by Sheila Grau
On my way out, I passed the siren girls, who were waiting at the end of the runway to practice their walks. I decided to ask them something that had been bugging me: Did they know this wasn’t a modeling school when they came here?
I hadn’t directed the question at anyone in particular, but Bianca answered, which didn’t surprise me. She was the kind of kid who had to say something in class every day. “Of course we knew this wasn’t a modeling school,” she said. “But it’s so much better! Look, the school we were supposed to go to is awful—no boys, strict rules, they treat us like we’re delicate little flowers. Here, we get to take interesting classes and meet interesting creatures. Sure, it’s not for every siren, but we like it and we want to stay.” She took a step toward me. “Our moms can’t find out otherwise, understand?”
I nodded. Once in the foyer, I pulled out my to-do list and added, “Make sure siren mothers don’t find out this isn’t a modeling school.” Then I felt silly because that wasn’t something I’d forget to do. Maybe that was the problem with my to-do list. I added things I wouldn’t forget, and I forgot to add things I needed to remember.
It’s always darkest before the dawn, or if you’re in Fraze Coldheart’s dungeon.
—A JOKE SHARED BY EVIL OVERLORDS
The regular library door was locked, so I went down to the dungeon. I sprinted around the grotto, watching out for flying tentacles, and eased myself inside the secret door. I took the book out of my backpack and headed for the stacks.
Uncle Ludwig was nowhere to be seen, but Professor Zaida sat at a table near the fireplace. She had a large book open and was taking notes on a pad.
“Hello, Runt,” she said.
“Hi,” I said. I stuffed the book into my backpack when she wasn’t looking. I didn’t want her to know I’d taken it. “Is Uncle Ludwig around?”
“Upstairs,” she said.
I walked over to her and leaned against the table. “Professor Zaida, do you think he’s a good librarian?”
“Well, he got his master’s degree in library science from Amlick University in the capital, where he learned how to sort books by evil overlord, how to properly censor a book, and the best techniques for public book burning.”
“Those don’t sound like librarian skills. What about researching stuff? Do you think he’ll be able to find out where I’m from? Do you think he’ll find the Great Library?”
She tilted her head, like she hadn’t heard right. “The Great Library?”
“Yes, he says all the answers are there. But I’m not so sure. Darthin says it’s a myth. What if it is? What if Uncle Ludwig’s been wasting all this time, and he never finds out where I’m from?”
“You’re trying to find out where you’re from?” she asked.
“I have to.”
She closed her book and put her hands on top of it. “Runt, you don’t need to know where you’re from to know who you are. The past doesn’t define us. Look at me. I was born in West Chambor to a family that already had twelve children. We lived in crowded, poor, miserable conditions, and if I could forget those years, I would. What I mean to say is—don’t fixate on where you came from. You have a home and family here, and a bright future ahead of you. Don’t take those things for granted by being obsessed with the past.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m grateful for all I have, really. It’s just that Mistress Moira says I came here with a curse, and if I don’t find who did it and get it removed, I’ll die on my sixteenth birthday.”
Professor Zaida’s eyes widened, and then I got the uncomfortable pity face that people made whenever I mentioned my curse. She couldn’t help it; she was so nice.
Uncle Ludwig’s steps clanged down the spiral staircase in the corner. He carried a large stack of books, so I jumped up to help him. He nodded to the nearest table, and once sitting, he opened a notebook, turning to a blank page. I put the books down and sat opposite him.
“This is terrible news,” he muttered. “Terrible.”
“What happened?”
He looked up, surprised that I was still there. “Runt, I’m very busy.”
I was still angry, and I wasn’t going to let him brush me off. He’d been doing that for eight years, apparently. I reached over and put my hand on his notebook. “Uncle Ludwig. I need to know what you’ve found out. I was talking to Cook—”
“You told Cook about my research?” He looked nervous now, and I caught him glancing over to a section of books by the circular staircase.
