‘Why hello there, missy.’
She looked up. It was a gargoyle, ugly, perched on the pediment of the door behind her. Its wings were folded, the tail curved neatly around, its skin a dark grey stone. It leered at her and continued.
‘Are you a little lost? Surely I can be of assistance somehow?’
‘I’m Maya,’ she said, and realised she had not introduced herself to Ba’al.
‘Legagouar at your service!’ the gargoyle smirked. ‘Would you like a guided tour of the fortress? There is a lot to see here.’
‘No,’ Maya said. ‘But I have heard stories that say Ba’al is a collector of books.’
‘The Demon Commander is a collector of many things, but yes, books are indeed among them! What you speak of is the Septaranium, his library.’ It pointed. ‘The door over there. The librarian is a rather old man called Hermlock.’
‘Thanks,’ Maya said, starting to walk.
‘Not at all, not at all,’ Legagouar preened.
Maya cautiously pushed one of the double doors. It was unlocked. She was allowed. She stepped in, and took a sharp breath. Books. Hundreds of thousands of them. The Septaranium went on for as far as her eyes could see, taking a curve and then bending out of sight. The walls were infested with books lined on neat little shelves of wood, one above the other, leading all the way up to a very high roof. Torches did not burn on any of the walls, they were mounted on stands throughout, a safe distance away from the books. There were a few tables, with chairs neatly aligned around them, but Maya’s gaze sought out the books once more. So many of them! Bright volumes, dark leather bound ones, classics with gold lettering, everything glinting and shining in firelight, calling out. She still stood at the entrance, frozen, until she saw Hermlock shuffling towards her.
‘Who are you?’ he muttered. An old man, a human, wearing light grey robes, with near waist-length hair and a gigantic moustache that drooped downwards, round spectacles that he constantly kept adjusting. And a limp.
‘I’m Maya,’ she said.
He took a moment. ‘You must be the master’s guest,’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, he did mention you were coming. And two others, I believe.’ His voice was old.
‘Yes, they’re here as well.’
‘Good, good. My name is Hermlock, and I look after the Septaranium. So, did you simply wander into the master’s library?’
‘I had heard of his collection of books, yet I had no idea how vast it was. How many books do you have here?’
‘Eight hundred ninety six thousand and two,’ Hermlock said. ‘Haven’t managed to read them all yet, but I know where each one is kept.’
‘My God,’ Maya said, looking around again. ‘Is this the largest library in the world? What kind of books do you keep here?’
‘Oh, the Septaranium comes a modest ninth in the world,’ the old man smiled. ‘The master likes to read. He reads ancient scriptures, hundreds of different languages, philosophy, history, geography, journals, treatises on politics and governance, poetry, even the occasional thriller. Are you looking for something?’
They started walking down the carpeted paths, Maya gazing around in pure wonder still. ‘How did you ever pick up the first book and start reading?’ she asked. ‘Knowing that you would never be able to finish them all?’
‘The first book is the most difficult, young lady. Once you do have the courage to start, though, it is nothing but a journey.’
‘Of course.’
‘Yes, my journey has been here, in the Septaranium.’
‘Victor Sen had a modest library,’ Maya said, before she could stop herself.
‘Yes?’
‘He burned it down himself.’
‘Men like Victor Sen are very different from men like Demon Commander Ba’al.’
‘But he is not a man, is he?’ Maya said, almost smiling at the old man. ‘He’s a Demon.’
Hermlock looked at her seriously. ‘It is quite easy to forget that, my dear. He is no different than you and me. I would, instead, call him far greater than the both of us. I have been in his service for the last ten years now, and he has been nothing short of outstandingly generous.’
‘So, what’s your story?’ Maya asked. ‘How did you end up as the librarian for the Free Demons?’
‘It is not a long story, and it doesn’t have the drama you young ones seek,’ Hermlock said. He rolled back a sleeve, exposing his tattoos. ‘I was with MYTH. A loyal Tantric. I did everything they asked of me, until Shey Quilar.’
‘What is Shey Quilar?’ Maya asked.
