by Sheila Grau
“But . . . haven’t you been trying to find out? Cook told me that’s what you’ve been doing in here, when you lock the students out.”
“Yes! I’ve been collecting clues, sending out researchers to follow leads. I’m close; I know I am. I will find it if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Find it? The curser, you mean?”
“No. The fountain of all knowledge. The great repository of forbidden and forgotten things.” He gazed over my shoulder, as if something was lurking right behind me.
“What are you talking about?”
“The Great Library, my boy.” He smiled. “All the answers are in the Great Library. I just have to find it.”
I reshelved some books while listening to him mumble about a librarian order and its complex system of secrecy. He said things like, “You have to know your ABCs,” and “The poem, the poem,” and “I wish I had more carts.”
I felt a sluggish doom engulf me. I’d been hoping Uncle Ludwig would have some clues about where I came from, but he had nothing. It made me mad, and I left without reshelving the books on the last cart. That would show him how angry I was.
“It’s a fairy tale,” Darthin said later in our dorm room.
I collapsed onto my bed, pushed down by my new companion—Complete and Utter Doom. Frankie sat at his desk, feeding his pet turtle. He’d saved the turtle from Dr. Frankenhammer, who’d been using its DNA to create a shelled minion. Frankie’s side of the room was filled with saved creatures, mostly small things like mice and rats. There were also two frogs, a snake, and a dead jellyfish.
“The Great Library is a myth,” Darthin said.
“But Uncle Ludwig says it’s real,” I told him. “He’s been researching it for years. Years!”
“I’m sorry.”
I sat up. “Tell me what you know.”
Darthin sighed and sat down next to me. “The myth goes like this: Hundreds of years ago there was a Realm of Enlightenment. In some retellings, it’s called Erudyten, because erudite means ‘having great knowledge.’ Erudyten was ruled by a benevolent king, called King Wellread. Early in his rule, he often despaired when he walked among his people. He found it frustrating that so few of his subjects could converse intelligently about the latest novels or news of the day. ‘My people are stupid!’ he lamented.”
“Lamented?”
“Cried. Seriously, you haven’t heard this story?”
“Nope,” I said. “Frankie?”
Frankie shook his head.
“Wow. He decided to educate his people because he felt that, more than natural resources or scenic beauty, his realm’s most valuable asset was its people. They were hardworking and honest and supportive of one another. He loved his stupid people. So he passed a royal decree that children had to attend school. He built libraries and set up book clubs. His people collected knowledge from all corners of the world. The rewards of his program went well beyond improving sidewalk conversations. The people grew smarter. They created amazing inventions and sold them all over the world. Erudyten became very rich and more advanced than ever.”
“Sounds great. What happened?”
“Smart people from other countries began to travel to Erudyten, to visit its libraries and study at its universities. Many decided to stay. Other countries suffered from this ‘brain drain’—losing their best minds to Erudyten. Those countries were jealous of Erudyten’s wealth but didn’t want to put in the same effort into creating it themselves. They preferred to use their countries’ money to make weapons and armies. And palaces for their rulers. Lots of palaces.
“These other rulers knew that something had to be done about Erudyten. So they got together and decided to use their weapons and their armies to destroy it. Erudyten, being a pacifist realm, thought it could appease its enemies with gifts of money and technology. But for all its knowledge, it was unable to foresee the anger and resentment toward it, and it was destroyed.”
“Darthin, what does this have to do with the Great Library?”
“The capital city was under siege for months before it fell. During that time, the myth tells of a band of librarians who secretly collected every book from every library, and there were millions—tens of millions—of books. They snuck them out of the city to a safe location far away, where the evil usurpers would never be able to destroy them. The royal family vowed to create a new society to share its knowledge.”
“So why do you think this is just a fairy tale?”
“C’mon, Higgins. A secret band of librarians, sworn to hide all those books until a kingdom capable of protecting that knowledge arises? Someone would have found something by now. Nobody can keep a secret that long.”
