At three o'clock in the morning, the Royal Trophy Room was the scene of a different kind of frantic activity.
Caspian stood over the antique oak display table, holding a lantern in one shaking hand and a bottle of wood glue in the other. Beside him, a very sleepy, very confused royal carpenter named Thomas was inspecting the splintered leg of the furniture.
"I don't understand," Thomas yawned, scratching his head. "This is solid Arindale Oak. It's been here since the Second Conquest. How did it crack down the center?"
"Termites," Caspian lied.
"Termites?" Thomas squinted at the wood. "It looks like something heavy was... repeatedly dropped on it. With great force. And rhythm."
Caspian closed his eyes. "Aggressive termites. They are a new breed. Very... athletic. Can we fix it before the Emperor wakes up and decides to inspect his dagger collection?"
"I can shore it up," Thomas grunted, opening his toolbox. "But it won't hold much weight anymore. No more heavy statues."
