I'm so brilliant. I'm above brilliant! I'm, like, scientist-of-the-Imperium-with-a-research-grant-and-a-big-house-and-a-corvette-and-wait-a-sec-what's-a-corvette brilliant! I have an answer for the spike problem!

I was sitting on the moat, minding my own business, staring down a nasty-looking water spider - I figured they can't scare you if you scare 'em back, though judging by the look of the spider it wasn't too frightened - when I sneezed. I sneeze a lot, 'cause I'm getting kinda sick with all this time spent outside, my ass frozen to a moat. Blame me? No.

And when I sneezed, my eyes got all watery, and I blinked away the tears to try and see better. Happens all the time - only this time I flicked some of my tears off on the moat. And though they formed only these teensy, tiny little pools, I could see them freeze, adding a liiiiiittle bit more ice to the moat.

That was it. That was the moment. Eureka! Gods give me inspiration! I knew what to do! Why chisel spikes when you can make them on the ice?

I got back inside the castle through the barbican, insisting that I had something real important to tell The Baron, and that he'd flog the guard on duty (it's Bernard, by the way - bastard hates me as much as the damn captain) if I wasn't allowed in. I didn't talk to The Baron, though: I went straight to Libby.

Libby works in the baileys with the rest of the craftsmen and women, sawing wood and making new furniture and doors and stuff for the castle. When I ran up she was busy with an order of shovel handles - she's been making a ton of 'em lately.

"Libby! Libby!" I cried, happy to see that she had a huge pile of wood sitting near her.

She fixed me with that evil, douchey glare of hers. "What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be at work, not messing around. It's been a while since I smacked you, you know…"

"I know! I know! And I miss it a lot." Sarcasm. "But I need help with what I'm doin'. Can you make me a bunch of little containers that look like… um… well, spikes? You know, like ice cream cones. Pointy ice cream cones. But spiky!"

"What the hell are you on about?" She looked ready to flog me with… actually she doesn't need anything other than her fists to flog me silly. "This better be important. I'm busy. More shovels, more picks, more…"

I explained. If she made me a couple dozen little spike containers, I could fill them with water from the castle's water supply - we have tons, since ice is getting melted and turned into drinking water all the time - and let 'em freeze. Once frozen, I just have to knock 'em out on the moat, then add a little bit more water to fix 'em to the ice. Voila! Spikes!

Libby worked hard to find something stupid about the plan, but in the end she gave up. "Yeah, okay. They aren't gonna be cones, though - I'll make 'em little pyramids. That's easier to do, 'n won't eat up my OWN time. Come back in an hour."

And, sure enough, after a visit to the Beefiary to warm my bones with a few yak tarts and a beer, I found a dozen of the spike pyramid thingers waiting! Tried 'em out, and though it takes a while for the water to freeze, they work like a charm! The snow even helps out in the process, 'cause I can shove the containers into the snow banks to keep 'em upright.

I'm a genius, diary. A DAMN GENIUS.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Awesome

Day One-Twenty-Two: His cheeks were like roses - nope, the other cheeks

My BUTT is FROZEN. I can't SIT on that STUPID MOAT anymore, diary.

I've been outside the castle making spikes for, oh, fourteen hours or so, now, and I've barely gotten anywhere. I'm terrible at chiselling, just like I'm terrible at whittling, and so the spikes I've made look more like bananas. Most of them are coming up curved rather than pointy! How can I be this bad at making spikes?!

It probably has more to do with where I am than any of my own crappiness, though. I mean, I'm on top of a moat that, within the last two weeks, gotten broken open by a pack of rampaging mammoths. That's a hell of a smash-through, diary, and though the ice is frozen again, I'm not confident that it's fully frozen. So I'm going easy on the ice - 'cause that's what I have to do, I need to carve spikes OUT OF THE MOAT - and they're turning out all lop-sided.

Balls.

It's even worse when I get in view of one of the things that live in the damn moat. Remember I said during the whole mammoth debacle that a bunch of creatures jumped out and starting eating the lead mammoth when it smashed the ice? They're all still down here, frozen again, and they… they… they WATCH you. Whenever you pass by. Their eyes are wide open, along with their fangy little mouths, and those damned pupils follow you wherever you go. It's creepy as shit.

I spent five hours in plain view of a crocodile. It eyed me, unblinking, the entire time. It's one thing to be scared, diary, but quite another to endure that kinda stress. My bladder didn't know WHAT to do.

