“You can appear as anyone you want to, and you choose to look like your old self? Talk about wasting an opportunity!” Kat chuckled as she looked me up and down. “Your eyes aren’t right, and you’ve still got a forked tongue. Teeth are a bit pointy as well, so don’t smile too much.” I had put on the clothes she bought from the core shop and was no longer having to preserve my modesty with my hands.

  “What’s wrong with my eyes?” I reached out my once again perfectly human-looking hand and picked up the Mirror of Endless Insight.

  My irises had been blue back on Earth. Now they were a deep purple, so dark as to be almost black, which helped obscure the fact that my pupils were less round than they should be. They weren’t the reptilian slits I had in my dragon form, but when I looked closely I could see they looked wrong. I grinned and then clamped my lips shut. I didn’t have fangs anymore, but I could probably pass for a sharply dressed member of one of those tribes on Earth that filed their teeth to points. I focused, and the worst of the deformations faded away, leaving me looking almost like a normal human. The eyes were still an odd shade of bluey-purple, and my canines were still too pronounced, but I could pass.

  I was sporting plain, if finely made, linen trousers with a matching tunic. I admired myself in the mirror for a few moments, then tossed it back on the “to keep” pile of loot.

  “Do you think I can pass?” I asked nervously.

  “Mostly. You’ve still got your draconic strength and toughness. Unless you take a ballista bolt to the chest, you’ll be fine. We are way out in the sticks after all, their guards will all be low-level,” Kat said thoughtfully as she looked me up and down. “Want me to come with you? I’ll have to stay invisible, but I can help you out in the highly likely event you’re making a tit out of yourself.”

  “No, thank you.” I was looking forward to getting a little time away from the princess and the dungeon. I also needed someone here that I could trust to keep the Dwelvers' sticky fingers away from the hoard. I looked at my golden bed lovingly, then snatched up fifty gold, and put the coins in my pocket dimension. I sent a blast of fire out of my mouth to splash against the far wall of my lair.

  “Gods, Bob! A little warning next time?” Kat had jumped as I belched a fireball. In my human form, the breath attack came from my mouth, not my nostrils, and had left a sooty aftertaste.

  “Do you mind?” I gestured for her to turn around and give me a moment's privacy. She snorted.

  “Not like I didn’t already see what little there is, Captain Chipolata. But fine, whatever.” Kat spun so that her back was to me, and my clothes vanished into my storage as well. Then, I stretched and grew back into my proper dragon form.

  The world felt different after I transformed back to my real body. Not just the perspective shift of draconic eyes and emotions, it felt more comfortable than being limited to the merely human. I had grown so used to having scales and wings that being without them felt unpleasant.

  “Get a haircut while you’re in town! It’s probably a good place to start making friends, if that’s your plan. Barbers talk to everyone, sometimes at the worst moments in their lives,” Kat suggested.

  “How bad can a haircut be? I’ll see if they’ve got a hairdressers. Anything else I should know?”

  “I want you back before eight o’clock and no frolicking with the human girls! They’re only after your hoard!” Kat cackled.

  “Yes, Mum,” I grinned my true dragon-smile once more, then headed over to the south-facing ledge, the one that pointed towards Fidler’s Mill, and dropped away into the sky. I circled down slowly. The sun was setting, and the forests and farmlands looked stunning as the sky faded to an orange and red hue. The cattle and sheep fortunate enough to have escaped my earlier raids were grazing away happily. I made a note to see if I could talk Kat into having some sheep on the agricultural floor. Wool must be a useful trade good in this world.

  Landing a good mile or so away from town in a sheltered meadow, I glanced about. I was alone, nothing rustled nearby, and even the birds had fled my draconic majesty. A few seconds later, I was a naked man again, pulling on my clothes hurriedly. I strolled through the woodland, listening to the avian chirps start back up now that the monster was gone.

  The town itself was simple and rustic. As I approached it, I got the sense it had been pulled from medieval England and dropped into the middle of this weird fantasy world. The roads were cobbled, and the houses were packed close together. The buildings were all made with black painted beams, then filled with white stuccoed walling between them.

  The townsfolk were returning from nearby fields, sweaty men in dirty coveralls heading home for their dinner, joking and bantering back and forth as they filed towards their wives, children, and hot food.

  “How do, Kel! How are the plums doing?” called a large, burly man with an impressive moustache.

  “Not too bad, Mick! Should be a decent harvest this year! At least they’re far enough off the ground I don’t need to worry about those damn uni-bunnies. Have you found the warren yet?” Mick was a skinny man with large ears and a long, pointed nose. At first glance, I’d taken him to be some kind of overgrown goblin.

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  “Nah. The bastards are somewhere out in Larney’s Wood. I’ve chased off the young ones that way a few times,” grumbled Kel as he fell into step with his friend. I was walking just behind them, and they seemed content to ignore me.

  “How much of the crop have they had?” Mick asked sympathetically.

  “Damn near a third of the greens, not so much on the tatties but they’ll move onto them when they’re done with my leeks! I can feel it in my water!”

  “Are the uni-bunnies a problem at this time of year?” I asked, and they both turned to look me up and down.

  “Not usually. This is a bad year; they’re ruining the harvest before we can get it in. What’s your name, stranger?” Mick said as he fixed me with a stern look.