I wasn’t so sure. Nobody knew that Cook used a mix for her “homemade” ogre cakes.
“I’m sorry, Runt,” Darthin said. “I’m sure it’s disappointing, knowing that Uncle Ludwig hasn’t been trying to find out where you came from.”
“That’s not even the worst thing that happened to me today.” I told them about my confrontation with Dr. Pravus and the lost book.
“You couldn’t have done anything differently,” Frankie said. “Pravus would have killed you. The man’s a psycho.”
“Critchlore will forgive you,” Darthin said. “He’s just mad about losing the book.”
“The most valuable book in the school,” I said. “The one that contains the secret for creating an undefeatable minion.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Darthin added. “Nobody can decipher that book. Dr. Frankenhammer said that the hieroglyphics are impossible to read. Unless we find some bit of writing that has a translation on it, it won’t be decoded.”
“You know where a translation might be found?” I asked Darthin.
“Don’t say it.”
“In the Great Library. Along with all the other forgotten knowledge of the world.”
“I said, ‘Don’t say it.’ The Great Library is a myth.”
“But what if it isn’t?” I asked. “What if it does hold clues to where I’m from and what my medallion means. What if it has a new secret book of minions I can give Dr. Critchlore so he doesn’t hate me? Finding the Great Library could solve all my problems.”
Darthin’s desk alarm blared, and he jumped up to shut it off. Frankie and I watched as he walked over to the window and raised his arms in the air.
“All hail the omniscient Irma Trackno,” he said. “Benevolent ruler and friend to all who support her.”
“He doesn’t believe in the Great Library,” I said to Frankie, nodding at Darthin. “But he believes his evil overlord has the power to see him do his nightly tribute.”
“All hail Irma Trackno,” Frankie whispered. I shot him a look, and he said, “What? She might.”
All overlords demand proof of loyalty, whether it’s Elvira Cutter’s Seven Labors, or Tankotto’s weekly Tribute Day, or Irma Trackno’s nightly pledge of fidelity.
—PROFESSOR GALBRAITH, IN KNOW YOUR OVERLORD CLASS
Weekend over, the next morning I reported to my first class, which was helping Mistress Moira in her tower. Since I was a junior henchman trainee, she was my mentor. She was also the school seamstress and chocolatier, and maybe the Fourth Fate from mythology. Nobody could confirm that last part, but she did look somewhat goddess-like, wearing a gold-trimmed white robe.
I climbed the steps to the top of the tall tower, my legs burning because there were so many of them. As I climbed, I thought about my to-do list:
1. Redeem myself for losing the TSBM.
2. Save Sara and her family.
3. Find out where I’m from.
4. Find out who cursed me.
5. Beg him/her to lift the curse.
I needed to put something easy on there, like climb the steps of the tall tower, just so I could cross something off as done.
At last I reached Mistress Moira’s quarters. Her door was open, and I heard voices inside.
“Moira, they have to be done a week from Saturday.�
�� It was Dr. Critchlore. I stepped away from the door because I didn’t want to face his anger again.
“Derek, it’s unreasonable,” Mistress Moira said. “Twenty dresses in two weeks?”
“Not just twenty dresses. They have to be the height of fashion. No! Higher than the height of fashion. They have to be the clouds of fashion, the sky of fashion. The outer universe of fashion. Way, way up there in the fashion sense.”
“I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do.”
“Moira, we’re talking about the Siren Syndicate here.” He shivered. “They control all river trade. It’s the only decent trade route. Roads are sabotaged regularly. Dragon shipping is fantastically expensive. Not to mention unreliable. If a dragon spots a sheep or something shiny on the ground, he forgets all about his delivery and you have to send a search party out for him.
“If the Siren Syndicate is dissatisfied, I’ll never get another shipment of anything. That means no minion supply business, no training equipment, no anything. This school will fail and my ridiculous family will vote me out at the next meeting. Moira, please,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “It’s important.”
