A Room at the James Herald Hotel

Sunlight and the smell of cinnamon, sandalwood, cedar; a dry, sharp smell.

The tunnel was not at an end, but here was a cleft in it, a break clean and cruel as though struck by a heavenly axe. One hundred feet away, on the far side of this splash, the foxhole continued, black and round. But in the middle of the sunlight sprawled the heavy-sighing wearer of the chain.

He was not coiled: not like withies are coiled to make a basket. His metallic length lay in a sort of G-clef pattern, and though in the sun he glinted in a rich array of red, green, and indigo, his color was black.

Black except his head, which was golden horned, his face framed by a whole series of scaly spiked collars, yellow, scarlet, and indigo, giving him the appearance of a chrysanthemum with a long, bare stem.

He had four legs, no sign of wings, and a crest like little burnished flames which ran from neck to tail tip, some ninety feet in all. His eyes were enormous, gold, slitted like a cat's, and staring down at Saara from great heights.

The greatest witch in the Italies had seen dragons and wyverns before, and would have recognized many fell beasts on sight, but she had never seen anything like this. She stood stock-still while she framed in her mind what might be the greatest power song of her life. Or the last.

The creature pulled iron-black lips from teeth the blue-white of skimmed milk. Each of these was the size and shape of a scimitar, and his tongue between them was forked. The noises of forges increased. A movement began at the creature's tail and traveled up the serpentine length of him, like the flood crest of a river when the dam has gone.

Yards of gold crest vanished, to be replaced by flat, lustrous belly scales. Four long legs curled up, their etiolated, thumbed paws exposing claws the size and shape of cow's ribs. Last of all the ornate head flipped over and hit the stony ground, until it was gazing madly at Saara, upside down. The eyes were now at her level.

"Bonjour, madam," he said, very correctly. "Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?"

Read through stack.

Now? Feeling empty bored.

Rain outside, tea inside: nirvana personified.

I have always believed it is bad luck to begin an endeavour without observing the formalities. So: an introduction, then. Let me think.

The essentials: my name is Long. I use an English first name as well; Mayland. It is a mistranslation of my full name, but suffices in a pinch. I was born in China, but I am not entirely Chinese. I learned English from the British in Hong Kong, so you must forgive my laying claim to the accent of a country to which I can claim no citizenship. I am, or was rather (for I am now retired) a linguist by occupation. I am a scholar and historian by inclination. I am a dragon by birth.

I live in San Francisco at the moment, in a suite in the James Herald Hotel, but I have traveled a good deal and it is likely I will do so again. One can only wait in one place for so long, although I am more patient now than I was in my youth.

I have neither family nor obligations. I do have-- I am told-- too many books, which is an absurd idea. I am too vain to tell my age, I think. I also have other flaws: among them temper, pride, stubbornness. Holding onto things, especially the past. Or cherished personal ignorances. As for my vices: sunlight, afternoon naps, a perfect cup of tea, a well-penned letter, music, and breaking the necks of unpleasant people.

And as to how I spend my days, when I have no trade to busy my hands and few close friends to impose my company upon-- I read and I write and I study, I go for walks in the city... ah yes:

I am seeking an illusive nothing called Truth. *smiles broadly* Among other things.

I have studied all the major philosophers and the teachers that the human race has produced. I think that I have learned some things of truth-- I am at least often convinced of my ignorance, and the awareness of the same is, I am told, the first step on the path to enlightenment. I have read many books, and spoken to many men (and women); but I have not yet consulted this broad collective pool of mankind that is this 'Internet.'

So, ladies; gentlemen; those to whom neither applies-- *Long places his hands together and bows at the assembled company, smiling inscrutably*-- it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I should be indebted if any of you would offer your own observations on what is 'truth.'