And I can't leave! The damned captain has one of his guards watching the moat from the Neck, and whenever I try to take a break or bugger off or whatever, they rat on me! I can't tell which one it is, since they change all the time, but when I find out… oooh, I'm gonna get revenge somehow. Maybe I can have Barrel set their shorts on fire or something.

I really need to come up with a better way to make spikes. This way is dumb - and really dangerous, if one of those frozen beasts decides I look yummy enough to eat and breaks through the ice.

Disconcerted,

Dragomir the Guard

Day One-Twenty-One: De moat, boss, de moat

Yep! The war is over.

The castle's completely back to normal, aside from a few dedicated patrols still on the lookout for the troublemaker. (King Jeffrey found the butt on his head. He's not pleased.) Logan swiftly undid all his traps, and he's appearing in public again, The Baron following on his heels as best he can. Thank the gods THAT'S done.

Although… unfortunately… this has taught the king a lesson. Not the kind I would have liked. He thinks the castle needs more protection, and the guards are supposed to do that. He figures we're all failures, and now we need to make up for it by enacting certain… 'measures'.

And because Captain Cedric haaaaaaates me - and lemme tell ya, buddy, I'm feeling the same way about YOU - I've been given the worst job of 'em all: since the Neck is inoperable and the moat is frozen again, I need to surround the castle. With spikes. Ice spikes.

Sigh.

Why spikes? I dunno. I don't see the point in spikes. (Badum-chssh.) The king wants them ringing the moat on all sides. I guess that way, if an intruder… slips, or something… they'll fall on the spikes and die. Which means if I slip while I'm MAKING the spikes, I'll also die.

Double sigh.

Of course there isn't room in the budget to buy spikes, and that would look odd to the king, so I get to go out and chip them out of the moat. That seems REALLY dangerous, diary, and it's gonna take forever, but… orders… and after what happened with Logan and Grylock I don't wanna argue too much, 'cause I can't draw attention to myself.

Let's not talk about that anymore. Man, diary, you could get my head chopped off. Good thing I like you so much.

At least my birthday's on the horizon. It's coming up in February, and that's always worth a thumbs up. Did you know that, diary? Yep, I'm a winter kid. Apparently Robert's got some new dish planned for the occasion. I can't wait. He's an awesome cook. Though I bet I'll have to help him fetch the ingredients… always happens…

I'm off to make some spikes. Hopefully I'll GET to my birthday.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Guard

Day One Hundred-Twenty: All for naught

Considering today's Friday the thirteenth, you'd figure this would be a bad day, diary. A HORRIFYING day, a day of terrible, awful, no good very bad luck, especially after that little message Logan left in my diary yesterday.

But it wasn't. In fact, today was downright pleasant. And humbling. In a few ways.

Even though Logan made it sound as though he wouldn't in a million years be chatting with his mom, and that I'd be watching my body fade into the distance as she launched my head across the plains, I THINK Logan meant that he'd get a good, solid beating from the queen instead, 'cause, sure enough, he was out there talking to her in the snow when I went to visit.

I'm sure they knew I was there, hiding behind a tree. I'm not a great sneak, and from what I've heard, Queen Daena can tell when people are around even if she's asleep. Must have something to do with her being exposed to wild animals all the time. They didn't pay me any attention, though, and I listened in on their conversation.

Daena: Dragomir sent you?

Logan: Yeah. I guess. S'not like he ordered me or anything.

Daena: Of course not, you're the prince. Let me rephrase, my brat of a son: you got my message THROUGH Dragomir?

Logan (looking sheepish): Yeah… but-

Daena: Shh. He told me the whole story. Including the full extent of your pranks. Have you declared war on your father, Logan?

Logan: Yes! Gods, mom, he… he cheated on you! How can you-

Daena: Shut up, my son.

Logan went really quiet, though I could see him shaking from my hiding spot. Guess you do exactly what the queen tells you to do, even if she is your mom - and even if she DOES look silly with her legs endlessly kicking the air from that tree of hers.

Daena: I know the story. I know what your father has done. It's the same thing he's done since I got myself stuck in this blasted tree, and despite what you may think, it is no crime.

More fidgeting. Logan looked ready to explode, his face going all red with frustration. I sympathized completely - how could the queen not CARE that her husband was sleeping with another woman? Well, we found out.

Daena: You saw a blonde woman in your father's bed. Did you see her face?

Silence.

