by Terry Brooks
He looked deeply thoughtful as he paused. “Because they are almost certainly up to something.”
BACK IN THE STACKS
For the remainder of the day, Mistaya worked side by side with Thom in the dark and musty confines of the Stacks, cataloging and shelving the books that were stored there. Each book had to be removed, checked against a master list that His Eminence had supplied to Thom, cleaned and repaired as best as possible, and then returned to its space. The shelves themselves had to be scrubbed, since dust and grime had accumulated in clumps and layers thick enough to provide homes for nests of insects, which had long since gone condo. The work was slow and laborious, and by the end of the day they had barely completed one small section of the acres that required attention.
Of course, the task would have taken a dedicated crew of twenty able-bodied men and women as long as two years to complete, so they were somewhat at a disadvantage having only themselves and the completely unreliable Throg Monkeys as laborers. The annoying little creatures skulked around like evil weasels, appearing out of the gloom and then disappearing back into it once more, coming and going as they pleased. When they bothered to pass by, they regarded Thom with undisguised dislike and Mistaya with malevolent intent. Thom managed to get them to do some work, mostly the heavy lifting of the books from the shelves to the floor for easy reach, using the whistle they hated so to bring them to heel. But mostly they just drifted about, demonstrating no interest in the charge His Eminence, supposedly, had given them.
Still, some work was accomplished, and by the end of the day Mistaya could look with pride on the small area of shelving to which she had successfully lent her efforts. The ancient wood gleamed with waxing and polishing and the books rested upon it proudly, each in its place, giving the space a look of bright promise. She took special pleasure in hearing Thom compliment her on her efforts, pointing out how much easier things were now that she was there to help.
Neither of them made any mention of the fact that Rufus Pinch had been spying on them the entire time, making a poor job of concealing himself as he peeked around corners and through gaps, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. What he was trying to accomplish was anybody’s guess, but after their first sighting of him resulted in a quick exchange of wordless looks, they pretty much ignored his pathetic efforts in favor of concentrating on the task at hand. Mistaya did find herself wondering more than once if the little man was intent on making this his life’s work, but imagined that eventually he would grow tired of the game.
She also found herself wondering how in the world the job of repairing and restoring Libiris and her books would ever be accomplished if things didn’t change dramatically from the status quo. As things stood now, it would not be likely that the work would wrap up in her lifetime. But she wasn’t there for that, she kept reminding herself. She was only there to hide until she could figure out a way to bargain with her parents about her future. She was working at Libiris not because she wanted to but because it was the only way she would be allowed to stay. As soon as she was able to do so, she was going to leave this dreadful, dingy place and go somewhere else entirely, somewhere at least marginally reasonable.
All of which reminded her that she was in this mess in the first place because she had listened to Edgewood Dirk, and the cat had not reappeared since.
“Tell me something about yourself,” Thom asked her later, as they were eating dinner in the kitchen. As usual, there were only the two of them. Rufus Pinch seemed to have given up spying on them for the day and the Throg Monkeys had gone back into the gloom. “Nothing too revealing; I’m not asking you to give up your secrets. Just something you think I might like to know.”
She thought about it a moment, giving him a measured look. “And then you will do the same?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
“All right.” She thought some more. What could she say that would really amaze him? She wanted to do that, to shock him. But at the same time she had to be careful not to give anything away.
“I know,” she said finally. She squared her shoulders. “I have met the dragon Strabo, and talked with him.”
He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. It was exactly the reaction she had hoped for. “You have not,” he insisted. “You couldn’t have.”
“But I have. It happened when I was ten years old. I was outside my village, carrying milk to my grandmother’s cottage.” She was improvising now, making it up as she went. “The dragon landed in a field and ate a cow right in front of me! When he was done, he looked at me and asked me what I was staring at. I couldn’t speak, I was so afraid. But the dragon said not to worry, that as a rule he didn’t eat little girls. Only now and then, and this wasn’t either. Then he flew away.”
He exhaled sharply. “Right in front of you? I would have been afraid, too! I’ve seen the dragon flying, but I can’t imagine talking to it.” He leaned forward, his face serious. “I think you were very brave.”
She blushed despite herself, not so much at the compliment as at the knowledge that she was perpetrating a deliberate deception in order to impress him. She liked Thom, and she wanted him to see her as something more than a runaway with strange traveling companions. Her meeting with Strabo hadn’t been anything like what she had described, but she couldn’t tell him the truth without giving away her identity.
“I wasn’t so brave,” she said, making a dismissive gesture. “The dragon wasn’t interested in me.”
“You would have made a nice snack,” he suggested. “Did you believe it when he said he wouldn’t eat you?”
She shrugged. “He was scary looking, but not aggressive. He didn’t threaten me. He just made that one comment, that’s all he did.” She was anxious to move on. “All right, now it’s your turn. Tell me something about you that I should know.”
He gave her his boyish grin and shook his head. “I don’t think I have anything to tell you half as interesting as what you just told me.” He rested his chin in the cup of his hands. “Let’s see. Well, I like books. I read all the time.”
“That’s not surprising,” she challenged. “You work in a library.”
