Hob awoke from the recuperative sleep he'd been in since bringing The Book of Anger back from Deception's Study. He stood groggily from his position atop his pile of gold coins and looked around.

There, wrapped between the two other books he'd also taken from the Study, was the unknown prize. Hob would understand it, or he would die trying.

The dwarf ambled down and picked up the stack of books, being careful not to touch The Book. Even holding it through other tomes of lore he could feel the book's power, pulsing and writhing as though The Book had a mind and locomotive powers of its own.

Hob erected what mental defenses he knew of as a precaution, then wandered through the Crystal Cavern and the Guest Bedroom to the iron grating that barred further passage into his residence.

Touching parts of the mural in the Guest Bedroom in sequence, Hob opened the door and entered the short tunnel beyond. It was short- no more than five feet in height and equally wide. It was one of Hob's ecletic defenses against intrusion: larger people would have trouble fitting through.

Beyond the tunnel's end was a circular room lined with bookshelves. There was even a circle of bookshelves in the center of the room, and the shelves contained as many literary works from the ages as they did books of the Shining Dark and of man's concepts of science. Everything was neatly put away according to Hob's personal filing system and, although the shelves had footprints in the dust and ladders stacked about apparently at random, the room was straightened and organized for ease of access.

The Hobgoblin carried his books over to the central, circular bookcase and climbed atop it, making sure his possessions were carefully balanced and did not drop. When he had reached the top, Hob climbed the wide, circular pillar the bookcase was wrapped around and sat himself down in the niche he'd carved out of it many years ago.

He then opened the book with the cover of one of his other books and gazed at the first page.