“I told Cook about your lack of research. You told her that you’re close to finding out where I’m from.”
“I am,” he said.
“What have you found out?”
Uncle Ludwig looked over at Professor Zaida, still taking notes at her table.
“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispered, “but you must assure Cook that I’m being completely open with you. Promise me.”
“Okay. I promise.” Geez, how valuable were Cook’s books?
He nodded. “I am close to finding the Great Library. The CLOUDs know I am, which is why I can’t leave this castle. If I did, their assassins would—” He slit his throat with his finger. “It’s a very ruthless organization. They have to be, obviously, to protect something that important.”
“If you can’t leave the castle, how will you find a CLOUD?”
“I have operatives who feed me information. These operatives have contacts throughout the realms. I’ve been collecting information for years—rumors, myths, and hearsay mostly, but also suspicious disappearances of books and whole libraries as realms change rulers. Whenever there’s a regime change, I make sure my men are there, and I tell them: ‘Watch the books! Follow the books.’ ”
He stood up and motioned me over to another table. Spread out on top of it was a map of the Porvian Continent. He motioned for me to sit and then pointed to the map. “We know the Great Library is somewhere in the Porvian Continent, probably in a mountain fortress. Unfortunately, mountain fortresses are everywhere. There’s not a single realm that doesn’t have six or seven of them. Some EOs are searching too.” He tapped on two countries: Voran and Razik. “Tankotto and Cera Bacculus are racing to find the library.”
“Why?”
“They both border the country to the north of us, Burkeve. Tankotto claims that Burkeve and parts of Razik rightfully belong to him. Cera Bacculus disagrees. Right now, many EOs support Cera’s claim to Burkeve, mostly because she’s the second-most powerful EO. But they all suspect that the proof of Tankotto’s claim may lie in the Great Library’s historical documents. If those documents were to surface, Cera would lose her supporters. To make sure that doesn’t happen, she will destroy the library.”
“You have to find it before she does,” I said. “And warn them.”
“I’m sure they know,” he said. “Those librarians know everything. Their business is information, and they’re good at collecting it. It’s like they have ears everywhere. They’re also good at hiding.”
“If they’re so good at hiding, how are you ever going to find one?”
“Ha! They can’t outsmart me forever. I’m a Critchlore! And I’m getting close. Last week I tracked down a CLOUD in Urlichaven. I sent a man to meet him, but the CLOUD didn’t show. I just learned that he’d been poisoned. I wasn’t the only one to have found him out, apparently.”
“Cera Bacculus poisoned him?” I asked.
“Of course not. You don’t poison someone if you want information from him, Runt. Think! How does a dead informant help you find answers?”
I shrugged.
“I believe he was killed by another covert librarian.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
I had no idea why a librarian would kill someone. “Because he had too many overdue library books?”
“No! To keep him from talking to me, obviously! Runt Higgins, are you really this dense? Good grief.”
Well, now I felt stupid. I slumped in my
chair.
“Listen: The CLOUDs will kill to keep their secrets. They will even kill their own. Any whiff of betrayal or ineptitude, and you’re gone. Believe me, I know how their organization works. They protect themselves with many layers of operatives, each one only knowing what he needs to know. They’re spread out throughout the continent; they never meet with more than two other CLOUDs at a time.”
“It’s amazing that you got so close to one.”
“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, disappointed again. “They may be smart and secretive, but they can’t hide from me forever. I’ve known for quite a while that they use the ‘If Books Were Food’ poem to identify themselves to each other.”
“Everyone knows that poem,” I said.
“No,” Uncle Ludwig said. “It’s their secret poem. I learned it long ago when one of my men followed a CLOUD to his drop-off point and recorded it.”
“But there was an old lady at the capital. She recited it when I gave her an apple.”
Uncle Ludwig grabbed my arm. “Who was she? What did she look like? Where exactly did you see her?”
