The Midwest Wanderer

by Flint Maxwell

  Maria said it!

  Of course Gramps couldn’t understand what Sherlock was trying to say, only Maria could, and trying to judge a Bloodhound’s mood by his features often proved quite hard. So Maria said, “He says he’s sorry, too, Gramps,” instead.

  Sherlock gave her his best death stare.

  Not cool.

  “Payback is a bitch,” Maria said.

  More like ‘payback is a Maria.’

  Maria laughed loud enough for a nearby Gnome to tell her to be quiet.

  Ah, libraries. Some things are universal.

  She murmured, “Sorry,” and waved at the Gnome, who only rolled his eyes, adjusted the flower atop his bowler hat, and went back to doing whatever it was that Gnomes did in the Light Elves’ library.

  “Now what?” she asked Gramps.

  Gramps narrowed his eyes and looked around the stacks. “Maybe we just got the wrong Gnome. At least one of these little buggers can be corrupted by cash.”

  “Yeah,” Maria said, looking at the coins in Gramps’s palm, “a whole fifty-two cents. They could put a down payment on a candy bar back on Earth.”

  “It’s not about the monetary value. It’s about the shininess.”

  “In that case, we could just bring a bunch of aluminum foil to Oriceran next time, and get whatever we wanted.”

  Gramps patted her on the back. “Now you’re thinking, Maria!”

  “I was jo—”

  “Psst,” someone said from behind them.

  Maria and Gramps turned around. Standing in the shadows of the monumental shelves was a half-horse, half-man—a Centaur. This Centaur looked, for lack of a better word, sketchy—the type of Centaur you might see slinking around alleys in the dead of night, trying to push Oriceran drugs for a living.

  “You looking for secrets?” the Centaur said.

  Maria was about to say ‘no, thanks’ on instinct, but Gramps shushed her.

  “Who wants to know?” Gramps said slyly.

  “Uh, I do?” the Centaur said. He furrowed his brow.

  “Is that so?”

  “Look, buddy, you want my help or not? You can spend the rest of eternity trying to shake down the Gnomes here for information, but we all know they’ll never talk…at least not these Gnomes,” the creature said.

  “What are you doing in the library, friend?” Gramps asked. “Centaurs roam in packs. Where is the rest of yours? I’ve never known a Centaur to spend any time in the library, let alone read.”

  The Centaur raised an eyebrow. “You of all people shouldn’t be too quick to judge any creature, Ignatius Mangood.”

  “Then we’re well-met, Centaur,” Gramps said, sticking out his hand. But before the two could shake a Gnome passed by and said, “Quiet in the library!” The Centaur pressed his body up against the shelf, letting the shadows hide him.

  Say ‘please,’ asshole, Sherlock grumbled.

  The Gnome stopped near Sherlock and looked him up and down, both he and his flower grimacing.

  “Beasts such as these should be outlawed,” the Gnome said.

  Sherlock lunged forward, growling. The Gnome shrieked and waddled away.

  “That’s my boy!” Maria praised him.

  Sherlock’s tail wagged, and he looked younger.

  Man, that felt good! He even let out a bark, tempting another Gnome to try and shush him.

  Instead, Maria did. “Now don’t push your luck, buddy. We still have business to attend to here. Don’t wanna get thrown out.”

  “About that business,” the Centaur said, “do you want the information or not?”

  “What’s the price?” Maria said, stepping forward. She loved her grandfather, but sometimes he could get off-track. If she didn’t take charge here, she wouldn’t put it past him to invite the Centaur to the Elvish bar and have a few drinks while a village of people were stuck somewhere in the world in between, and the Earth clock ticked closer to Maria and Joe’s first date.

  “No price,” the Centaur answered. “Just a friendly tip for a famous man.” He smiled at Gramps. Gramps smiled back.

  “Sounds too good to be true,” Maria said.

  The Centaur motioned to Maria’s sword and satchel. “Oh, it’s not, fair maiden. I will give you information—a proverbial map, let’s say—but your road to success will not be any easier. In fact, where this information takes you may make your journey even more difficult.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention,” Maria said.