‘You come from New Kolkata,’ Hermlock said, looking at her. She nodded.
‘Only in New Kolkata can the government bind your eyes so tight,’ he continued sadly. ‘Every child is supposed to know of Shey Quilar. It is a city of books and knowledge, a city of inquiry and research, a city of questions. Or at least, it was.’
‘No,’ Maya said softly.
‘MYTH works with certain formulae,’ Hermlock said. ‘Secrecy is paramount for them, which is why most have not heard of the Seven. Have you?’
‘They’re the ones who run things.’
‘The ones who rule. Seven Tantrics, old, twisted, burned—shadowy beings skulking in MYTH Castle, the ones who control MYTH. They are clever, cruel, invisible. There are stories about them—but let us not digress. Despite their power, the Seven follow a pattern, which is why they are predictable to an extent, and which is why my master is not dead yet. The destruction of information is the first step, and you should be familiar with that, hailing, as you do, from the city of puppets.’
‘Shey Quilar falls within MYTH’s rule?’ Maya asked.
‘MYTH has never needed a defined domain. They are the most powerful government in the world right now, and every other government fears them. The Sea Lords, The Faces, and even the Warlocks. My master has asked for alliances many times in the past, but they do not even reply. MYTH scares them. And they should be scared.’
They sat down at a table. ‘Would you like some tea?’ the old man asked. Maya did not want anything else but the rest of the story. It was information which was vital, but it would be impolite to refuse. She nodded, and Hermlock limped to a nearby table with burners and vessels arranged neatly. He continued talking as he worked.
‘MYTH takes what MYTH wants. It has been the ender of kingdoms endless, the Goshtias, the Kushanas, the Venkrashths, and the Warris to name a few. And cities have burned—Alin Oshkur, Nawabgil, Bhopal, Balis Enth, Sawarjung. MYTH is a well-oiled machine ready for war, and it goes to war with anyone who questions its authority. Shey Quilar did just that. They found some texts which brought more sins of this government to light. Shey Quilar was self-governed, they did not even have an army, poor souls, they were but a land of scholars—but they stood for what was just, and so, they sent a messenger with questions to New Kolkata. The messenger was executed, and MYTH’s answer was a team of five Tantrics, sent to burn the city down.’
‘You were one of the five?’ Maya asked.
‘Yes, I was indeed,’ Hermlock replied, returning to the table with a small black cup in his hand and settling down. ‘When we reached the city, I realised that things were amiss. The briefing had set the city up as a city of radicals and extremists threatening New Kolkata; we were supposed to summon Demons from outside the city and extinguish it, exterminate it before it had a chance to retaliate. But the architecture, my dear, when I looked at the architecture in the light of the rising sun, I knew that men of war could not have built a city so beautiful. It was breathtaking, the minarets, the arches, the spirals and the domes, glowing golden.’ Hermlock smiled slowly, wistfully. ‘Sometimes, the very beauty of something can deny its corruption. Sometimes.’
‘You looked at the soul of the city, Hermlock,’ Maya said softly. ‘Perhaps a brief glimpse, but you saw it.’
‘Yes, I believe I did,’ the old man agreed. ‘The summoning of Elder Demons can take weeks, sometimes months. While the other four Tantrics—friends of min
e, they were—settled down and started their rituals, I crept down to the city. To see the truth for myself. I still remember the first thing I noticed—there were no guards at the city gates. I went and met the Council, the government, and I was handed the texts that betrayed MYTH. I could not believe my eyes. You must understand that, young lady. I had forever been loyal to the government, I had hunted down and killed a hundred Demons, a thousand enemies, all in the name of MYTH. Seeing your faith shatter in one blow, it is not easy; the Council was generous and granted me one of the best accommodations in the city.’
‘You told them of the other four?’ Maya asked, sipping her tea. It was well made.