“On the capital library steps. You think she’s a CLOUD? But she didn’t work in the library.”
“They are covert librarians, Runt,” he said. “Covert. That means they’re librarians in secret.”
I mentally slapped my forehead. I should have known that. Gah! Could I say anything that wouldn’t make Uncle Ludwig think I was an idiot?
“She said some other stuff too,” I said. “It sounded crazy at the time.”
“What? What did she say?” He leaned close to me. “Tell me!”
“She said I was a clever boy—”
“Ha! Not likely.”
“She looked at my jacket, at the Critchlore crest, and then she said I should warn the Archivist. She said that she’d been tricked. I had to tell the Archivist that the chameleon was coming.” I winced because that sounded ridiculous, but I was sure that was what she’d said.
“Why would she think you know an Archivist?” Uncle Ludwig said, looking off into the distance while rubbing his chin. “That’s the highest rank of CLOUD, aside from the director.”
“Do you think—?” I asked, hoping he’d fill in the rest because I had no idea what to think, and I really didn’t want him to think I was stupid. Well, stupider.
“It’s possible,” he said.
“I agree.”
“Imagine, a CLOUD right here at Dr. Critchlore’s,” he said. “And not just any CLOUD, but an Archivist.”
Wow, really?
“There’s more than one?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. There are four, if my research is correct. They are the only CLOUD operatives working outside of the Great Library who actually know where it is located.”
“Who could it be?” I nodded to Professor Zaida. “She likes books. A lot.”
“It could be anyone. The CLOUDs are cunning and smart, and stay hidden at all times. It could even be Jake, the stable master.”
“He can’t remember his last sentence,” I said.
“The perfect ruse! Pretend you’re an idiot, and nobody will suspect you. It’s got to be someone who leaves the school on business, which would allow him to collect books and take them to the Great Library. Moldy manuscripts, it’s probably Dr. Critchlore himself! And if it is, I’ll kill him. He knows I’ve been searching for a CLOUD.”
My DPS beeped. I pulled it out and checked my message. “Mistress Moira wants something for her backache,” I said. “I’ve got to get her a pillow.”
“Tell her to stretch every twenty minutes,” Professor Zaida said from across the room. “And, Runt, I’m not going to be at practice this afternoon. My uncle is ill and I need to check on him.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”
“That’s the third sick relative she’s had to tend to this month,” Uncle Ludwig whispered. “The members of that family have terrible immune systems.”
I left. I didn’t realize it until later, but I’d forgotten to replace the book.
Ask not what your EO can do for you, because he’ll laugh in your face.
—DR. CRITCHLORE, IN A COMMENCEMENT SPEECH
I headed to my History of Henchmen class, wondering who at the school could be a CLOUD, and how I could find him or her. I arrived at the same time as Professor Murphy, who carried a stack of glossy magazines.
On a hunch, I tried the poem, which Uncle Ludwig said the CLOUDs use to identify one another. I nodded to the magazines. “If books were food . . .”
“These are magazines, not books,” he said with a scowl. “Now, take a seat, Runt. We have a lot to cover today.”
The extra desks had been removed from the classroom. The remaining six were arranged in a semicircle facing the front of the room, with a large one on the right. All the seats were taken except the one on the far left, so I sat there, next to Meztli.
Professor Murphy wrote on the board: “Problem Solving for Your Evil Overlord.”
He turned to face us. “I had planned to present our next case study, about how one of Maya Tupo’s henchmen rid her realm of an infestation of battle locusts by bargaining for the use of another realm’s giant toads.”
“Titanatoad,” Meztli said with a shiver. “Ranas gigantes. One ate my tío.”
“That’s right. Giant toads. And I’m sorry about your uncle,” Professor Murphy said. “They are indiscriminate eaters. In addition to clearing the land of locusts, they ate most of the country’s crops, cows, and even some farmers.
“Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.” Professor Murphy sighed. “It’s a great lesson in unintended consequences, but, unfortunately, a more practical application has come up, and the locust lesson must wait. Just this morning, Dr. Critchlore appointed me fashion show manager. My assignment came in a DPS mail.”
He pulled out his DPS and read, “ ‘M—We need to put on the best fashion show ever seen by anyone in the history of all time. I want you to take the job of fashion show manager. We have eleven days, so get cracking. I will check your progress daily.—DC.’ ”
Professor Murphy as fashion show manager? He was wearing a blazer he’d worn every first and third day of the week for the last five years. Whatever the opposite of the height of fashion was, that blazer was it. The color might once have been rich and vibrant, but now it looked like an old couch that had been spilled on a few hundred times and then shredded by cats.
“Since we are learning about problem solving for your EO,” Professor Murphy went on, “we shall apply those lessons to this practical case. Imagine I am your EO, and this is the problem you will help me solve—how to put on a fashion show.” He shook his head, like he just realized how ridiculous that sounded.
“The first task is to understand the problem.” He wrote that on the board. “In this case, as I’ve said, the problem is putting on a fashion show. Step two: Identify what is unknown.” He wrote that on the board too. “In this case, that would be everything. I know nothing about putting on a fashion show. It is a subject in which I have neither interest nor experience. Which brings us to step three: When in doubt, delegate. I have nothing but doubts, so I have decided to pass this assignment down to you students. You will each be in charge of one of the duties of a fashion show manager. Janet and Frieda are participants, so they are exempt from the assignment and will get full marks.”
Janet and Frieda high-fived each other. Well, it was a high five for Janet.
“Given the importance of this event,” he went on, “I will be available to assist. Now I am going to start you boys off with a research assignment.” He rested a hand on his stack of magazines.
“It says here,” he held up a magazine called Fashion Times, “that we need a backstage manager during the show. This is a job that needs a person who has a good relationship with the models—”
“That’s me,” Rufus said, raising his hand. “Girls love me.”
Janet scowled
at him.
“But I only have eyes for you, Janet, I swear.”
“Fine,” Professor Murphy said. “Read up on the duties of the backstage manager. Recruit helpers from the general school population if you need to.” Professor Murphy plopped the magazine on Rufus’s desk.
“Chaz, the choreographer, has asked for someone to oversee the nonmodel participants in the show. He is planning on having escorts for some of the girls as they walk down the runway, and some dance numbers.”
“That should be Jud,” Rufus said. “Dog has moves!” He held out his fist, and Jud bumped it.
“Fine. Next, set design. Obviously, this is a job for Riga, who is quite artistic. Meztli, why don’t you work with her, make sure she has what she needs.”
“Claro que sí,” Meztli said. “¿Quien es Riga?”
“She’s married to Tootles,” I said. “They live in the tree house by the lake.”
“Gracias.”
“Is that everybody?” Professor Murphy asked. I raised my hand because he hadn’t given me a job yet.
“Nobody else, then?” he asked again, ignoring me.
“Professor Murphy?” I said. “I don’t have a job.”
“Right, Higgins,” he sighed. Then he looked down at his list. “Let’s find something for you. Hmm. Photography, no.” He began mumbling. “I’m not really getting an artistic vibe from you.” He flipped the page over. “Programs? That needs a keen eye for detail, so . . . no. Entertainment manager? Good heavens, no. Stylist?” I fluffed my hair and smiled at him. “Again, no.”
“There has to be something I can do.”
Professor Murphy thumbed through his magazines. “Okay, here. This one talks about having gift bags for the guests. You fill decorative bags with free samples of beauty supplies. Simple. Why don’t you be in charge of that?”
“Okay.”
“You know who he should work with?” Rufus said. “The mole people in the Supply Station.”
“Great idea. That is excellent problem solving, Rufus,” Professor Murphy said. The mole people were the meanest, dirtiest, cruelest beasts in the castle. I turned to glare at Rufus, and he smirked at me.