Daena: Open your mouth now, silly boy.

Logan (fuming): No, I didn't see her face. But that shouldn't-

Daena: Shut up. Yes or no. Did you see her body?

THAT seemed a shameful thing to ask a son, and even I flinched.

Logan: N… no.

Daena: Did you see her move, Logan?

Logan: We were only-

Daena: SILENCE!

The trees rocked under the force of her voice, and I rocked with 'em. My bladder suddenly felt rather full.

Daena: Yes. Or. No. Did you see her move?

Logan (after a long pause): … no.

Daena: Do you have any evidence that she was ever alive?

I'm not sure what the word is for sleeping with dead people, diary, but I get the CONCEPT, and for a few quick seconds I thought King Jeffrey might be the most disgusting person alive, and a good candidate as ambassador to the zombies of the plains. Ewww.

Logan: … no?

Daena: You have been tutored by The Baron, my son, and tutored well. What does this lead you to believe?

Logan (shocked, thinking for a moment): … uh… uh… dad… sleeps with… corpses…?

The queen's laughter rang out amid the winter scene, as beautiful and warming a sound as any set of church bells.

Daena: No, no, no! You magnificent little fool. I'll have to help you with your logic… no, Logan, your father does not sleep with corpses. The woman you saw was a doll, specially shaped and constructed to match my body. It even has pigtails. Your father always loved my pigtails.

Silence, as the prince drank in this new information. His face drained of red, replaced by another shade of red - disbelief. I'm sure I didn't look much different.

Daena: Your father would never cheat on me, Logan. He is many things - a drunkard, a spoiled brat, a brainless nitwit with no more common sense than a mouse, even a warmonger - but he is not a cheater. He is, simply, lonely, and needs something to keep him company during the night.

Lonely. The king… lonely?

Logan: But… I mean, are you sure-

Daena: Positive. You are free to sneak into his room and see for yourself, my son - he has told me that he keeps it tucked into his bed at all times, so it's waiting for him when he's ready to retire in the evening. (laugh) I don't know what ELSE he does with the doll, but rest assured, I don't consider it cheating.

Logan sputtered, lost for words. He turned in circles, looking for an explanation beyond what his mother offered, and found nothing but frosted trees and a blue sky. Then, eventually, with no recourse, he started to slip back to his normal self:

Logan: So… dad sleeps with a doll? What is he, three?

They laughed together, and I left. That's a moment better left to a mother and a son, no guards included.

I wish I could have family moments like that.

The war is hopefully over,

Dragomir the Guard

UH OH

WAS NICE KNOWIN U DRAGO

PAECE

Day One Hundred-Nineteen: Ice queen

Saw Grylock in the hall today, diary. He's in such a good mood. Told me in secret that he loves everything that's happening, and that King Gok, back in Goblinoster, feels the same. Dunno how Gok knows about all this so quickly, but the ambassador must have his ways.

Stupid Grylock. This is all his fault. If he hadn't wanted revenge none of this woulda happened. Stupid, STUPID Grylock. Was it that important to make the king bald? REALLY? STUPID GRYLOCK!

Logan's still on the loose, needless to say. The guards don't have a hope of catching him, and Eve… well, I think this is the first time Eve's ever actually been stymied by someone. She's beaten the crap out of trained soldiers, armies of goblins, mammoths… there are rumours she killed a sloth a while ago, and lemme tell you, those things are DANGEROUS… but she can't catch her fiancé. He's too fast. And that's frustrated her into giving up. She's back to slaughtering livestock and otherwise ignoring everybody in the castle, including the king - and he wasn't happy to hear THAT, lemme tell you.

(At least he was smart enough not to press the issue. I'm afraid Eve would run berserk if anybody tried to make her do anything. Goodbye Castle StateofPanic.)

Logan managed to rig up an intricate system of buckets above the king's throne room today, and when the king was in the middle of giving an angry speech about wanting the terrorist stopped, Logan released about two tons of livestock dung onto the heads of the assembled nobles and royal guards. I didn't see it happen, diary, but I saw the throne room, and it is NOT a pretty sight. I can't imagine the king will be holding any meetings in there for a while.

That was enough for me, diary, to finally get around to talking to the queen. It was kinda my responsibility, after all: Grylock won't stop the carnage, and Logan, well… he wrote 'CHEATER' in giant letters on the front of the castle this morning. So… he has some issues.