‘No,’ Hermlock said. ‘I had not. But it did not take a wise man to see that they were defenceless, no guards, no soldiers, nothing. I stayed in Shey Quilar for two weeks, two weeks in which I heard enchanting music, met people, lovely innocent people, saw theatre, paintings, ate the most exquisite cuisine. They were so hospitable! I was in a dream, in a city where everyone made me feel welcome, where I did not sense any shadow of lies, deception. And then I saw their books. Someone like me, who has read and written all his life, someone with a deep, deep love for literature, I saw a library beyond all others, my dear. Hundreds of thousands of manuscripts, books, and maps. I took a decision at that moment: Shey Quilar must not be allowed to fall.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I went back to the other four. They had wondered where I had been, but Tantrics often pick solitary spots for summoning Elders undisturbed, and they weren’t worried, having almost completed their own summonings. I interrupted them, and I pleaded. They were furious—I had just set their preparations back by another two weeks, they would have to start over again—and were, understandably, in no mood to listen. I pleaded with them one last time, and upon their dismissal, I challenged them to open combat.’
Maya raised her eyebrows. ‘You dispatched all four?’
‘Together,’ Hermlock said. ‘I was much younger and much faster then, my dear. Though not fast enough,’ he muttered, glancing at his bad leg. ‘A short duel, shooters. I had six rounds, but only fired four.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I regretted it. But it had to be done. I had texts incriminating MYTH in my very hand, and they, they were not prepared to look! Tantrics have always been nothing but weapons for MYTH to wield—but I digress. I went back to the city and slowly recovered from my wounds. But even as I lay on that bed, the city alive and breathing outside the enormous window in front of me, I knew I did not have much time. MYTH was coming.’
‘Ba’al,’ Maya said. ‘You contacted Ba’al.’
‘I had studied Demonology as part of my Tantric training. One thing that had always been mentioned about Demon Commander Ba’al was his love for books. Yes, I contacted him.’
‘You summoned him?’
‘That would have taken me months, and I wasn’t even sure I could. Besides, he was already free. He would not have responded to Tantric summons. I sent a dragonfly instead. Ba’al’s forces reached before MYTH’s did, and the Demon Commander sent a messenger for me, saying he could not spare the forces needed to withstand a siege. What he could do, however, was help transport the books.’
The old man stopped and looked around at the shelves lining the walls. At the books.
‘The people of Shey Quilar were scared when the Demons first arrived, but I had prepared the Council for this, and they were ready. The Demons did not harm a single human. Instead, bit by bit, they carried the books away. In sacks, in crates, in whatever they could find and whatever they had brought. Hundreds of citizens helped pack the books, me among them. A month passed, and then the books, every single one of them, were safe. They were all with the Demon Commander, under his care as he had promised. I turned to the Council and I begged them to vacate the city. This, however, they did not agree to. The city was theirs, they said, and now that their legacy was protected, they would burn with it. I respected that, and I stayed; I would burn with them, I decided, in that city of my dreams.’
Maya wanted to say something, but she could not find the words. She knew what was going to happen in this story, in this story that had been more than a story, and she felt a sudden hatred for MYTH. Hermlock’s voice had started to tremble.
‘MYTH came soon, with Inferno Machinery. They called Demons too, but Ba’al called out, and many Demons tore free and killed their summoners before succumbing to their ends. The Inferno Machinery was unstoppable—long-range devices of flame that blazed through Shey Quilar, meant to burn books that were no longer there, and people who were. The city burned. The Council burned. Fast. And as I stood at my window, waiting for the fire, a Demon blinked into my room, grabbed me, and blinked out. I was taken by surprise or I wouldn’t have blinked my eyes, but it was too late—a few blinks later, I was out of the city, and I watched it burn. I stood on the other side, and I watched. I watched my beautiful city turn black.’
Maya reached across the table and held Hermlock’s hand. The old man did not seem to notice.
‘The Demon, of course, had been sent by the Commander. He met me, and he told me things, things about MYTH, things about myself. He told me the reasons why he had rescued me, reasons justified, and offered me the honour of looking after his entire collection of knowledge, the keys to his most treasured treasure. I accepted him as my master, and I have served him faithfully since.’ Hermlock looked up. ‘Shey Quilar lives in the Septaranium,’ he said. ‘As do so many other cities, even ones from across the River.’ Slowly, he looked down at the table and realised Maya was holding his hand. Gently, with his other hand, he caressed hers, then drew away.
