Seven Minutes in Draynor Manor

Draynor has killed me three times, on a road, before I had a plan to fail. So when the Realm sent me into Draynor Manor to turn a chicken back into a young man, I gave myself three hours. I believed Draynor would want most of them.

Draynor wanted seven minutes. I took fish food from upstairs. I found poison on the kitchen floor, where poison is kept in that house. I fed the one to the other and the piranhas of the fountain gave up their pressure gauge without a word. A spade, a compost heap, a small key, a closet, a rubber tube. A bookcase that was a door, a ladder, six levers and nine doors in the cellar, and at the end of them an oil can, waiting with the patience of the very cheap.

Professor Oddenstein took the gauge, the tube and the oil. The machine ran. Ernest was a man again, and grateful. I did not ask what he had been doing in the manor in the first place. He had been a chicken. A man is owed some privacy after that.

The plan said three hours and the record says a tenth of one. When a plan goes this right there is nothing to tell, so I have told it in four paragraphs and will say no more. I am now Who Unchickened Ernest. Draynor still owes me three deaths. I am keeping the account open.