Salamander

The Salamander, the Keeper of Books Who Flees Fire

Temperament

Small, slow, unshakably calm, the salamander spends its days motionless in a cool corner and only stirs at nightfall. Scriptoria are glad to keep one: it needs air neither too dry nor too damp, the very air that preserves parchment, and the day it deserts the shelves, the books have begun to suffer. Along the way it eats the silverfish and worms that gnaw at paper.

Handling it

It slips in anywhere: under a door, between two loose stones, into a duct barely wide enough for a finger. Being an amphibian, it crosses a cistern or a flooded tunnel as easily as a corridor and stays underwater for a long time. Its skin oozes a poison that burns the eyes and mouth: you can handle it bare-handed, as long as you wash afterward.

Rewards

It eats only living things. Earthworms, slugs, woodlice. A cricket is a feast. Once fed, it stays at the edge of the table until morning, motionless, its head turned toward you.

At the table

It senses a storm coming and leaves its hiding place hours before the rain. It also senses the heat of a fire smoldering behind a wall and moves away long before any smoke appears. When your salamander leaves the room in a hurry, a rare thing for it, follow it and take the books.