But that meant admitting to the queen what I'd done. And, gods be my witnesses, that was SCARY. The queen knew somebody was running amok in the castle, but she didn't know the extent of the damage - and she didn't know it was her son, obviously - and she didn't know WHY. I stammered a thousand times, getting' the story out, and by the end I'm sure I looked like a trouble-dodging scumbag, 'cause I insisted OVER and OVER that I wasn't at all responsible, which is a sure sign of guilt.

But the queen didn't focus on me. When I got done talking she just stared at the castle, pushing the rim of her little shelter up to get a good look, and her eyes went cold. She's normally such a warm person, so this chilled me to the bits, diary, lemme tell you.

She dismissed me after that, with only one order: "Bring me my son."

I know you read this diary, Logan. I keep finding it in sliiiiightly different places when I go to write every day. So listen up, kid: GO TALK TO YOUR MOTHER. I'm afraid she might collapse my face if you refuse.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Messenger

Day One Hundred-Eighteen: Speed lines

The castle is laughing at King Jeffrey today, diary. He's a butthead. Literally. His son painted a big butt on his bald head. The line ends at his eyebrows.

Despite the severity of the situation, I can't help but find it hilarious. Same for everybody else - though we're not telling the king. The Baron says he's not looking in his mirror these days, because he's hairless, and nobody is to say anything about the drawing.

Or. Y'know. Make a 'crack' about it. Ha ha!

Puns. Robert the Librarian told me about 'em as a writing thinger last week; figured I'd give it a try. Not bad, eh? Eh?

In other news, Logan's still alive. Half of the castle's been destroyed, but he's amazingly quite healthy, despite tangling with my daughter, Lord Knight of the realm and all-around unholy terror.

Since Captain Cedric hates me so much, the bushy bastard, he's been forcing me to search outside in the cold for long, long hours. I usually have Barrel flitting alongside me in his tiny dragon form as company, so it's not so bad, but today I REALLY wish I'd been inside, 'cause then I could have missed the beginning of Eve and Logan's fight.

I was on the wall bordering the western bailey, slumped over an icy pile of stones and watching a candle maker make… candles… when I heard a shout, or rather, a blood-curdling roar that chilled my bones, coming from one of the stalls. I ran to a better vantage point and who did I see but Eve, my precious daughter, with a half-finished heart-and-dagger on her armour, facing off against a hooded guy with two dripping paint brushes.

Against my better judgement I hopped down into the bailey and joined the crowd surrounding the pair, and I heard the hooded guy (in a raspy voice, but I know my prince by now) say "You're good. Nobody's spotted me before."

To which Eve replied "Your stretched entrails will form the bridge between Heaven and Hell." She's such a charmer, just like her mom.

"Try it." And Logan vanished, or I thought he did, 'til I heard him whistle from above - he'd leaped about twenty feet into the air.

Eve didn't waste any time, and as everyone screamed and ran - we all know what she can do by now - she grabbed a casket of wine and hurled it at Logan. He kicked off the casket as it came towards him, sending it flying back to the ground as he flipped towards the wall. Eve charged towards him, jumping onto the wall to pursue, and the casket smashed on a kiln. Wine spilled everywhere. I still smell like booze.

I can't believe how fast those two move, diary. Eve is a blur whenever she attacks something, and there's usually bodies piled around her in seconds, but Logan! Gods is he quick! Every time Eve launched a brick or chunk of wall or herb cart at him the prince managed to dodge, dancing around the bailey with a giant grin flashing under his hood. He even paused a few times to paint more hearts-and-daggers, never once dropping his paint brushes.

By the time they finished the bailey was more or less levelled, and Eve looked pretty tired. Not Logan, though, and he boldly finished his insignia on her armour before disappearing into the main courtyard. Eve vanished a few seconds later, and given that I heard the scream of livestock in the distance, well, she must have been hungry.

Between cleaning up and looking around, I didn’t get a chance to do what I'd wanted to do today: talk to Queen Daena. She must know what's happening in the castle, but I doubt she knows everything. Maybe she can stop Logan before he brings the whole place down.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Guard

Day One Hundred-Seventeen: Lock blocked

The war continues, diary. Logan means business. Today he jammed all the doors in the castle.

This wasn't a big deal for most people in the residential district, 'cause most of 'em don't HAVE doors, but Libby and I were trapped in our little apartment for a good hour before she gave up on the handle and chopped our nice door down with an axe. She says she'll make a new one; I'm just as happy not to have one. I like looking out in the hall. Besides, doors are…

Um…

… nevermind. Forget doors.

