House of the Singing Waters

He was hiding in the Library, and that was just fine with him. While the small brained and rough knuckled morons clunked around outside, he was safe. Let them search under bales of hay or boxes of rocks, intending to do him some sort of harm for whatever he was supposed to have done to them. It was quite likely nothing more than being intelligent and not a tree-climbing sloth-minded uni-browed pawn to genetics. He was safe, content, and well fed, word by yummy word, by an ancient tomb from before with the unwieldy title of 'The Architects of the Cosmos' by a gent named Armando D'alores.
( Pockets, chap one )
And so, back to the now of way back then and the here of where it was back there.

"Yeah, really. We promise! No cistern dunking. No swirlies. Really! Honest injun!"