The Library at Mount Char

by Scott Hawkins

  Steve gaped at her.

  “I mean that literally,” she said. “I am not kidding. It is not a joke. Tell me that you understand.”

  After a long moment he gave her the barest sliver of a nod. “Sure,” he said. “Yeah.” He didn’t know whether he meant it or not.

  She smiled, a little, then blew out a long breath. “But it will not come to that.” She spoke calmly, and with great certainty. “I will not allow it.” She examined her hands. Steve looked too. Her fingertips were steady, untrembling. “I still love you, Steve. You should know that, too.”

  “You what?” He paused. “ ‘Still?’ ” He trailed off, baffled, completely empty of things to say. After an uncomfortable moment he opened his mouth. “Carolyn, I…” dribbled out.

  She smiled, a little sadly. “Wait until they’re busy with me, then you and Naga sneak in over there.” She pointed over her shoulder into darkness. “The fence doesn’t go all the way around. You’ll be fine.”

  He followed her finger, saw nothing. “What about the dogs?”

  “What? No. They won’t be a problem.”

  They were a pretty damn big problem yesterday, he thought, but bit it back. There was something about her now, something like a hooded cobra, swaying. Instead he said, “How can you be sure? I thought they were your father’s—”

  “You won’t be harmed, Steve. The dogs obey me. They’ve been mine all along.”

  Steve stared at her, his expression darkening. Dresden. “Carolyn—”

  “Later.” Her voice was infuriatingly calm.

  Steve’s eyes narrowed. Dresden, swarmed by the pack, buried under them, but still fighting as…He felt his anger rising, fought it down.

  “Now, I have to go,” Carolyn said. “Do you understand what you need to do?”

  Steve managed to nod without looking too pissed off.

  “I’ll explain later,” she said. “Really.” She studied him, clearly unhappy with what she saw. She frowned, then leaned over and kissed him once, very quickly, on his right cheek. It was over almost before he realized it was happening. Then she sank back in her seat, shut her eyes, let out a long breath. Without a word, she opened the car door and stepped out in front of the headlights. Her shadow stretched out, eclipsing David and Erwin and Margaret.

  For just a moment Steve watched, transfixed.

  Carolyn was barefoot, and wore the same ridiculous clothes—bicycle shorts, sweater, leg warmers—he had first seen her in, now torn and dirty. There was a streak of dried blood down the side of her thigh. Steve could see himself and Naga framed in the rearview mirror, both of them bloody and taut, the lion peering over Steve’s shoulder from the backseat. But at the same time he saw Carolyn walking, saw the way the muscles of her calves flashed in the headlights with each step.

  Something in this tableau—he never quite settled on exactly what—put him in mind of Dresden, turning to face the pack of dogs, how every muscle of the lion’s anatomy stood out in taut relief, the mute vehicles of his titanic and furious will.

  II

  David was twirling Erwin’s pistol on his fingertip. Erwin knelt on the ground in front of him, trying to stand. David put the gun against Erwin’s head and said, “Bang!” He laughed and tossed the pistol into darkness. Margaret sat with the president’s severed head in her lap, cooing softly to it. The president’s dead lips were moving.

  Carolyn couldn’t tell what he was trying to say. “Hello, David.”

  David turned. He was crusted in blood from head to toe, mostly dried. The lace of his tutu was stiff with it. It jutted out like knives. Here and there little bits of meat stuck to his skin. He smelled metallic, with just a hint of rot underneath, or maybe the rot was Margaret. He grinned from ear to ear, as happy as she had ever seen him.

  “Looks like you’ve had quite an evening,” Carolyn said.

  Margaret tittered.

  “Hello, Carolyn,” David said. He winked at Margaret and punched Erwin in the face. Erwin sagged to the ground, semiconscious. David turned to face her. “So…it was you?”

  Carolyn nodded.

  “I have to say, I’m more than a little surprised. You’re so…mousy.”

  “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Father’s dead, isn’t he?”

  She nodded again.

