by Andy Havens
The Roads pulled at them with their currents, making the turns and curves and junctures necessary to keep them on the shortest route. Mirkir resented the weight of this idiot on his back, but it seemed like the only solution. It slowed him not because of the extra mass, but because the man wasn’t providing any of his own desire or attention.
In contrast, their pursuers were concentrating very hard, coming up closer and closer behind them at every turn and juncture. Mirkir wasn’t great at estimating distances, but he thought that they’d probably catch up before he got them to the Library. He also wasn’t sure he wanted them to know where he was going.
Best way to win fight. Not be there.
Mirkir bore down hard. His little stone legs pumped and he huffed like a racehorse with asthma. Unconsciously, he unfurled his tiny, ornamental wings a bit, too. They didn’t help, but they made him feel more at ease when he flew. Which wasn’t an option here, but it still gave him confidence.
At a particularly sharp turn he looked behind them and saw a ripple on the Road which might be the hunters. They see us, easier for them now, he knew.
Suddenly, there was another weight on his back.
He skidded off the Road in a spray of gravel—some of it his own—as he turned in a quick circle to face his attacker.
But it was only the bird-thing, Hayyel.
“What? Why?” Mirkir barked, trying to get back on the road and up to speed.
“No!” Snapped the other gargoyle. “I take man. You bite. You confuse.”
Mirkir understood immediately. Hayyel wasn’t a fighter. But he could get this Reckoner to the Library. Which would leave Mirkir free to deal with these hunters.
Almost as much fun as squirrels, he thought.
With a rough shake, he tossed Bastiaan off his back. The man looked surprised but not alarmed.
“Go with Hayyel,” Mirkir barked. “Now.”
Not waiting for an answer, Hayyel ducked his stone-feathered head between Bastiaan’s legs and then hoisted him up off the ground a few inches.
“The Library,” Mirkir said.
“Yes,” Hayyel replied. “I heard from above.”
Mirkir nodded and watched as the bird-thing trotted down the Narrow Roads more quickly than you’d guess its birdy legs could trot, the confused man in the bathrobe on its back. It made sense. Hayyel was faster. And this would keep the pursuers from knowing their destination.
Mirkir turned to wait. The ripple of energy wasn’t far off and he stretched his shoulders in anticipation, pawing the ground with his front feet and setting his back legs firmly. As they came into sight he saw that there were five hunters; two man-shapes, two natural dogs and one dog-thing.
Not of Earth. But a bit like me. Fun.
Mirkir lowered his head almost to ground level and purred, “Let’s play.”
* * * * *
Hayyel turned his head as he ran and clicked back at his passenger, “Which House?”
Bastiaan didn’t answer for a time, but then said, “The Farm was my home.”
Hayyel didn’t know what that mean. So he asked, “What Domain?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
They sped on through the night, Hayyel fairly positive they’d avoided detection and pursuit. Mirkir would keep them busy for some time. Then he’d run away in a different direction. It was a tactic often employed by gargoyles when defending larger estates.
The man he carried didn’t seem worried or scared. Because he wasn’t. If anything, Bastiaan was thrilled to be getting so far away from the Farm and from the man who…
Which man didn’t I like? he wondered. The doctor? No. He was OK. The guards? Maybe that’s it. I didn’t like the guards. Or those dogs! Yes. That’s it. So glad to be away from the dogs.
He managed to relax and even enjoy the sights whizzing by from the back of his new, stone friend. Who looked different for some reason. He’d thought it was a dog-thing. Now it seemed like a bird.
Oh well, nice of him to give me a lift, regardless, Bastiaan thought.
By the time Hayyel stepped off the Narrow Road in front of the Great Library, Bastiaan didn’t even remember why he wasn’t at home, on the Farm, in his bed next to Ken’s.
Why am I out in my bathrobe? he wondered. What city is this?
Hayyel nudged Bastiaan on the back of his thigh with his feathered forehead, trying to herd him out of the street and up the Library steps.
For the second time in as many hours, the two guardian lions turned their huge heads and issued a low growl that made it clear: no admittance without proper authorization.
Bastiaan looked at the oversized lions and then down at Hayyel. “They’re cousins of yours, aren’t they? Why don’t they let us in?”
Hayyel didn’t know the story behind the lions. They smelled a bit of Earth, yes. But also of… other.
“Not cousins, no,” he replied to Bastiaan. “Just. Well. Not.”
“OK,” Bastiaan said, seeming to accept the non-explanation at face value.
After a minute or so, Bastiaan asked, “Should we shout or ring a bell or something?”
“Sight knows,” Hayyel said simply. If nobody had come out it meant that they were busy or that the visitor wasn’t going to be admitted until the building opened for regular business the next morning.
Bastiaan shrugged and sat down on the steps, facing away from the measured gaze of the giant lions. Hayyel followed suit, content to wait.
Soon, though, they heard the creak of a heavy door being opened behind them.