  Out of nowhere, the Centaur stood on its hind legs and whinnied softly. A sign of happiness, she thought, if Centaurs were anything like Earth horses.

  “Wait for it,” Gramps said, crossing his arms but still smiling.

  No sooner did Maria look at her grandfather than the Centaur landed and spoke up.

  “There is one thing.” He raised an index finger.

  “Ah, there it is.”

  Never trust a horse, Sherlock said. They’re almost as bad as squirrels. A lot bigger, yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean a thing.

  Maria tried to ignore him, but couldn’t. “First Gnomes and now horses? Do you like anything?”

  Naps, ice cream, garbage, and roadkill…not necessarily in that order.

  “You’re gross.”

  Hey, it’s in my DNA. You can’t blame me!

  “I can and I will,” Maria answered. She turned back to the Centaur. “Okay, what’s the one thing you need from us?”

  “It’s easy, really, I promise.” He rose on his hind legs again to point. The shelf nearest him stretched high to the ceiling, easily a few stories high. Maria looked on confused.

  “What are you pointing to?”

  The Centaur had a sheepish smile on his face, which was quite ironic, considering the fact that he was part horse.

  “A book. It’s called Centaur Warfare Through the Ages by Mogman Furlock.”

  “Okay?” Maria said, still confused.

  Gramps was shaking his head. “Should’ve known, should’ve known.”

  “Known what?”

  “He wants the book.”

  “Then why can’t he get it? Or ask one of those grumpy Gnomes to get it for you?” E’olin’s nickname for the first Gnome they saw now made complete sense after their run-ins with the other two Gnomes.

  The Centaur twiddled his thumbs and looked down at his hooves. “Centaurs aren’t supposed to be in the library, let alone to be able to read. If they see me, they’ll throw me out. I’ve been able to read almost every book in the Centaur section—except for that one, because I haven’t been able to reach it.”

  “Why didn’t you ask someone before?”

  “Because there are so many books! I never thought I’d run out; yet here I am.”

  “Can I just ask a Gnome to get it for me?”

  “No! No Gnomes must be involved in this! They can smell Centaur the closer they get. Please! If you get it for me, I’ll tell you how you can get the information you need.”

  Maria looked to Gramps. He nodded solemnly.

  “How do you even know what information we need?” Maria asked.

  “I overheard. I may be a barbaric beast by nature, but I’m not hard of hearing, Maria.”

  Maria narrowed her eyes then looked up the towering shelf. “I suppose I’m the one who has to do it?”

  “My bones are too brittle,” Gramps said. Funny thing, since she’d just seen him fight Malakai not long ago, and he’d looked like he was seventy years younger when he did it. “And Sherlock would have a tough time going up there.”

  He’s right. I hate heights almost as much as I hate books.

  “Only because you can’t read,” Maria said.

  You know me so well. Sherlock grinned.

  “Don’t they have ladders or something? Surely the Gnomes don’t just scale the shelves. That could be dangerous,” Maria said.

  Gramps chuckled. “Oh, it’s quite an intricate process that involves ropes and harness and ladders and magic.”

  “Where
can I get some of that?”

  “Nowhere, I’m afraid,” Gramps said. “Those are almost as secretive as the Gnomes’ vault.”

  “Well, dammit.” Maria stepped forward and pushed the side of her fists into her lower back until her spine crackled. She tilted her head back and forth until her neck popped, too, then, to top it all off, she laced her fingers together and pushed outward to crack her knuckles. “Let’s do this. Centaur Warfare Through the Ages, you say?”

  The Centaur nodded. “Third tallest shelf.”

  Maria stepped toward the shelf. Luckily, the wood was about as thick as the steps they’d used to reach the library. It had to be, to support so many books. If it could support them, it could certainly support her.

  “I wish I could do it myself, but—”

  “Yeah, hooves and all that,” Maria said. Just as she planted her feet on the bottom shelf, knocking over a book on cauldron cooking, Gramps called her name. “Yes?” she answered.

  He dug into his robes much the same way he had done to bring his wand out when facing the Arachnids in Dominion; instead of the wand, however, he pulled out a small, white dagger. “Here, dear, you may need this.”