The door jamming was a MUCH bigger problem for the nobles. Aristocrats in Castle StateofPanic are notoriously weak in the arms, and a lot of the lords and ladies were trapped in their rooms for most of the day. I didn't mind that so much since most nobles are giant douches, even gianter douches than Libby, though because most of 'em are in charge of the bureaucratic stuff everything's been backed up - including food shipments to the Beefiary. We're all pretty hungry right about now, and it's Logan's fault. Ugh, that kid!

Yet… yet I still can't fully blame him. He's just a kid, diary, and his dad did a pretty terrible thing. And as far as we know, he's been doing it for a long time! Kings can do whatever they want, yeah, but is taking another woman to bed behind the back of the queen included…? I'm really not sure.

(And this all reminds me of that zombie daughter tribal princess who kept trying to grab at my… bits… when I was headed to Goblinoster, so I'd best stop thinking 'bout all this. Gross memories, diary. You know, you were there.)

Logan's managing to paint his heart-and-dagger insignia on people's foreheads and hats without getting caught, now, so the searches have been tripled. The kind is murderous about having the searches continue until the wrongdoer is caught. What will he do when he finds out it's his own son? He's had a lot of tolerance for Logan's shenanigans in the past, but the more days that go by... I don't fancy Logan's chances.

Especially now that the king has loosed Eve on his son's tail. I don't think she'll care if she's killing her husband-to-be or not.

I wonder what Logan's mom has to say about all this?

Well, forget that for now, diary. Logan managed to let a flock of winter foxes in through the Neck, and now they're running rampant in the castle. I'm part of the clean-up crew. Gonna be... lots of fun...

No sleep tonight for poor me,

Dragomir the Exhausted

Day One Hundred-Sixteen: Flying finances

Yep. It's war.

Friday was quiet, beyond the whole mural thing. Nothing else happened. I think I know why, too: Logan was busy setting up for today. This week, and maybe a lot of weeks afterward, are gonna be hellish.

I was really tired after all that fruitless searching on Thursday and Friday, so when I woke up this morning I was late for work. Surprised me that Libby hadn't woken me up when she left, but she's been charitable lately, so I figured she was just being easy on me.

Nope. Wasn't that at all. She left 'cause one of her friends ducked in to tell her something, and she was in such a rush out of the apartment that she left me snoozing. By the time I got up that 'something' was already over, and I knew what I was doing for the rest of the day.

Before I get into the 'something', I need to tell you a bit about Castle StateOfPanic's treasury. When he was planning the castle, they say, the king decided that the best way to punish criminals was to force them to stare at what they want most, which, I'll admit, isn't a bad idea for torture. So the jail is right across from the treasury, which is really just a gigantic pit filled with gold, and the prisoners can all look through the bars and stare at the riches of the kingdom - but never touch.

'cept today. 'cause when Captain Cedric went down to check on the prisoners, he found them surrounded by gold coins, but still locked in their cells.

And the treasury? EMPTY. Every freaking gold coin from the pit, gone. Stolen. Filched. And there was a hell of a lot more in the pit than what the prisoners had.

The reason Libby ran out on me was 'cause somebody, not pointing fingers but SOMEBODY, rigged up a series of ropes over the bailies and the main courtyard, and they were sending buckets filled with gold zipping across the spaces, spilling coins down on the common folk. Everybody must've thought it was some new kinda holiday, as people were freaking out and beating each other up to grab all the gold. Was a mass riot, diary, and it was still going on when I got up, 'cause the guards couldn't catch the guy flinging all the gold around, and since he had a hood on they couldn't ID him, either.

Gee. Wonder who it was.

Eventually the hooded figure left, most of the gold distributed to the peasants but some of it left on the walls, and the guards cut down the ropes while the royal guards and the kingdom's soldiers began organizing everybody in the castle into lines. They had to give the gold back. Problem is, the bookkeeping in the castle's always been bad - Robert the Librarian told me so when I visited him earlier to take a break - so there's no knowing how much of the gold was lost to us commoners.

I'm not stupid, diary. I know that's a bad thing. The king and his advisors NEED that gold to keep things running. Will that force me into squealing on my wife, who has twenty gold hidden in her pillow at this very moment? Hell no. I want some new clothes. I'm just saying, I KNOW it's a bad thing.