  David’s grin widened a little bit. His teeth were strong and brown. “You killed him.”

  She nodded again.

  David threw back his head and laughed, long and loud. “Amazing,” he said. “Simply amazing. I’ll bet”—he wagged a finger at her—“I’ll bet someone’s been reading outside of her catalog. Hmm? Hmmmm?” Carolyn smiled, shrugged.

  He laughed again. “I hope you were careful. You can get in trouble for that.”

  “I was.”

  “How did you kill him, if you don’t mind me asking? Father is—was—very good. Even discounting the rest of his skills, I think he may have been the single best hand-to-hand fighter in the world. He told me he was stiffening up a bit, but you couldn’t tell it by me. I—I—wouldn’t have wanted to fight him. Not yet, anyway. Please tell me how you killed him. I am simply dying to know. Scholarly curiosity and all that.”

  “I used a knife.”

  “A knife.” His tone was incredulous.

  She nodded. “I had the element of surprise, of course.”

  On the asphalt behind David, Erwin stirred, trying to push himself up.

  David’s brow furrowed under thick, bloody locks. He kicked Erwin, but in a distracted way. He was studying her, trying to decide if she was lying to him. He was a little telepathic, she knew. Not to the same degree that Father had been, but he could see things in the minds of his enemies, especially in the heat of battle. She might have concealed the truth of what she said, might have let him wonder, but she didn’t.

  “The element of surprise,” he said slowly. “Yes. I’d say that you do have that. With a knife.” He shook his head. “Amazing. For what it’s worth, I was leaning towards a knife myself. The simplest weapons are the only chance, against one like Father. Most people wouldn’t understand that.” He squinted at her, considering. “I may have underestimated you, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn didn’t want him to pursue that line of thought. “Did anyone get out at Mrs. McGillicutty’s?”

  Erwin was on his knees now, crawling slowly away from them.

  “Nope! I’m pretty sure it was just me and Margaret. Those soldiers were good, for Americans. Maybe a mouse could have snuck out. Not much else. Oh—sorry, Carolyn. You and Michael were buddies, weren’t you?”

  Carolyn felt Margaret’s gaze on her, hot and greedy. She was careful to keep emotion from her voice when she spoke. “No,” she said. “Not really.”

  Margaret frowned, disappointed, and turned her attention back to the president’s head.

  “And I suppose it’s your reissak ayrial as well?” David’s tone was casual, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. If the reissak was hers, that meant she had worked alone. When she was dead, the Library would stand unguarded. David would find a way in sooner or later. Then, unopposed, he and Margaret would plunder Father’s catalogs. The universe would enter a darkness that would make the third age seem like paradise. Out of the corner of her eye Carolyn saw that Erwin had reached the sidewalk.

  “Mine, yes.”

  “I thought so. What was your plan, then? You thought Nobununga and I would do one another in, perhaps?”

  “It was a possibility I considered.” This was true. She had also rejected it. “But he died earlier than I was expecting.”

  Erwin, groggy, picked up the empty pistol. He looked at it as if he didn’t quite remember what it was.

  “So then…what? Were those soldiers supposed to do me in? Americans? Kill me?” He smiled. “Is that it?”

  She shrugged. “Conceivably. There were a lot of them. They had guns. You’re not invulnerable, David.”

  “True enough.” David s
miled. “Neither are you.”

  “What if I told you that I have a propos—”

  Faster than she could even see, David’s hand shot out. Her left cheek exploded with pain. She tasted blood. “—proposal. We could join forces, David. I’ve always admired you, you know—”

  Another slap. More pain, this time on the right side. Margaret giggled.

  “—that. Admired your strength.” Her heart was like ice. She dropped to her knees, her face inches from his crotch. “I could be yours,” she said. “Willingly. I’ve always wanted that, you know. I often thought about you. In secret. I would have said something, but I’m so very shy.”

