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Fearless Protagonists. Ruthless Rivals. Endless Descriptions of Needless Stuff.
Merciless Narrators and Helpless Readers.
EVERTHING A BOOK NEEDS AND SO MUCH MORE.
BOOK EXCERPT 1
Maloo’s office was not what you might call an ordinary office. In fact, it was a vast primeval cavern hewn into the rock far below NussKrøkant with the trappings of an alchemist’s lair and a touch of the lost Library of Lozenge. The walls leading down the stairs were plastered with warning signs reading “CAUTION: BOOBY TRAPS!!!” or “TRESPASSERS WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON.”
The beast in question, a grumpy-looking Niierulan Wonzdragon, dangled inertly from the ceiling. Ray had never figured out if it was a stuffed hunting trophy or just an extremely laid-back pet. Hulky cabinets, massive armoires and towering shelves cluttered the walls, crammed with ancient-looking tomes, scrolls and mysterious apparatuses, jars containing shriveled homunculi, as well as some of the usual skulls and dubious-looking liquids in dust-covered flagons.
At the center of an enormous, intricate Gombragram*, a gargantuan desk hewn from massive black CorcanZeery Rock rose directly out of the floor. Several strangely organic-looking screens and levers were worked into the monolithic piece of furniture. Enthroned behind it was the Matron Superior of the Secret Order of Sam Pappinger.
Despite this title, it would probably not occur to you to call Maloo Rulez matronly. Mostly because she would respond to this by felling you with a roundhouse kick or whacking you about the head with a demonology grimoire. But also, because her entire being screamed bird of prey rather than mother hen. Maloo was very tall and thin, almost verging on haggard. If you wanted to dare guess at her age, you would probably place her somewhere in the second fifty percent of a century. Her chalk-white bowl cut, not a hair out of place, perched majestically above her unruly, expressive eyebrows and her beak-like nose. And her beady, bespectacled eyes were currently piercing through Ray’s composure like a cutlass through overcooked broccoli.
“Sit. You know what I think, Mr. Morgon?”
Ray sat down on a big, gnarly root sprouting from the rocky floor right in front of the desk. “Sorry I’m late, Matron Superior. You see, I was at the dentist’s, and…” Ray sputtered.
“I think I shall have to buy a new red pencil!” Maloo continued, ignoring Ray’s exculpations.