Between that and dozens of little heart-and-dagger symbols appearing all over the place, this has been a rather terrible day, diary. Gonna get worse, too, I just know it. What's he gonna do tomorrow…?

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Guard

Day One Hundred-Fifteen: Artist's rendition

Ohhh crap. I said the shit hit the windmill yesterday, diary, but that was only the beginning of the storm. There's poo all OVER this metaphor, and it's only going to get worse.

The whole castle was, and still is, in an uproar after what we did last night. (I say 'we' only because I was PRESENT, not because I actually DID anything. Please note that I was blackmailed, anyone reading this in the future.) The guards are all pulling double shifts, and we probably will until the king calms down - which won't be for a while, given what happened today.

The king actually came out in public for a short while, I guess to show just how angry he is, and his face is completely clean. And his head! I dunno how Prince Logan did it, but his father's gleaming. Kinda cruel to do that during cold winter, but there you are. The blood that keeps boiling to his face probably keeps him warm, and that happens a lot when he screams.

All us guards and soldiers and whatnot got ordered into his presence, out front of the castle, and he screamed at us for a good ten minutes about how he wanted the perpetrator found, and what he wanted done with the person WHEN they were found. I won't describe exactly what he wants, diary, but it's not pleasant - and much of it involves the rhino guarding the castle's secret entrance. And its horn. And… well, I'll stop there, yeah?

So my heart was pounding pretty good for a long time, there, diary. I thought for sure that I'd get caught. I damn near sweat holes in my undershirt, and my armour smells like the sea. I'm amazed I didn't tremble my way through his entire speech, let alone soil my breeches like I usually do.

But then something happened that kinda let off some of the pressure. Just a bit.

We got sent off to search the entire castle from the rat farms to the top of the king's tower and even beyond the walls, but we got called back to the main castle after only an hour to see something that I guess the royal guards discovered pretty damn quickly: a mural. We were all told to come have a look, as it was a strong piece of evidence.

When I say 'mural' I don't mean a little thing sketched pleasantly on a wall. This, diary, was a massive, sloppily-painted picture that covered the king's throne, as well as the wall behind it, as though the criminal had someone shot the paint out of a cannon and splattered the back of the throne room in one go. The place was a horrid mess, covered in bloody red and steel grey.

What was it, you ask? A heart, diary. With a knife sticking out the centre. Pretty ghastly lookin'.

We've been told to keep our eyes open for the symbol anywhere else, and for anyone PAINTING the thing. They're to be arrested on the spot and brought in for questioning. So that's what I've been doing all day, wandering from one end of the castle to the other, looking for more heart and dagger combos.

Didn't find any. There'll be more, though. I just know it. 'cause I have no doubt that Prince Logan's to blame, after what we saw last night. The kid's out for blood.

This won't end well,

Dragomir the Guard

Day One Hundred-Fourteen: Scandalous

Well, the shit certainly hit the windmill today, diary. As I write there's a contingent of soldiers patrolling the castle - I'm, ah, technically one of them, though what's the point when I KNOW where the perpetrators are? - and the king is… is…

Well. You probably think he's dead. He's not. But he IS really, really, REALLY pissed. Pissed enough that just about everyone in Castle IWillMurderYouAll heard him screaming.

I met Prince Logan and Grylock as planned, just after the last of the servants shuffled off to their beds for the night and the guards set about their rounds, and we set out for the king's tower. I've been that way plenty of times, diary, but tonight was different, 'cause I knew we were doing something illegal, and that's enough to make every little shadow seem more menacing.

After we passed through the nobles' district and edged our way past a few patrolling royal guards - those Omega Corps bastards never seem to take a break, so thank the gods for Prince Logan and his hidden passages - we found the secret entrance to the tower, a wall with a torch set in it, not unguarded as we'd expected. No, it was just our luck that a freaking guard was stooped in front of it.

Captain Cedric. His armour removed, scratching himself. Damn but he's a hairy man.

He wasn't about to stop us, so Prince Logan shimmied his way across the… ceiling… and dropped a potted plant on the captain's head. Knocked him out in an instant. I pushed him a few feet away - couldn't take him back to his quarters, that damn dog of his would have me for lunch - and we went up, up, up a series of rickety old stairs I never would knew existed otherwise, Grylock's torch our only source of light, Logan laughing all the way about how funny his dad would look without a beard.

But then we saw the king, after bypassing two more royal guards and the door to the royal chambers. And he was with a woman, snoozing in her arms.