Hayyel didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t smart like Mirkir. He wasn’t a lead gargoyle. He was just good at watching and calling an alarm and sometimes making deliveries.
Before the person from the Library had a chance to see him, he leaped silently into the night air and with an uncanny, natural sensitivity landed on the peak of a roof across the street.
One of the lions glanced at him, sleepily, eyebrow raised. Hayyel held very still.
A youngish seeming man in a navy blue golf shirt and tan khakis hurried down the steps.
The man in the pale blue bathrobe reached out a hand to shake as the fellow stopped on the stair above his. As they touched, he felt something… familiar.
“Wallache?” the man in the bathrobe said. “Wallache Bradstreet?”
Wallace gripped the other man by the shoulders. Shocked and pleased at once, he said, “Bastiaan Huber? Ben jij dat , mijn vriend?”
Bastiaan understood the Dutch instantly: Is that you, my friend?
“Ik weet het niet,” he answered in the same language. “Maakt het uit?”
I don’t know. Does it matter?
“Never mind that, brother,” Wallace said in English. “Come inside.”
Feeling confused but relieved, Bastiaan followed Wallace up the steps and into the Library.
Wasn’t I with someone? he thought absently as they pushed through the heavy, glass doors. Was I walking a dog? Or was it just barking I heard far away?
He shook his head in confusion and, as always, it soon receded. He was simply glad to be inside again after being out in his bathrobe which was, he thought, not what bathrobes were for.
The lions went back to their silent, still watch. Of course they kept an eye on the bird-like gargoyle perched across the street. But it wasn’t within their purview to comment unless it tried to enter the grounds.
* * * * *
Kendra, Monday, McKey, Ezer and Vannia were where Wallace had left them when the lions had announced an unexpected, off-hour visitor.
The clerk introduced Bastiaan to the Master of Sight, the Warden of Increase, the Chaos assassin, the Assistant Director of the Library and the Mundane girl recently returned to the Ways.
It was as strange a collection of Reckoners as Wallace could imagine, yet Bastiaan greeted each in turn with complete nonchalance. In fact, he even got Helen’s name wrong while saying it back to her during the introductions.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs.
Clean.”
“McKey. Helen McKey.”
“Ah. Yes. My apologies. It is… somewhat loud in here.”
Ezer and Monday exchanged frowning looks. It was not, in fact, loud in the Library. As it was after hours, the main campus buildings were entirely silent. Most of the Reckoner staff were gone, too, though a few toiled away at projects involving other time zones. They were several floors below and two buildings away, however. Even in the same room, though, the quiet turning of pages, scratch of a pen or clicking of a mouse and keyboard shouldn’t have disturbed anyone.
“Loud, Mr. Huber?” Kendra asked. “It seems very quiet to me.”
“Please,” he said. “Call me Bastiaan. And… There are… I mean. You don’t hear them?”
“Hear what, my friend?” Wallace asked.
“The voices. The colors. All the...” and here Bastiaan gestured around him at the walls, to the books on the shelves, the various pieces of art, the plants.
Kendra frowned, thinking about the Ways of Sight that had assailed her during her ordeal in the Library. All the objects around her had seemed to be talking at once, screaming at her with details of their origins, history and purpose. The din had been so extraordinary that she’d almost lost her mind.
Bastiaan doesn’t seem that pained, though. Just distracted and confused.
“Our Ways shouldn’t be affecting him at all,” Monday said. “I’ve essentially turned them off since we have guests.”
“Thank god,” Ezer said. “I wouldn’t want to go through that again.”
This was a reference to his previous visit to the Library, and the reason why he hadn’t visited in centuries. Nobody but McKey and Monday knew the full story, and they weren’t talking.
“Indeed,” said Monday. “But, as I said, there should be no residual effects at all.”
“That shouldn’t matter anyways,” Wallace chimed in. “Bastiaan is of Sight. He and I studied together. He recognized me at our border. Unless we cast an additional, specific, aggressive Way over him, the Library shouldn’t seem anything to him but, well…”
“Pleasant,” finished McKey.
“Quite,” agreed Monday. “But if he’s of Sight, why did the lions stop him?”
That was another puzzle. While all three of the Reckoners of Sight paused to reflect on that conundrum, Vannia piped up and asked, “Why are you in a bathrobe, Bastiaan?”
The man looked a bit puzzled himself, looked down and saw that he was, in fact, in a bathrobe.
“I don’t know. I think I usually am,” he said.
“That’s cool,” said Vannia. “It seems comfy.”
“Oh, it is,” Bastiaan agreed. “I got to pick the color.”
“Nice.”
Patting the robe as if to confirm how nice it was, he seemed to remember something. Reaching into its pocket, he took out the monocle and immediately wedged it into place, the small ribbon hanging down almost to the corner of his mouth.
“Ah,” he sighed. “Much better. Not so loud, now.”