  “I’m Bob.” I offered a hand, but neither of them moved to shake it. I let it drop back to my side. “I’m just in for a haircut, and then I’ll be on my way. Is there a pub in town by any chance?”

  “Barber’s just off the main square. What’s a pub?” asked Kel.

  “A bar, a public house, a tavern?” Hopefully, one of those covered the idea in this world. Otherwise, I’d have to draw pictures or something.

  “Oh, there’s an alehouse just along from ole Mordie’s. He’ll trim you right well for a piece of silver. You gonna be in town for long, Bob? There’s a juvenile dragon somewhere round here, best not to be running about on your lonesome.” Mick nodded to where one of the automatic ballistas that Tex had sold the town on my behalf was being manned.

  The guard wore badly fitting leather armour and had a rusty spear stabbed point-first into the ground nearby. He was leaning against the siege weapon, watching the women pass by him rather than keeping an eye on the sky. I made a note of the lack of discipline, but it suited me just fine for now. As the dragon in question, lazy guards were a bonus.

  “Could you point me in the direction of the barbershop, please?” I smiled politely at the pair, careful to keep my lower lip up to hide my extended canines.

  “Down yonder, stranger. Just make sure Mordechai understands you're there for a haircut, alright?” The pair chuckled as they headed off down a different street from the one I had been directed to.

  “How difficult is it to get a haircut from a barber in this world?” I muttered as I set off in the indicated direction. The windows were all small; glass was probably expensive and difficult to ship this far away from the centers of civilization. They all had thick, sturdy stormshutters on the outside as well. I was peering in through them as I went. I could see simple but well-made furniture in most of them, wooden tables and chairs mostly, but there were bookshelves lined with leatherbound tomes in a few of them.

  “What do you think you’re doing, young man? I don’t recognise you. What kind of pervert are you to be peering in through everyone’s windows like that?” snapped the voice of an old woman from behind me. I spun, trying not to look guilty, and raised my hands.

  “It’s not like that! I’ve never seen a town like this before, and I was curious about–” I began in a reasonable tone, but she cut me off.

  “Curious about what, hmm? What goes on behind closed doors? We don’t like your sort of people around here. Piss off back to the city!” While the men earlier had been friendly enough, I appeared to have stumbled upon the resident hag.

  “I was looking for the barbershop, a Mr. Mordechai? Perhaps you could point it out to me so I don’t have to try and figure out which it is from the windows?”

  “Are you– Did your mother drop you on the head a lot as a baby? It couldn’t have hurt your looks! You look like a mouldy grape boy! Get that hair washed before you have it cut! Mordechai’s place has the red and white striped pole outside it. Fool.” Without another glance, she pivoted on her heel and shuffled off towards the centre of town.

  “What an unpleasant woman.” I looked down the street to where there was indeed a barber's pole outside one of the houses. If I hadn’t been busy having a nosy through people's curtains, I’d have seen it before. Otherwise, the barbershop was entirely unremarkable. Shop front advertising hadn’t yet been invented here.

  I stopped outside the shop and examined it for a moment. The storm shutters on this one were sealed and closed on the ground floor. And there seemed to be iron bars on the other side of the glass. I pushed the door open anyway and found myself in a simple salon. There was a mirror on one wall that was probably worth a fortune in Fidler’s Mill, before which sat a large leather barbers chair. A boy was lounging on a bench in one corner of the room.

  “Who’re you? Nice ascot by the way. Love the orange colour,” he said, giving me a suspicious look.

  “I’m new here. Just passing through and I need a trim.” I waved a hand at my unruly hair. I had tried to control it with the shapeshifting spell, but I hadn’t had any luck.

  “I’ll let the boss know you’re here,” the boy said, moving over and swinging a heavy oak door aside.

  “Now don’t be a baby!” the voice was high-pitched but definitely male.

  “Mord! I just need you to pull the nail out! Please don’t–” A loud thud rang out, followed by a frantic sawing noise.

  “Boss, got one for a little off the top!” called the boy from the doorway.

  “I’ll be out in just a minute!” the sawing noise continued, followed by a wet thud as it stopped.

  “He’ll be with you in a minute, take a seat,” the kid gestured at the leather chair. As the door swung shut, there was a hissing sound, like meat hitting a grill. I eyed the chair suspiciously as I settled into it. I spun it around, then froze as I noticed the leather straps at the ankles, wrists, and throat.

  The door opened, and a man in a long white smock walked through. Well, the smock was mostly white; there were also generous splashes of red across much of it. He was completely bald on top, and he had long, curly twists of grey hair that stuck out to either side above his ears like antennas. Some sort of spectacles with stacked lenses were perched on his short nose.

  In one hand, he carried a blood-covered surgical saw, and in the other, he held another hand. I did a double-take. The detached hand had a nail driven through the palm. He tossed it casually to the boy, who snatched it carefully from the air, making sure to catch it by one of the fingers. He held it dangling to one side at arm's length with a bored expression on his face.

  “Boss, Tom just needed the nail pulling out, not all his nails, fingers, and palm cut off! We’ve discussed this, old man!” the boy complained.

  “I remember no such conversations. Tom will be fine. I’ve got a nice hook picked out for him. Run along, Gedrik, toss that rubbish in the latrine.” The demonic-looking barber turned to me and pointed his crimson-dripping saw in my direction. “So, a little off the top?”