“I shall do everything in my power to complete the dresses.”
“Thank you.”
He turned to leave and I froze where I stood, my chest exploding with thumps of panic.
“You,” he said, stopping in front of me. “Higgins.” He shook his head like he was disgusted, then brushed past me, nudging me on the shoulder. I fell backward a little bit, and a huge lump expanded in my throat as I realized that Dr. Critchlore hated me. I saw it in his eyes.
Mistress Moira noticed me standing there. “Good morning, Runt,” she said, smiling brightly.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice cracking a little. I blinked away the tears that were forming. “That was . . . an interesting conversation.”
“That man.” She waved a hand. “He wants the impossible. Dresses for the girls, in two weeks.”
I sat down next to her on the couch, startling a squirrel, who ran to the tree in the corner. With her wide windows and all the foliage, including a grass carpet, Mistress Moira’s room felt like a meadow in the sky. “I guess this would be a bad time to ask you to make me a crush-proof jacket.”
“A what?”
“A jacket I could wear so that when a giant grabs me, he doesn’t break my ribs.”
She laughed her booming, infectious laugh. “Oh, Higgins, you slay me. A crush-proof jacket.”
She reached for a piece of paper on the side table, wrote a quick list, and handed it to me. “This is a list of supplies I’ll need from the dungeon,” she said. “I’ve got to get to work, so I’ll need these as soon as possible.”
I looked at the list. It would take me twenty to thirty trips to get all that stuff. I would collapse after one trip.
“Frankie could do this a hundred times faster than me,” I thought out loud.
“That’s a splendid idea,” Mistress Moira said. “Why don’t you get him to help?”
“Okay. I’ll do one trip now, before second period, and then I’ll tell Frankie to check in with you during free period.”
I was exhausted after that, but I managed to make it to my History of Henchmen class on time. I’d been desperate to get into the Junior Henchman Training Program, thinking that being a henchman was the best chance I had of finding my werewolf family. Now that I knew I wasn’t a werewolf, being a henchman was even more vital to my quest to find my family. I would need every advantage I could get, since I was nothing but a scrawny human.
There were only five kids in the class now, so it was much easier to find a seat. Frieda the ogre took up two seats in the back row. Janet Desmarais, the most perfect person ever created, came in holding hands with Rufus Spaniel. They took the two seats behind me, next to Jud, another werewolf.
A part of me was hoping that Rufus and I would become friends, now that I’d proved myself worthy of being a junior henchman trainee. Maybe our relationship would move beyond insults.
“Hey, Runt,” Rufus said. He scooched his chair forward and leaned toward me. “How many werewolves does it take to bring down a dragon?”
“I don’t know.” I smiled at him, waiting for the punch line.
“Of course you don’t. You’re not a werewolf.” He laughed hysterically at his joke.
Professor Murphy, our stumpy teacher, entered the room, followed by a slim, dark-eyed, dark-haired kid I’d never seen before. Professor Murphy dropped his briefcase on his desk. The new kid took a seat next to me, keeping his gaze forward.
“This is much better, eh?” Professor Murphy said. The class had gone from twenty-seven students to five. It would probably go down further before graduation. Typically, there were only one or two junior henchman graduates each year.
Professor Murphy nodded at the new kid. “We have a new addition to our class. Please welcome Meztli . . .” He paused and looked at his paper, then mumbled something that sounded like “Shocoyosin.” We all said hi. Meztli turned and waved at us.
“Meztli is a were-jaguar. He’s an exchange student from a country called Galarza, which is located in the southern continent of Orgal, just below the isthmus of Skelterdam. He’s working on mastering our language and tells me that he understands more than he speaks. I’m told he possesses the qualities necessary for this special track, and he’s up to speed on his homework.”
“Sí,” Meztli said.
Were-jaguar! Man, that sounded cool.
