‘‘You have to listen to the beat! Move to the tempo! For the sovereign’s sake, you’re Munchkins, not lumbering baboons! It’s not… that… hard!’’ The last three words were punctuated with the slam of a ruler against the wooden desk. A man yielded the ruler- at least I thought at first it was a man, but as I watched in openmouthed amazement, I realized he was slightly translucent. A spirit, then, not a man. Which meant… I turned my gaze to the center of the room.

Six imps stood in a row, clad in sequin-bedecked costumes that had only a passing resemblance to those worn by the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

‘‘Now we will try this again, and this time, listen to the blasted music! Everyone lift your right foot. That’s your left hand. Lift your right… oh, let me show you. Again.’’

The spirit jumped off the desk and started for the six imps, pausing when he almost bumped into me.

‘‘Who are you? What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy now?’’

He brushed past me and took a spot next to the closest imp. ‘‘Right foot, do you see? This one is the right foot. Now you all lift yours. Well, that’s two of you. On the count of four you start forward on this foot. Honestly, it’s like trying to discuss brain surgery with tapioca.’’

This last bit was directed toward me. I figured since the spirit had already seen me, I might as well deshadow. ‘‘This may sound a little odd, but what exactly are you doing?’’ I asked.

‘‘Two by two! What did I just get done telling you? You march two by two toward Dorothy.’’

One imp-I was relieved to note they were the benign Australian house imps rather than the rowdier (and potentially dangerous) European variety-eeked in distress a couple of times.

‘‘Well, I’m going to sound angry when I’ve told you and told you how to do this scene! This is the pivotal moment when Dorothy meets you. She’s your savior, the one who has come to free you from the bondage that has held you in its steely grip for centuries. You march toward her two by two, bow, and go into the jazz number. Do you all have that?’’

The unhappy imp he was addressing suddenly burst into tears, the other five huddling around it in poses of abject misery.

‘‘Oh, for the sake of the sovereign’s ten blessed toes… take five! Go back to your dressing room and collect yourselves!’’

The imps bolted for a large cardboard box that sat next to the wooden desk. I looked from the box to the spirit. ‘‘Do I want to know why you’re evidently drilling imps to play parts from The Wizard of Oz?’’ I asked him.

He crossed his arms and adopted an extremely put-upon expression. ‘‘It’s not The Wizard of Oz. You’ve heard of that musical about the Wicked Witch? Well, this is my version of the Oz story, told from the perspective of the Munchkins, a much-persecuted and maligned people.’’

‘‘With imps.’’

‘‘Well… they are all I have. It’s not easy being a vault attendant, you know,’’ he said with a sniff, returning to his desk. ‘‘Not allowed to bring in guests, not allowed out for more than one day a week, hardly anyone ever comes here, and there’s not even any Internet access. I would have gone insane long, long ago if it wasn’t for my musical comedy troupe. We bring life to old classics-that’s our motto. Snappy, don’t you think?’’

‘‘Er… very.’’

He held up a colorful flyer that proclaimed ‘‘MUNCH! You’ve heard the witches’ sides, now hear ours!’’ ‘‘I had hoped to open next month, but I lost most of my company when they started their own group and decided to tour America. These new imps seem to be all left feet. And so emotional! You’ve never seen such drama queens in your life.’’ His eyes narrowed on me suddenly. ‘‘Who did you say you were?’’

‘‘I don’t think I did. My name is May. And you are?’’

‘‘Misha,’’ he said, nodding dismissively.

‘‘Pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry to appear at a loss, but I wasn’t expecting to find anyone in here.’’

‘‘No one ever thinks of the vault attendants,’’ he said with another sniff. ‘‘Speaking of which, the vault hours are clearly posted in the lobby. I am not obligated to serve customers after hours unless a member of the committee requests it, and I’’-he made a show of shuffling through some paperwork-‘‘do not have any such order.’’

‘‘You’re a spirit,’’ I pointed out, albeit apropos of nothing.

‘‘I’m a domovoi,’’ he snapped back.

That was interesting. What was a Russian house spirit doing acting as an attendant in the committee’s vault? ‘‘I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry, and can’t wait until the proper vault hours. I’ll be happy to let you get back to your imp musical if you could just point me to the area where the Lindorm Phylactery is being held.’’

‘‘Room C, row seven, shelf two, box K," Misha said, sitting back down at the desk. ‘‘But you can’t have it.’’

‘‘Why not?’’ I asked, wondering if he was going to make trouble.

‘‘No one is allowed into the back storerooms. Not even Dr. Kostich himself. Besides, it doesn’t belong to you,’’ he answered without looking up.

‘‘Actually, it was taken from me when I was arrested, and I neglected to regain my things when I left. So you see, I do have every right to it.’’

He pursed his lips as he considered me. ‘‘You’re a dragon’s mate, but you’re not a dragon. That phylactery belongs to dragons.’’

‘‘More specifically, it belongs to my dragon,’’ I agreed. ‘‘That is, the wyvern to whom I’m mated. He’ll be along any second to collect it, so if you wouldn’t mind getting the phylactery, I’ll send Gabriel in for it, and you can get on with your… er… directing.’’

‘‘What was your name again?’’ he said with a much-put-upon sigh.

I told him.

He sorted through some of the papers, extracting one, which he read with an increasingly sour look. ‘‘It would seem your story is true. So far,’’ he allowed. ‘‘But it is well after hours, and if I make an exception to the rules for you, I’ll have to make one for everyone.’’

‘‘Says who?’’

He thought about that for a moment, then gave a little shrug. ‘‘You’re right. I’ll get the phylactery for you, but only because I really have to nail down this scene before morning if we hope to have any chance of being ready by the end of the month. Stay here and don’t touch anything.’’

I thanked him as he toddled off, muttering under his breath about people interrupting important dramatic work. The second the door closed behind him I was out the way I came, running back to the entrance, sure that Gabriel would be ready and waiting for my report back on the vault.

I opened the door to find utter pandemonium.

Gabriel and Kostya were yelling at each other, Drake and his men trying to pull the two wyverns apart. Maata and Tipene jumped at Kostya, and everyone went down in a big mass of snarling dragons.

‘‘What the… what’s going on?’’

‘‘Mayling! There you are. Will you tell Gabriel to stop being so mean?’’ Cyrene stepped over one of the dragons and gave me a very irritated look.

‘‘Cy? You’re all right?’’

She squawked a little when I hugged her.

‘‘Of course I’m all right, silly. I was with Kostya.’’ I shook my head. She couldn’t be saying what I thought she was saying. ‘‘You’re not going to tell me that he didn’t kidnap you?’’

Kostya lunged free of Maata and Tipene and tried to grab Gabriel by the throat. Gabriel rolled away and lashed out with his leg, connecting with Kostya’s gut.

‘‘Kidnap me? Why would he kidnap me when he saved me?’’

Kostya screamed and tried to bite Gabriel’s leg, but due to the struggle, ended up clunking heads with Drake instead.

‘‘Hey!’’ Aisling yelled. ‘‘Jim, stop them!’’

‘‘Saved you from what? Cyrene…’’ I pulled her out of the way as the dragons attempted to rise to their feet. I kept one eye on Gabriel in case he should need me, but judging by the blows he was getting in to Kostya-hampered though he was by Drake and his men trying to keep him from doing so-he didn’t need my assistance. ‘‘Didn’t Kostya have Porter kidnap you?’’