by Ken Brosky
It was all quite stressful, surely.
But!
But, but, but … I had other fish to fry. What, exactly, was this Malevolence and—more importantly—what in the holy heck was our dear hero supposed to do about it?
And so in the afternoon I made my way back into town to the old library inside the ancient portion of the city. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Europe, but the small towns are a sight to see. Some are hundreds upon hundreds of years old, and they preserve their history by protecting the buildings and restoring them as best as possible, like replacing the old stone rooftops with, well, newer stones. The newer homes and businesses are built at the edge of the town, thus preserving its history and allowing one to walk down the very same cobblestone streets that medieval knights had once used.
It’s all very pretty.
Agnosara has always had the reputation of being a particularly impressive ancient town. Built in the 1200’s, its main feature is a tall meeting hall with two giant curved wooden doors that are each nearly as tall as a school bus is long. Imagine that! How did they even build such giant doors? Then once the doors were built, how in the blazes did they actually fit them into place?
And more importantly, who the devil thought it was a good idea to build the giant doorway in the first place?!
Mysteries for the ages, unfortunately. And while the great hall is a fine place to stop by and snap a few pictures and walk through—enjoying the various sausages and breads available at the market stalls inside—it was not the most curious destination. That was reserved for the old library and its amazing collection of books.
It was much like you might expect of a library of its time: two floors, lots of curved windows to let in natural light, not to mention old wooden shelves with intricate carvings along their bases. The shelves sat on wooden floors that creaked something fierce, and the entire place smelled a bit musty for my tastes.
But the books! Dear me, sweet tea, what an impressive collection of ancient texts! These are not the types of books you can find a copy of. These are not the types of books that one might see referenced on that blasted Wikipedia. These are something entirely different. Leather covers. Many with handwritten text, no doubt transcribed by dutiful monks intent on preserving history during the darkest of ages.
You must keep in mind that this library was once the sole source of information on the entire region. Why, had this place burned down at any point, the information lost would be gone forever. No back-ups. No Google searches. Gone forever. History, as we know it, would have been profoundly changed.
And so stepping inside was a bit nerve-wracking, not to mention exciting. I took in the place with a keen eye, not wishing to miss anything.
Printed wood carvings of medieval princes and long-gone kingdoms hanging on the walls.
Old weather-stained windows with arched tops.
Wooden floors, creaky and worn and dark.
Old ornate-looking cast iron radiators, no doubt installed at the turn of the 20th century.
A furless young man staring languorously at the girl of his dreams …
Seth and Sanda had already taken a place at one of the tables on the first floor. Seth was dressed in a nice green t-shirt that wonderful Mrs. Satrapi woman had purchased for him (with the help of Sanda’s keen fashion sense), while Sanda was wearing a long polka-dot dress with black leggings. Her hair was pulled behind her ears, her face pale and smooth, just a hint of red blush on her cheeks.
There were a handful of books scattered across the table, and because Seth was quite illiterate in Romanian, he’d pulled his chair close beside Sanda so she could read and translate for him in a low voice. Hardly necessary, given that the next tour through the library wasn’t for another two hours. Still, there was an intensity to the whole scene, as if perhaps Seth had accidentally let slip more than we’d agreed to tell Sanda about the whole Malevolence affair.
But no, our helper-to-the-hero’s-helper was as steady as could be! It took only a few minutes of very polite eavesdropping to ascertain that they were pouring through Agnosara’s history in search of recorded wars, a topic which excited both of them.
And no, yours truly did not sit around to be a snoop. With my helpers engaged, I went upstairs where there were even older books. I had in my pocket a slip of paper with crude drawings of each of the four symbols I’d found in the towers of Castle Vontescue:
%
(U)
_/
/-
I started first by poring through a few of the books on the town’s history, hoping perhaps to find one of the symbols predating the construction of Castle Vontescue. No good! So I went next to the “younger” texts written around the time of the castle’s construction. These books and documents were quite worn, barely readable in some places where the black ink had been smudged by water and the various elements that contribute to a book’s deterioration (light and friction and the gradual decay of cellulose chains, if you’re curious). The documents themselves were protected by plastic slips, but the slips had hardly staved off the aging process.
Sigh. Like all of us living creatures, even the printed word has a lifespan.
Speaking of life ending, Agnosara had plenty of it during the Middle Ages. There was no shortage of war and suffering, especially after the Black Death passed through the land. That particular disease—spread by fleas on rats—devastated Europe’s population, but the town of Agnosara especially. Again and again it swept across Romania. As if that weren’t enough, there always seemed to be someone interested in invading. Whether it be Hungarians or Turks or Mongols, the lords of Agnosara had their work cut out for them.
And they fared especially well. So well, in fact, that one can only wonder whether this mysterious Malevolence took refuge in the region even earlier than we suspected.
Still. Still, still, still … we needed more information.
I made my way deeper inside the European history section, where the books were dustier and smelled moldier than their brethren in Romania’s section. Germanic history was relegated to two full shelves, and each of the books was thick and delicate, their spines cracking in protest when I opened each one.