“Okay, to work. You five—er—now six were selected after we evaluated your performance on a series of tests. As you know, a henchman needs to possess certain skills—strength, the ability to perform under pressure, and bravery. You all”—he looked at each of us, stopping at me—“well, most of you, proved that you possess these qualities. In this term we will expand on those attributes and learn about problem-solving for your EO, getting a diverse team of minions to work together, and taking on your EO’s enemies. These are must-have skills. No Evil Overlord will hire a henchman who isn’t able to perform these basic, although difficult, tasks. Now, then, you’ve all read the first case study in your History of Henchmen textbook, right?”
A chorus of mumbles answered him. If the others were like me, they hadn’t. I mean, why do the homework if you didn’t think you were going to be selected for the class? Being picked had been a complete surprise to me. Still, I should have written “Do my homework” on my to-do list.
“Let’s have a quick quiz.” Professor Murphy leaned against the edge of the desk facing us.
Oh, cryptids, I’m doomed.
“Thirty-five years ago, a revolution in the realm of Riggen overthrew EO Egmont Luticus,” Professor Murphy said. “An evil overlord can only oppress his people so much before they revolt. In this case, the revolution was triggered by what famous event . . . Meztli?”
Meztli looked up from his notes. He tapped his forehead like he was thinking. He tapped it again and again, and then said something in his own language. He nodded when he was done.
“Um . . . okay,” Professor Murphy said. “I assume you’re referring to the Great Headache Uprising. That’s correct.” Then he addressed the class. “As you all know, aspirin and other drugs were manufactured and sold by the Elixir Syndicate, which controlled the supply of medicine. That’s what a syndicate does. Instead of competing against one another, companies band together to control prices and supply. The Elixir Syndicate kept raising the price of aspirin, and Luticus didn’t like it. He threatened them with attacks from his undead army if they didn’t lower their prices.
“The Elixir Syndicate responded by cutting off all aspirin to Riggen. Without aspirin, the people grew very angry, because if there’s one thing that will give a person a headache, it’s living under an overlord as cruel as Egmont Luticus.
“The revolution began. Luticus went to the EO Council to ask for help from the other overlords. This is standard procedure; the EOs tend to protect one another. But
in this case, he was turned down. By whom . . . Janet?”
“Oh, I know this,” she said, crinkling her brow in a really cute way. “It was one of the big ones?”
Professor Murphy hadn’t stopped smiling at her. “That’s correct. It was Wexmir Smarvy, Luticus’s northern neighbor. Unfortunately for Luticus, Smarvy wanted him to fall. He had his eye on the port city of Balti, where he wanted to build a vacation palace.
“Without support, Luticus was overthrown by rebels led by a chicken farmer. That chicken farmer is now . . . Rufus?”
“Fraze Coldheart,” Rufus said.
Rufus always got the easy questions.
“That’s right. And his first act as overlord was . . . Frieda?”
Frieda had been watching a bug crawl across her desk. She smashed it with her fist, then looked up at Professor Murphy.
“Correct,” Professor Murphy said. “He got the overlords together to squash the Elixir Syndicate, which had clearly grown too powerful. The overlords installed their own thug, Fat Pharmo, to take over medicine production. Fat Pharmo split the company into smaller pieces, and the EOs left them alone after that. Jud, can you name another organization that has power equal to the EOs?”
“The Pravus Academy,” Jud said. “Pravus has those EOs eating out of his hand, they’re so desperate to get his giant gorillas.”
“That’s true, but the Minion School Directives keep minion schools from gaining too much power. Nothing frightens the EOs more than the thought of a minion school syndicate. Imagine, one person controlling the supply of minions! The EOs would destroy Stull before letting that happen.
“No, I was thinking of a group even more powerful than Dr. Pravus—the Siren Syndicate. Runt, tell us how the Siren Syndicate has avoided the fate that befell the Elixir Syndicate.”
“Um, bribes?” I said, because that answer worked most of the time for questions about EOs.
Professor Murphy shook his head. “You didn’t do the assigned reading, did you?”