I've mentioned Queen Daena lots of times, diary. She's a real nice lady, and a great queen, considering she's stuck in a tree. So I'd be the first person to say that she doesn't deserve to be slighted, especially not by her husband, and ESPECIALLY not in secret. (Dunno what the king would do alone in bed with a woman anyway, but I DO know it's a BIG DEAL.)

I wasn't the really upset person, though. That was Logan. As soon as he saw the king nestled up with some blonde-haired dame, his little cocksure smile vanished, and his eyes, even in the dark, became almost murderous.

He didn't kill his father. He didn't hurt his father. But in the following seconds, seconds in which Grylock and I more or less didn't participate, Logan zipped across the room, hair clippers in hand, and darted around the king in a whirlwind frenzy that I couldn't hope to follow. That kid's level of dexterity is damn near inhuman, I tell you, and I swear that he managed to knock the king's flailing body into the air at least three times.

And when he'd finished? King Jeffrey, proud bearer of stubble most regal, was completely and utterly hairless. His son had somehow managed to remove every hair from the king's body, be it owned by head or brow or belly. I don't know how low Logan went, and some things should probably remain a mystery.

We fled. The alarm went up. Grylock ran back to his room to 'sleep', Prince Logan vanished, and I… I'm hiding in a storeroom, surrounded by old candles, writing in you, diary. I'm a wanted man, though the king apparently didn't see any of us, so I think I'm safe.

Huh. I guess you count as evidence now, diary.

…

Dragomir the Fugitive

Day One Hundred-Thirteen: Transcriptio

I could describe what happened today, diary, but I think a more or less straight transcript of the conversation I had with Grylock and his, uh, 'associate' will do.

Logan: I call this meeting to order. Here here!

Grylock: Unnecessary. This isn't the court, brat.

Me: Don't call him brat, he's the prince!

Logan: Brat's fine. I like this midget, he has spunk. We should fight some day. Dragomir can stand in for me.

Me: Hey!

Grylock: This is all beside the point. We're here to discuss revenge on the king. And put down that jug, brat, you're not old enough to drink.

Logan: Pfft, I drink all the time. My wife-to-be loves the stuff.

Me: WHAT! SHE'S NOT EVEN A YEAR OLD!

Grylock: Shut up, will you?! This is supposed to be a secret meeting. And we're off track, so deal with your issues somewhere else. I want to get back at that bastard you call a father.

Logan: But my grandparents are married.

Grylock: Not THAT kind of bastard. Anyway… how can I get to the king's room so I can stab 'im in his kidneys?

Me: YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

Logan: Agreed. I'd rather you not off my dad, even though he is an ass.

Grylock: What if I just removed one of his arms?

Me: That's still a capital offense! I'd have to try and stop you, and if I did you'd probably win, and then I'd die! I don't like that outcome, ambassador!

Logan: You're such a wuss, dad.

Me: Don't CALL me that. I'm not finished on the whole my-daughter-getting-married-to-you thing. How did-

Grylock: ENOUGH! I am tired of your BICKERING! Tell me, dear prince of the realm, how I can WOUND YOUR FATHER WITHOUT RISKING EXECUTION!

Logan: Well, considering the laws, you can't do much of anything to my dad without putting your head on the chopping block at the same time. And, yeah, I'd PREFER you not hurt him, either. That's my job, 'cause I won't be killed.

Grylock: Then what do YOU suggest? You're infamous for messing with people. That's one of the reasons I brought you in here tonight. That and your well-known dislike of the king.

Logan: I'm honoured. Well, there's always his hair.

Grylock: His hair?

Logan: Sure. Had the idea earlier, when I was watchin' the old man get his beard trimmed. If you can call that mess of face pubes a beard. He's always fussing over that thing, 'cause he thinks he has to one-up your King Gok. They've been at it for a long time.

Grylock: Yes… yes! My lordship always WAS most amused about your father's utter inability to grow proper facial hair.

Me: This is sounding illegal again.

Grylock: Quiet, you. So, young brat, you suggest we… what?

Logan: Duh. Shave the beard. It'll talk him months to regrow that much hair. We sneak into the tower, late at night - I know a secret way up the tower, so that's no problem - and snip him clean. He won't wanna come out of his room for weeks. Revenge enough for you, short stuff?

Grylock: I'd love to paddle his rear and leave him to endure the winter winds for a month or five, but yes, I think that will do.