  The blade was sharp on both sides, but only one side was notched. Maria didn’t think it was designed that way. No; for some reason she thought the dagger was like that because it had been used so much. Oh, Gramps, there is still so much about you that I don’t know, isn’t there? She took the dagger and another question came to mind.

  “Why will I need this? It’s just a library, just books.”

  “Oh, Maria,” Gramps answered. “There’s so much about this world you don’t know.”

  “Like what?”

  The Centaur looked at her with a hint of amusement on his face, as if Maria was the butt of some joke that had completely gone over her head. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

  “The books, my dear, can sometimes be as dangerous as they are useful,” Gramps answered.

  That’s a load of squirrel crap, Sherlock said. Books aren’t useful!

  “Spoken like a true scholar,” Maria said, leaning down to whisper at the dog. The Centaur gave her a crooked look. “Aw, don’t mind me. I’m not crazy.”

  Says the girl who’s talking to a— Sherlock began.

  “Yeah, yeah, a dog. I’ve heard that one before,” Maria said, cutting him off.

  Now the Centaur really was looking at Maria and Sherlock as if they were aliens. Gramps had to cut in and explain the situation.

  “Maria’s a bit telepathic when it comes to Sherlock here. She can hear the thoughts of her dog, but he can’t hear hers, so she has to talk aloud. No big deal. Best do what I do and ignore them.”

  “Hm, that’s quite the talent, young Maria. It’s an honor to be in your presence,” the Centaur said, grinning.

  “Don’t suck up because you want me to scale the shelves. I’m already gonna do that—but you better not go back on that information you’re gonna share with us.”

  The Centaur raised a human hand covered in a thick brown hair. “How do you say on Earth…scout’s honor?”

  “That’s real nice. Did you learn that from—”

  “A book, yes. There are many books on Earth culture here.”

  “I wonder how updated they are,” Maria said. Then she shook her head. “No, doesn’t matter. I’m going to get the book and then you’re going to tell us what we need to know.”

  “I admire your tenacity.”

  “Yeah,” Gramps said, “she’s just like her mother.”

  “I never knew my mother. She was trampled by a pack of drunk Centaurs shortly after my birth.”

  Harsh, but my mother was eaten alive by wolves, Sherlock said.

  Maria snapped in his direction. “No, she wasn’t, you big buffoon. She lived out the rest of her life on that farm in Hartville. Nice dog. I remember her.”

  Gramps nodded, already knowing what the subject was.

  Hey, you don’t talk about my mother!

  “I’ll talk about whatever I want!” Maria shouted back.

  “Quiet!” roared a Gnome from somewhere.

  “Sorry,” Gramps whispered.

  Get your ass up those shelves so we can get out of here. I gotta pee, and I can’t make any promises I won’t tinkle on some books or, God forbid, a Gnome!

  “I’m going, I’m going,” Maria said. She handed the dagger back to Gramps. He shook his head.

  “No, you may need it.”

  “He’s right. Nasty little buggers in those books,” the Centaur said.

  Maria tapped the hilt of her sword. “I have this.”

  “That sword requires two hands, and climbing requires at least one,” Gramps continued. “The dagger can be wielded with only one hand. It’s much lighter, and just as deadly at close range.”

  Duh! Sherlock said.

  “Screw you, Bloodhound.” But Gramps was right. She removed her sword and handed it to Gramps, keeping the belt and the sheath. “Time to kick some ass,” she murmured.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Maria got up high enough that, when she looked down, Gramps, Sherlock, and the Centaur looked like dots.

  “Okay, this was probably a bad idea,” she said to herself.

  But not as bad of an idea as looking down, Sherlock said distantly in her head.

  “You can hear me?”

  I’m a Bloodhound, I can hear what’s going on back home. Now move your ass before my bladder bursts.

  “I’m trying, I’m trying.”

  The truth was that Maria’s arms were starting to ache, and some of the wooden shelves had given her splinters. It seemed the Gnomes were not too particular about their upkeep the higher they got.

  “I gotta take a break,” Maria said, her voice only a little higher than before.