“Quiet now,” I whispered to them, double-checking to ensure I was invisible. Of course, if someone did happen to sneak up on me … what’s worse, a floating book or a giant rabbit holding the book?
No matter. I’ll leave that question to the philosophers. My interest in German history was too important and needed to take precedence. After all, this Malevolence had to have visited Germany somewhere around 1812 to meet and harass the Brothers Grimm, since 1812 was the year the fairy tales were brought to life. Surely there was some hint here. Something that indicated a disturbance. Some hint that the Malevolence was indeed the culprit of this terrible black magic.
“There!” I whispered, paw on page, staring at the faded black ink. 1812: the year of a recurrence of the Black Death in Germany. Thought to have spread up from northern Africa, it made its way into Germany and killed an estimated 50,000 people. While it was hardly proof of the Malevolence, it was certainly a strange occurrence. By the 1800’s, the terrible plague had grown less terrible now that science had identified the carriers (fleas) and the spread (rats hitching rides on merchant ships). So what if this recurrence hadn’t originated in northern Africa? What if it had been spread by the Malevolence?
There was more. A series of strange occurrences were recorded in the city of Kassel in Germany, the very place where both of the Brothers Grimm were living in 1812 and working as librarians to support their family. Oh, I should not wish to live in those times. After their father’s death, young Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm had to support their entire family while also keeping up with their schooling. To make matters worse, upon arriving to college they found that they were denied a great many opportunities because of their poverty. They were, effectively, cast aside for being poor. Which of course prevented them from becoming not poor.
But the
Brothers Grimm persevered, and in Kassel in 1812 they published the first edition of their fairy tales.
Not a month later, a terrible storm passed through the town and lasted for three days. It was all recorded, not in any news accounts but instead in a very dry table of facts and figures that detailed what was damaged and lost. More than a thousand houses destroyed. More than a hundred people killed. The numbers went up for each successive day, too! For instance, when it came to the destruction of buildings:
Day 1: 55
Day 2: 389
Day 3: 712
Food for thought: if this Malevolence approached the Brothers Grimm during the same time as these disasters, is it possible the Brothers Grimm were forced to bring their stories to life? Is it possible the Malevolence caused this terror, thus forcing the Brothers Grimm to go along with it?
Surely this was important, worth taking the time to write down a few notes with a blasted shortened pencil that was not designed for rabbit paws. Lordy, how I hate pencils. At least give me a pen with a soft rubber grip at its base.
But what about Castle Vontescue’s strange symbols? Well! I found another handful of documents—sketches and measurements—relating to the castle’s construction, but no mention of the towers’ mysterious symbols. Nor could I find anything in the history texts that might provide some insight into the castle’s history. Nor could I find a single blasted image, carving or mention of the Malevolence. If this truly was some ancient evil, it did an amazingly good job of hiding itself from the general public.
And if it was so good at hiding, then why would it choose now of all times to pose a danger?
And could Alice stop it?
I sneezed as quietly as I could, glancing down the aisle between the bookshelves to ensure I was still alone. I was. I carefully tiptoed to the other side of the building, avoiding the noisiest floorboards. Seth’s hardy voice carried up the spiral staircase, stopping me in my tracks.
“And so then she goes up to this dragon, right? And she’s like ‘Come get some,’ and the dragon goes totally crazy. He freaks out on her and tries to eat her. But she’s like, ‘No way, dude!’ And then she stabs the dragon with the jousting lance!”
My heart nearly leapt out of my mouth. I hurried to the staircase, clutching the banister for support. In any other situation, this might be somewhat melodramatic. But the situation warranted it—after all, how many times does someone reveal the dark side of the world to an innocent bystander? How often does one reveal that there are, in fact, real monsters out there that can only be destroyed with magic?
The answer is supposed to be zero, or very near it.
“Then what happened?” came the voice of the girl, a bit too excited under the circumstances, if you ask me.
I got to the bottom of the stairs, fully ready to tackle Seth and perhaps drag him from the library before he could reveal anything else, invisibility be damned.
“Then the dragon explodes in a cloud of ash!” the fool exclaimed, clapping his hands lightly together. “And then she turns, right? And there’s totally another dragon just sitting there waiting for her. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he tells her.”
My legs tensed. What in the blazes was the fool talking about? That wasn’t what happened at all! I remembered the battle with the dragons quite clearly, having been on the receiving end of a bite.
“Go on!” Sanda said. I could see them both clearly from between the rows of shelves. The girl was sitting on the edge of her seat, hanging onto his every word. As if this was some exciting movie he was recounting!
“And then … OK. Hold on.” Seth looked up at the ceiling. “Um. OK, so then they go at it. But the hero is sort of hurt, and the dragon gets away with just a scratch. And so then in the next book, she has to fight him again. But he’s bigger now and totally stronger. But so is she. See, she’s got a shield this time, like the kind knights use for jousting. So she’s totally ready for his fire breath.”
“Fire breath!” I whispered, quite confused. “What’s this fool talking about?”