Me: Well, then, I guess you don't need me, do you? I'll just be off-

Grylock: You're coming, or you're keeping one eye open when you sleep from now on. I wasn't always an ambassador, Dragomir.

I'll be meeting them tomorrow evening, shortly after the king's gone to bed and the castle's closed down, to join in Operation Beard-Be-Gone.

Drat,

Dragomir the Soon-To-Be-Imprisoned-Probably-Again

Day One Hundred-Twelve: Pain on the horizon

Well. Today was… weird.

Which brings up an important topic, diary: when do I ever have a NORMAL day? When will I ever get to sit down with you and write 'I stood by the wall. Some people talked to me. I had some dinner. I came home. I am now writing in you, and in a few minutes I'll go to bed.' When will that happen, diary? Why must my days always be peppered with beatings and plots and migrations of unlikely animals through the region? Why do I write about GHOSTS more often than good meals?

At least life isn't boring.

I went to talk to Grylock between my shifts. As I'd expected, he wouldn't have anything to do with me. I did NOT expect, however, that he would drain a bottle of alcohol under his door and set it on fire. I'd been prepared for more pee. I guess he's getting creative, and I'm glad alcohol doesn't burn too hot. (I'll need some new pants, though.)

So that was the end of the apology, and I figured that was the end of my association with Grylock. But then night came.

I was on the wall, shivering my butt off - I swear the captain stuck me up here on purpose 'cause he's jealous of my popularity with the king, and I say he needs a damn SHAVE - when somebody poked me from behind. Nearly fell right over the wall, I did.

When I recovered myself, Grylock was standing there. And I was, again, fully prepared to receive a stream of urine, possibly in my face.

But he didn't unzip! Instead, Grylock just nudged me out of the way and looked over the wall, surprisingly calm. I couldn't say anything, 'cause my tongue was tied, though a thousand apologies were riding on the tip of my tongue.

(Damn. Said 'tongue' twice. Robert the Librarian's been encouraging me to get fancy with my writing. Is it working, diary? Am I am good writer yet?)

After a minute, Grylock said "Revenge."

"Huh?" I replied, 'cause what else was I supposed to say?

"Revenge," he said again. "I want it. You'll help me get it. Do that and we're even."

I knew what Grylock meant right away, though I tried to act dumb. "Uh… dunno what you mean."

He jabbed me in the stomach with a shovel resting against the wall. "Don't play stupid. I know your king set me up. I want to get back at him. Help me do that, and I won't stab you in your sleep for getting me drunk."

I could have pointed out that Grylock was quite capable of getting HIMSELF drunk, though it seemed safer to keep my mouth shut.

"Come to my quarters tomorrow. After dinner. We'll discuss plans with my associate." And off he went.

Questions, diary, questions. What is Grylock planning? Will it get us killed? Who's his associate? And going back to last week, what's his secret mission? Does it have anything to do with the hole? Most important, am I gonna get beaten black and blue for all this?

Questions.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Guard

Day One Hundred-Eleven: Musings

I… no, nevermind. Was just a dream, diary, and dreams can't hurt you.

At least I didn't see the bandit this time.

Cheerier topic, of a sorts: Grylock was let down from the tower today, since New Years is finished. Everybody's busy partying, despite still having to work, and letting the goblin go was at the centre of that. King Jeffrey even invited me to watch them releasing Grylock, and The Baron insisted I go.

Really wish I hadn't gone. I couldn't see Grylock's eyes behind his glasses, but he refused to look my way as he walked out of the tower. Even Barrel looked embarrassed, hiding that big snout of his out the side of the tower. Bet he wished he could transform into a butterfly and flit away.

I feel really bad, diary. I know I should be celebrating like everyone else - last I saw Libby she was having a drunken arm wrestling match with my brother, and I'm POSITIVE she beat him badly - but I feel terrible about what happened to Grylock. He's a jerk, yeah, but he didn't deserve a weekend of bare-bummed sleep. His cheeks looked damn near frozen! I saw at LEAST one icicle.

I think it was an icicle.

Yeah. I've decided it was an icicle.

I'm staying away from people today and serving my shift on the walls where I can think in peace. And, uh, keep any drunken idiots from pitching themselves into the moat. It hasn't quite frozen over since the incident with the mammoths last week, and we don't need any deaths.

I think I'll apologize to Grylock tomorrow. Yeah. That'll make me feel better.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Guard