  No, dammit, Maria, I can’t hold it! Oh, God, I’m gonna have to go find a Gnome.

  “You better not. Just a few seconds…or would you rather have me fall?”

  Uhh…

  “I’m totally putting you on a vegan diet, Sherlock. You’d rather have me fall. Wow!”

  She could hear him snickering inside of her head. Make that a few minutes’ break instead, she thought bitterly.

  The shelf she was currently standing on was large enough for her to pull herself up and sit with her legs dangling over the faraway floor. Her hands were sweaty and sore from the few splinters she’d gotten, and her breathing was ragged. Yes, a break; that would be nice. She pulled herself up and sat, and total weariness suddenly washed over her. She hadn’t slept voluntarily since she’d woken up from her fight with Malakai. And even when she’d passed out, she was only out for about an hour. That wasn’t much, considering all she’d been through in the last few days. She leaned forward and caught herself before she could lose her balance.

  With a sore hand, she slapped herself in the face. Gotta keep moving. If I stop for too long, I’m gonna pass out and never wake up, because I’ll have fallen. What a way to go out, after coming this far, Maria, she thought.

  She was right, though. Had she rested any longer, she would’ve indeed fallen asleep, and then fallen off the towering bookcase. She turned to lay on her stomach, noticing the books in front of her—Oriceran World Maps, Fairhaven Fairies and Why They’re Not as Cute as They Look, and A Troll’s Night Out—and their odd placement, which was neither alphabetical nor numerical in anyway. She also noticed a large gap between the books, and an odd smell. It smelled like Earth, like the forest and the trees and fallen leaves.

  She ignored it and started to climb again, but that smell was overbearing. She was almost to the right shelf when she just couldn’t ignore it any longer.

  Maria paused, making sure her feet were firmly planted on the shelf below. Between the books where another large gap was, she thought she saw something move.

  Just avoid it. Be on your way, she thought.

  But then that something tweeted like a baby bird, and all thoughts of why she had to bring a dagger up with
her were gone. That tweet was not a happy tweet; it was a tweet of anguish.

  “Hello?” Maria called.

  Two glowing eyes shone in the darkness; they were small and quite close together. The creature that tweeted stepped forward from a nest made out of ripped book pages and strips of leather hardcover.

  “Hi there, pretty,” Maria said, cooing.

  The creature reminded Maria of Tweety Bird from The Looney Tunes shows that she used to watch when she was younger—ah, who was she kidding? The Looney Tunes shows that she sometimes still watched. Except where Tweety Bird was yellow, this creature was multicolored—red, orange, green, soft blue—and its feathers were all ruffled.

  There were tears in its big glowing eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Maria asked, aware of how crazy she must’ve seemed talking to a bird. Eh, I talk to a Bloodhound all the time, what’s the big deal?

  Surprisingly—or not really, the more she thought about it—the creature shook its head ‘no’.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hungry? Where’s your momma?”

  The creature cried again.

  Maria reached into her pocket, hoping she had some kind of snack to give it—maybe leftover candy or some popcorn had found its way into her pockets. Nope. But she did close her fingers around something shaped like a bone. It was a treat she’d put in there to give Sherlock, but had totally forgotten about.

  Better than nothing.

  She pulled it out and set it in front of the creature. Its eyes were cautious.

  “It’s okay. It’s food. Good food. My friend Sherlock loves them…well, he loves everything, so that’s not really saying much. I guess if you can understand me, it’s better than nothing. And you, my friend, look really hungry.”

  The bird-creature took a few hesitant steps and thrust its little beak out, sniffing at the dog biscuit.

  “Yeah, go on, buddy,” Maria said and motioned to it with her free hand.

  Hesitantly, the creature opened its beak and started to nibble the treat, breaking away small chunks and leaving a pile of crumbs.

  “Should’ve thought to break it up for you before I gave it to you. My bad. Here, let me—” She reached out to grab the treat again in order to make it easier for the creature to eat, but the creature wasn’t having that. Its beak suddenly unhinged with a click, and its cute face turned into the horrid face of a monster. Rows and rows of sharp teeth jutted from the creature’s gums.