  The cogs of her plan were ticking into final alignment. At first she had rejected this approach out of hand. It was too obviously a ploy. Only after deep study had she considered the idea seriously. Father’s texts were adamant about its effectiveness. As illustrated in any number of footnotes, men are almost always 50 to 60 percent dumber in matters involving their crotch. Close proximity enhances the effect. Now, with clinical approval, she saw that something stirred in the depths of David’s tutu.

  Margaret raised an eyebrow. Erwin staggered into Garrison Oaks, inside the boundary of the reissak.

  Safe for now.

  Carolyn turned all of her attention to David. He looked skeptical, but not disinterested. “Here,” she said, “let me show you.” She reached out and stroked his leg with the tips of her sharp nails.

  David stank of rotting meat and sour sweat. She raised her hand into the fluffs of fabric and probed, gently, until she touched the shaft of his penis. “There,” she said, “there.” She traced the tips of her fingernails down it to his scrotum and cradled it in her palm. David tilted his head back, shivering with pleasure.

  “There.” She snarled, simultaneously digging in with the long, lacquered nails of her left hand, twisting, and yanking down as hard as she could. She didn’t get both of his testicles, but one of them came away in her hand. His training would be up to the task—after what he had suffered in the bull, it would be up to almost anything imaginable—but it would take him a moment to marshal it. She had bought seconds.

  David roared. He struck out blindly, trying to backhand her, but Carolyn ducked under it. She was not so quick as he, but she had been practicing this moment every day for ten years. She let go of his crotch. Reflexively, he jumped back a step.

  “You nasty bitch,” David growled, not without admiration.

  Father’s notes were clear on this topic as well—there were several ways to incapacitate men instantly, but striking them in the crotch was not one of them. It would take a second or two before the real pain hit.

  “Wait,” she said slowly, “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? I thought you liked it rough.” David stared at her with increasing disbelief as she said this…but he listened to the whole sentence. It took about four seconds.

  By the time she finished speaking, he was near the true depth of his pain. David groaned.

  Carolyn, smiling, flicked the blood off her claws. “Oh well. My mistake.”

  David roared again. He balled his hands into fists and stepped toward her, one hand held protectively over his groin, bent over almost double.

  Carolyn rolled over backward, sprang to her feet, and took off running toward the gates. David was faster than anyone…usually. Right now, though, not so much.

  But she couldn’t outrun him for long. He would be on her as soon as he had the pain under control. She sprinted toward the entrance to Garrison Oaks. In a dozen steps she was inside the gate…and inside the perimeter of the reissak. She stopped then, and turned.

  Snow was just beginning to accumulate on the ground. The tracks of her bare feet stretched back to where David stood, now bent over double with pain. She was gratified to see a few drops of blood staining the snow below.

  David blew out a hot breath, vapor cloud white under the streetlight. He drew himself up to his full height. Margaret handed him his spear and faded back, as from a fire that burned too hot.

  David looked down at the footprints in the snow, then out into the shadows. His eyes blazed with murder, ancient and savage, the malevolent glare of a death god’s black idol.

  “I’m coming for you, Carolyn.”

  III

  With the expression of a man diving into ice water, David waded into the reissak. She watched him closely. His face betrayed no pain with the first step, nor the second, nor the third. But on the fourth he grunted—very softly.

  Carolyn, still standing alone in the dark, heard his pain and smiled.

  “Over here!” she said, cheerful and mocking. She took a single, measured step away from him, closer to the Library. “This way!”

  David thudded after her, heavy and relentless.

  David would be capable of going much deeper into the reissak than any of the others, much deeper than he had thus far chosen to go. She knew he would have tricks for controlling pain, minimizing internal damage. There would be techniques.

  Even so, seeing his strength with her own eyes, she was in awe of it, the raw, brute will of him. She had caught him off guard with the testicle shot. Probably he had been toying with her as well. But there was no play in what he did now. The tendons of his neck stood out like cables. Sweat ran off him in a literal stream, trickling down his arms and dribbling off the end of his spear to steam in the snow.