Sanda grabbed his arm. “Seth, you absolutely must write this book. It sounds amazing! Oh, will you name your hero Sanda? Please? I want to be a part of this!”
Seth blushed. “Sure. I mean, I kinda pictured you as the hero anyway. You’re pretty. And smart. And you like swords and stuff.”
They stared at each other, getting that look in their eyes that one finds in all the popular romantic comedies and music videos. I dare say, I half-expected them to start smooching right there in the middle of the library. Thankfully, they showed a bit of restraint, enough so that I felt it was quite safe to escape outside for a few moments and consider my next step.
It should come as no surprise that snow is a particularly tricky situation for yours truly. I can make myself invisible, but of course that doesn’t prevent my feet from leaving imprints on soft surfaces like sand or snow. And this being the middle of winter, it also should come as no surprise that a mid-afternoon snowfall had begun to fall; soon, it would coat the ancient cobblestone street with a thin layer of white powder.
The temperature was quite refreshing, actually. With all this fur, sometimes cold weather can feel quite nice. Yes, a walk in the crisp air would be just the thing to clear my thoughts.
The town square was comprised mainly of ancient two-story buildings of pale stone, with black stone roofs and little shops facing the main street. There was a bread shop and a little restaurant and a souvenir shop where tourists could stock up on snacks and plastic swords and sculptures of fairies and knights. Every single shop had a few people mingling about, and—worse—more yet were walking up from the more modern end of town, snapping pictures at the old buildings. An entire tour bus group was headed straight toward me, marveling at the great hall’s massive doors, zipping their jackets up tightly to stave off the cold.
One giant wall of humanity, coming right for invisible me.
I had but one choice: an alley between the bread shop and the great hall, which wound its way between more ancient buildings before opening up in front of the cathedral’s back door. A funny thing about that cathedral: it’s half-old. And I say that with a straight face. You see, the rear of the cathedral is quite old, built when the town was young, its bricks blackened with age and its flying buttresses supporting its roof. The windows are all made of stained glass, curved at the top. The steeple is impossibly high and quite sharp-looking, as if water had dripped up toward the sky and then frozen.
But the front half is newer, no doubt the result of some unfortunate accident that damaged the exterior. As a result, the bricks are bigger and cleaner, and the windows are rectangular.
And the door …
I froze in my tracks, not believing it at first. How had I missed it before? There, on the door, carved so deep into the dark wood that one can only speculate as to its maker’s intent:
%
I hurried around to the older section of the church, my feet kicking up fresh powdery snow. To heck with the footprints! This was it. This was a piece of the puzzle.
There, on the western door:
(U)
And on the ancient, ancient back door:
_/
And on the eastern door:
/-
“By golly!” I exclaimed, hurrying back to the library. I snuck in through the rear entrance, wiping my big feet on the welcome mat so as not to track in melting snow. I slipped between the rows of shelves and waving my paw madly to catch Seth’s eye. He and Sanda were, shall we say, no longer engaged in reading.
“Um …” he said, finally looking up over her shoulder to see my frantic gesticulations. I pointed toward the church, then pulled out the slip of paper with the strange symbols. Then I pointed again. “We should take a walk,” he said. “Um … toward the other side of town? Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”
“Very well,” Sanda said. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling his face close to hers and smiling. “But I’m not through kissi
ng you just yet.”
Seth blushed so fiercely that I swore his head might explode. The poor fellow pulled himself together in time to utter a “Yeah, let’s take a rain check on that for now” before pulling away from her grasp. They put on their fluffy coats and went out through the front door.
I met them in the street, which was now blanketed with a good inch of snow.
“Oh dear,” I whispered. Seth saw it, too, and was a bit more level-headed than me.
“Why are the roofs made of stone?” he asked, wrapping one arm around Sanda and pointing up. Her eyes followed his finger, and I kept as close as rabbitly possible to ensure my paw prints weren’t quite so obvious.
“They don’t catch fire. And they last a long time,” Sanda said. “It was economical.”
“But how did they make them? Tell me all about it so I can do it on my future home someday.”
She giggled. “The roof is lined with wooden slats, almost like shelves. The thin slabs of rock are fitted between the shelves. And there you have it.”
“How do you know so much about it?”
She sighed. “When you are home-schooled, you learn a lot. I’ve had many instructors from all over the world, paid for by my father. He never spared any expense on my education. I want to be a historian someday, and he supports it by buying me whatever books I wish.”
“I think you’d be a great historian,” Seth said.
I guided us around the great hall. There was less snow down the cobblestone alley so I hurried ahead, pointing Seth toward the cathedral. He gave a quick nod. I clung to the ancient buildings to avoid making paw prints. Then it hit me: why step at all?
“Br’er Rabbit, you genius!” I slid my feet forward, as if I had invisible skis on. Instead of leaving distinct rabbit tracks, I left two very plain-looking lines in the snow, as if someone had skied down the street toward the cathedral.
Right to the front doors. Now all I needed to do was step aside, waiting patiently for Seth to put two and two together.