‘Thank you, my dear. I’m afraid I was mistaken when I said it wasn’t a long story. The ramblings of an old man often forget time.’
Maya shook her head. ‘I shall remember what you did for Shey Quilar.’
‘It is nothing of song and legend. An old man and his books.’ Hermlock smiled.
‘What was the information that Shey Quilar had unearthed?’ Maya asked.
The old man took his time to reply. ‘If you do find your way back to New Kolkata someday,’ he said, ‘there, in the depths of MYTH Castle, is a door. It is a white door, and there is a shield engraved on it. This door does not answer to conventional means, but if you put your palm against this door, and whisper Guashmoheel Asarantum, it is bound by duty to open. There lies the answer to the question you ask.’
‘There is a reason you do not tell me yourself,’ Maya said.
‘Yes, there is. MYTH protects its sins well. You must learn to see.’
‘Teach me the phrase. Say it again.’
‘Guashmoheel Asarantum,’ Hermlock repeated.
‘What does it mean?’
‘Guard for those that command you,
As for those that demand you,
Open not for a thief in the night,
But I, who seeks to understand you.’
‘I want to know what is behind that door,’ Maya said. ‘But I doubt I can enter MYTH Castle alive.’
‘I would tell you something more about my master,’ Hermlock said. ‘He is helping you. I can see that simply by the clothes you wear. Know this—Demon Commander Ba’al is the best judge of people that I have ever met. He understands their needs, their strengths, and their demons with a mere look. He breathes in their scent and knows of their intentions. I believe,’ the old man paused, ‘he glances at their destiny.’
Hermlock stood up, slowly. ‘It is time for me to take my leave, my dear, and resume the notations of the latest archive. But remember this—if the Demon Commander helps you, then he sees something in you.’
Dinner was a feast more meticulous than lunch. Ba’al sat on his chair, the window and the night sky behind him. Next to Ba’al stood a Demon they hadn’t seen before. Absolutely the same size as Ba’al, the newcomer, a female, had a small, well-shaped face with a pointed chin. Her ears were pointed as well. She had a spiral tattoo beneath her lower lip, and long, thick dreadlocks, jet black; they arose from her dark red
forehead and worked their way back, where they were tied neatly in a dark mass. She wore the same garment as Maya, although her robes were a dark green. She stood silent, eyes downward, hands together.
‘Eat,’ Ba’al said, observing that Gray had not started. ‘The food is not poisoned, and there is a lot to talk about. I would rather have this dinner ritual out of the way.’
Fayne took his usual gulp of blood and waited for the others to finish. Maya and Gray chewed, extremely conscious of Ba’al’s glimmering eyes on them. One course at a time—a leg of chicken here, a grilled piece of fish there, some eggplant, cabbage, then mutton and a loaf of bread. Ba’al did not eat with them. Gray wondered if he was meant to be dinner, but he banished the thought from his mind. The silence lasted until dinner was over and Gray took the last sip of wine from his goblet.
Ba’al gave quick instructions in the Old Tongue. Demons came in, hauling away the cutlery, and in moments the table was bare. The female Demon moved, and in one fluid sweep, laid a map on the table. They looked at it keenly.
‘The Old Country,’ Maya muttered.
‘You are still ignorant of your route,’ Ba’al began. ‘I must point out where the Soul Library is.’
‘Yes, you must,’ Gray said. Ba’al glared at him, and Gray looked down at the map immediately. ‘Sensitive,’ he muttered.
Maya, however, was looking straight into Ba’al’s eyes. ‘Do you hold us responsible for what happened to Adri?’
Ba’al looked up.
‘What exactly does Adri mean to you?’ Maya continued. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t care. It’s obvious, for all your disparage. Do you blame us for what happened to him?’
‘You are responsible, yes, but I do not blame you,’ Ba’al said.
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