“Lots of people work at places they don’t have any interest in.” He paused. “How about this? I don’t like fighting with weapons. I’m not very good at it.”
She gave him a look. He didn’t seem all that awkward. In fact, she thought he looked pretty capable. “What else?” she pressed. “That’s not enough yet. You have to tell me something important, something you wouldn’t tell just anyone.”
He leaned back, looking much put upon. “You can’t expect me to match the dragon story. Well, okay. I saw the dragon once, flying by, high up; I already told you that. Does that count?”
She shook her head. “Something else.”
“There isn’t anything else!” he exclaimed in mock exasperation. “Wait! Okay, one other thing I can tell you.” He leaned forward again, bending close and lowering his voice. “I’m not here because I am an apprentice. I’m here because I’m indentured to His Eminence.”
“Indentured? Like a servant or slave? You mean he owns you?”
“Something like that, I guess. My father sold me to him for five years to satisfy a family debt. I have to stay here working for him until my five years are up.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m only in my third year.”
She was appalled. “Why would your father do that?”
“Ah,” he said, drawing the word out. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
She frowned. “Well, you have to tell me!”
He shook his head in rebuke. “Not until you tell me something more about yourself. Then I’ll tell you the rest.”
She leaped to her feet. “That isn’t fair!”
“Who said anything about playing fair?” He stretched lazily. “Anyway, I’m off to bed. We start early around here, and tomorrow is your first full day in the Stacks. You’ll need all the sleep you can get.”
She stared at him i
n disbelief, started to say something, then stopped. He was already getting to his feet, picking up his plate, and carrying it to the basin to wash. She was furious, but would not give him the satisfaction of finding that out. Two could play this game. She was already thinking about what she would tell him tomorrow that would shock him even more.
He gave her a cheerful wave as he walked out the door, and she smiled back sweetly.
When she rose the following morning, she was pleased to discover that the washroom was no longer plagued by the threat of uninvited Throg Monkeys. Thom had nailed heavy wooden boards over the panel through which the troublesome little monsters had appeared yesterday, and it looked as if they were shut out for good. Nevertheless, she kept close watch as she washed and dressed herself, a good-sized wooden staff close at hand for head-bashing should the need arise.
Afterward, she did not go directly into the kitchen for her breakfast, but down the hall and through several connected passageways to a small, well-sealed door that opened into a mucky courtyard and stables beyond. She saw Shoopdiesel right away, sitting on a bench next to a woodpile, hunched over and picking pieces of straw and clumps of dirt out of his clothing. He looked as if he might have volunteered for duty as a scarecrow in a windstorm, but she was certain that the explanation was far more complicated.
“Princess!” Poggwydd exclaimed loudly, as he came around the corner of the shed leading a small donkey.
“Not so loud, please!” she hissed, motioning him to quiet down. “And don’t call me that! It’s Ellice!”
His grubby hands flew to his mouth in horror at the obviousness of his mistake, and he hurriedly nodded his understanding. “Sorry, so sorry,” he offered in a hushed voice.
She walked over to him, stopping to take a look at Shoopdiesel, who appeared not just to be coated with straw and dirt but impaled. Moreover, he was the recipient of multiple bruises and cuts. “What happened to him?” she asked Poggwydd.
“Oh.” Poggwydd looked embarrassed. “It’s a rather long story, Princess … I mean, Ellice. Rather long and boring. Perhaps it would be better to tell it another time … ?”
“I have time now. What have you two been up to?” She glanced at the animal he was leading. “And what are you doing with that donkey?”
Poggwydd looked all around, as if afraid someone would hear. Shoopdiesel had given up plucking out hunks of straw and earth and was limping as unobtrusively as possible toward the interior of the shed.
“Shoopdiesel, you come back here!” she snapped at him. “Whatever’s going on, you’re obviously involved!”
“It’s really nothing you need to bother yourself with,” Poggwydd insisted in something like a whine.
Mistaya shook her head. “Stop wasting my time, Poggwydd. Just tell me what you and your piggy little friend are doing.”
Poggwydd seemed to consider the advisability of doing so for a moment and apparently the scales tipped in her favor. “Foraging,” he admitted.
She shook her head, despairing that there was any hope for these two. “I thought as much. What did I tell you about that?”
“But, Princess!”
“Don’t call me that! Just tell me why you are back to stealing other people’s animals!”
“But we’re not stealing.” Poggwydd managed to look put upon. “Consider our situation. We have been living out here in the stables since we arrived. It’s very nice out here, too. Lots of soft earth for burrowing, lots of soft straw for sleeping, and a great many rats for eating. Do you know, Princess, that the stable hands actually want us to eat the rats? They encourage it! So we did just exactly as we were told.”
He gave a prodigious sigh. “But we have been eating rats constantly since our arrival, and we thought that perhaps we should eat something else. A varied diet is important, you know. A varied diet keeps you healthy of body and mind, Princess.”