  She braced herself for what came next. “Had enough? You really should turn around before it’s—aaagh.” The cry was startled out of her, as much surprise as pain. He was so very quick. She looked down to see the barbed point of his spear sticking out of her left leg and felt real fear. He drew back, threw, and skewered me literally so fast that I couldn’t see it.

  Grinning, David yanked the chain. Carolyn’s legs failed her. Suddenly she was on her back on the asphalt.

  He began reeling her in. The pain was immense. Carolyn alternated between straining against the chain and crab-walking with it to avoid having her back grated off by the road.

  “Oh, David, no…” she said, injecting a tremble in her voice, knowing that it would excite him further. Inside, though, she was like ice. When she judged the moment was right she reached down and broke off the spear point.

  She allowed a single, measured moan to bubble out, then turned over and began crawling away.

  “Raah, you bitch.” David changed spearheads. A moment later she was pierced again, this time through the foot. This pain dwarfed anything she had previously felt, ever, in all her life. As she clawed at the asphalt her fingernails peeled back, and this was like candles measured next to the sun. David yanked her back toward him. She barely noticed.

  His hand clamped down on her ankle. His grip was like iron pincers, his fingers thick with calluses. He flipped her onto her back. She scrabbled at the rough asphalt of the road, desperate, clawing at it with her fingertips. Tiny pebbles shredded her shoulder blades. They were so very deep in the reissak ayrial that she thought even a few more inches would be enough to kill him.

  But she could not move. He was too strong.

  David was reeling her in. He reached up and took her knee. Small bones creaked in his grip. She knew what he would reach for—nonononono—and he did. He dug his index finger into the hole his spear had left in her leg. He pushed.

  She felt another scream bubbling up under his hands, just as she had so many times before. She pushed it back down. She kicked at the asphalt with her bare heels, struggling to move deeper into the reissak. He tortured her wound for another moment, then reached up to her collarbone. He did something terrible and it snapped, the sound of it muffled by her skin.

  She let a scream slip loose—just one. It was necessary, it was the bait she needed to draw him in that one final inch, but it cost her, too, in a way she hadn’t expected. There was a note of truth in that scream.

  Now his hand was at her throat. He dug his pinkie finger into a pressure point below her jaw while using the rest of his hand to cut off her air
. This is how he murdered me the first time, she thought. Auld lang syne.

  Her mind, scrabbling and frantic, flipped through her mental grimoire for anything that might help. She pounded him with her small hands, scratched him, poked at his eyes.

  David was implacable. David was a stone.

  Now there was a cloud around the edges of her vision. It didn’t work, she thought. David is going to win. He’s murdering me one final time. She thought of Steve as he had been at age twelve, tall and lanky, grinning in the summer sun. Behind her eyes, black flowers bloomed.

  “This is just the beginning,” David whispered. “When I’ve mastered the other catalogs I’ll call you back. We’ll do this over and over again. We’ll do this every night forever.”

  Far behind her, out in the night, she heard a soft metallic tap, the sound of the final cog clicking into place. Hearing this she ceased drifting, coalesced, came back to herself.

  Now.

  Carolyn opened her eyes. Hypoxia occluded her vision almost completely…but she saw well enough. She composed herself, stopped struggling. She smiled up at him, reached up and stroked his dimple gently with the remains of one ragged, bloody nail.

  David’s smile withered at her touch. His voice came to her as from a great distance. “What?” he demanded. “What? Stop! Why are you smiling at me?”

  Her lips moved, soundless.

  “What?!” David said, screaming now. “What is it, you crazy, horrible bitch?!” The question wasn’t rhetorical. As he asked it he took his hands away from her throat.

  Carolyn felt the urge to gasp and cough, but mastered it. She sipped a single, cool breath of night air, drew it into her lungs slowly, savoring the first breath of the rest of her life. When she was perfectly ready she spoke.

  “And then…”—she spat, blood spattering on his face in a fine spray—“from the east…” The words hissed out of her ragged, shattered throat as she took her finger away from his cheek. “Thunder.”

  David’s face exploded.