He saw the look that crossed her face and hurried on. “Well, being of a curious nature, naturally we decided to look around. And what did we find but all sorts of strays that no one has any claim to! We could take our pick! But, admittedly, we got a little carried away. Well, Shoopdiesel did, anyway. He’s always been a little too ambitious for his own good. He shouldn’t have tried to capture something that big, even if it was just standing out there, waiting for someone to come along and take it away. He should have known better.”
“A horse?” she guessed.
“A bull. A rather large, unpleasant bull with big horns and a keen dislike for G’home Gnomes. He threw Shoopdiesel twenty feet in the air and then tried to trample him. Poor Shoop only barely escaped with his life!”
As if on cue, Shoopdiesel began to whimper softly. Mistaya rolled her eyes. “And you, in your wisdom, Poggwydd, have settled on this donkey? Is that right?” she pressed.
He nodded wordlessly, dropping his gaze. “It was just wandering around. No owner was in sight.”
“You know, just because you don’t see an owner doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” she pointed out. “For instance, if an ear is tagged with a metal clip, like this one?” She reached out and fingered the tag attached to the donkey’s ear. “That might suggest that you have overstepped your bounds once again.”
“Oh,” he said, trying to look abashed. “I didn’t see that.”
Maybe he hadn’t, but maybe he had, too. Who knew? She couldn’t be sure with these two. What she did know was that they were becoming increasingly annoying and were going to get into some sort of trouble sooner or later that would call attention to them and therefore to her. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Maybe it was time to send them back home.
“You’ve both been of great help to me,” she declared, bestowing on each in turn her most persuasive smile. “I wouldn’t have gotten to Libiris without you. But now that I’m here and staying for a while, there’s really no need for you to worry further about me. You’re probably anxious to get back to your own homes and lives.”
The G’home Gnomes exchanged a hurried glance. “Oh, no, Princess,” Poggwydd said at once. “We want to stay with you. You still might have need of us. Might’nt she, Shoop?”
Shoopdiesel nodded vigorously.
“If we leave, what will you do for friends if you find yourself in trouble again? That cat can’t be trusted. I bet you haven’t even seen him since we arrived.”
There was no arguing with that. She sighed, resigned to the inevitable. “All right. You can stay a few days longer. But pay attention to me. If you do one more thing that causes trouble, you’ll have to leave immediately. I mean it. I’m trying to stay in hiding here, and you don’t help matters by doing things that are likely to anger our hosts. So there will be no more foraging. Stick with eating rats, if you must.”
The image was nauseating, but then she wasn’t a G’home Gnome, either. “Can’t you eat grass or something?”
Poggwydd frowned. “G’home Gnomes don’t eat grass, Princess.”
“That’s an example, Poggwydd! I’m just telling you not to eat anything you haven’t been given permission to eat. Are we clear?”
Both Gnomes nodded forlornly, their wizened faces crestfallen and their shoulders slumped. They couldn’t help being what they were, she knew. They couldn’t be something else; they didn’t know how. Given all the time in the world, she probably couldn’t teach them.
“I have to go eat my own breakfast,” she muttered in disgust, turning away.
Beset by images of rats being gnawed on by Gnomes, she discovered that she really wasn’t very hungry anymore. Nevertheless, she managed to eat a little bread and cheese and drink some milk before going off to work in the Stacks. By the time she arrived, Thom was already there, sitting cross legged on the floor as he sorted through the latest batch of books the recalcitrant Throg Monkeys had stacked next to him. He gave her a cheerful greeting, and she was relieved when he didn’t say anything about the fact that she was late. Putting thoughts of the G’home Gnomes behind her, she settled down to the job at hand and in
no time at all was deeply enmeshed in cataloging and cleaning.
The morning passed quickly, helped along by her concentration on her work. Very little conversation passed between Thom and herself, and when he did speak it was only to ask her if she had slept well, if she had eaten and if she needed anything. She wanted him to say more, was eager to talk with him, but his seeming reluctance left her unwilling to push the matter. She had to content herself with watching the furtive movements of the Throg Monkeys as they slithered through the stacks like wraiths, crouched over and slit-eyed, their purpose and destination unknowable. She might have been frightened of them before, but by now she had grown used to them and found herself mostly irritated that they insisted on lurking rather than helping.
She was aware, too, of Rufus Pinch peering out at her from various hiding places, a spy without spy skills. It didn’t seem to bother Thom, who appeared unaware of the wizened face and furtive movements of the little man. Thom just worked along as if nothing unusual was happening, humming to himself, sparing Mistaya an occasional look, but saying nothing. She found herself increasingly irritated with him, too. She wanted him to acknowledge what was going on instead of acting as if he were oblivious. But Thom never once said a word or even gave her one of those conspiratorial looks that he had shared with her yesterday.
Then, just when her patience was nearly exhausted, he leaned forward suddenly and whispered, “Had enough, little sister? Let’s go somewhere they can’t spy on us.”
He took her to the kitchen to gather up bread, meat, cheese, and cups of cold well water for their lunch, then walked her out again and down a hallway to a huge old stone stairway that climbed into gloom and a flutter of bat wings.
“Up there?” she asked doubtfully.
He laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s safe enough once we’re at the top. And we can lock the door when we get there.”