Monday stood up and approached Bastiaan, bending over the shorter man to examine the glass lens.
“Do you mind if I touch this?” he asked politely.
Bastiaan shook his head and Monday reached out to gently stroke the ribbon twice. He didn’t touch the glass or ask the man to remove it, sensing that it gave the fellow comfort.
“What is it, Monday?” Ezer asked.
“It’s a Lens of Clarification,” Monday answered. “A Way of Sight is imbued in it for one full day’s use. These were gifts, sometimes, to Reckoners of other Houses. They provide sensory enhancements. To a point, they allow those from other Domains to experience how we perceive the world, but to a much lesser degree, of course.”
“Maybe that’s why using it helps him cope with the Library?” Kendra offered.
“He shouldn’t be able to use it at all,” Monday replied. “They are bound to specific Reckoners. It is a fairly potent Way. That’s also why it expires 24 hours after first used. While most people from other Houses wouldn’t really know how to truly leverage the Way or cause mischief, there is always that chance.”
“So it’s more of a novelty,” Ezer said.
“Something like that,” Monday said. “A favor. Something to show trust or respect to another Domain. I can see that there are… thirty-four of them extant, and only five of those still active.”
He gestured at the one on Bastiaan’s face. “Four, as of tomorrow afternoon.”
The man looked horrified. “My glass will fail? It will only last until tomorrow?”
Ezer frowned. “Yes, son. But, to you, it should really not be anything other than a plain, clear lens. You might be able to sense the conditions of the Way, but it’s effects? They are… or should be… well, transparent to you.”
Bastiaan touched the rim of the lens gingerly. “I like it,” he said. “I don’t want it to stop.”
McKey, frowning slightly with concern, took Bastiaan by the hand and said, “Why don’t we all sit down. Would you like something to drink? Or a snack?”
As they took seats around the small conference table—with Vannia perching on an arm chair tucked off in the corner—Bastiaan smiled and said, “I would like something to drink, yes. And a snack, yes.”
Monday and McKey both looked at Wallace. Sighing, he asked, “Shall I get something for everyone? Bottled water and cookies? I know where they are in the break room.”
Nods all around. Kendra stood saying, “I’ll give you a hand, Wallace.”
“Thanks.”
The two left and there was an awkward silence around the table. Which Vannia broke by saying, “You’re not quite right in the head, are you, Bastiaan?”
The Librarian and the Warden both made almost identical sour faces. McKey coughed on a laugh she tried to swallow.
Bastiaan answered the question directly, though. “I don’t think I am, Ms. Vannia.”
“Fair enough,” she replied, settling back into the chair with her feet up on the back of the one Kendra had recently occupied.
More silence. More waiting.
McKey leaned across the table and took one of Bastiaan’s hands in her own and asked him, gently, “Would you mind if I cast a Way on you to see what happened to you recently?”
He thought for a moment then asked, “Will it hurt?”
“No,” she told him. “You might feel a bit sleepy afterwards, though.”
He nodded and then had a thought. “Do you want to borrow my monocle?”
She shook her head. “No, friend. I don’t need it. Just think back to the most recent thing you remember before coming here to the Library.”
“The road, you mean. I was standing in the road.”
“If that’s what you remember, that’s fine.”
He nodded and she leaned forward, casting a light Way of Reading on the puzzled man. Nothing as deep or intrusive as what Wallace had placed on Jimson or as complete as what Monday had cast on Kendra. Just enough to see and sense moments of his recent memories.
Bastiaan visibly relaxed as she began to spool backwards through his memories, even humming a little as she tried to quickly review his day so far. Monday and Ezer watched and Vannia fidgeted while McKey looked back and back and…
“That’s… odd,” she said, releasing his hand.
“What is odd, Mrs. McKey,” Monday asked.
“I see him and a gargoyle on the Narrow Roads, but the further back I go, the less detail there is. By the time I get back to the place where they got on the Roads, all I can tell is that they were in a woods… somewhere… and that there were dogs barking.”
The Librarian arched one eyebrow. “A woods. Somewhere.’”
She shot him a dirty look right back. “No, Mr. Monday. I don’t know the geographic location. It’s that cloudy and uncertain. It’s like trying to read someone who was drugged or asleep. I can tell it was either night or late afternoon. It seemed dark out. But, again, that could just be a failing of his
memory.”
Walking back in with a six-pack of bottled water and another of Cokes, Wallace suggested, “Try getting a read on a possession. Maybe that lens.”
Kendra walked in behind him with a double handful of individually wrapped cookies and put them on the table. Vannia seemed to simply materialize above the table, grab a cookie, and retreat back to the chair. Bastiaan took one, too, and began to unwrap it, clearly hungry.
“Not yet, Wallace,” Monday said. Turning to Bastiaan, he asked, “Do you remember where you were this morning, son?”
Talking around a mouthful of cookie, he answered, “Yes. I was at the Farm.”
“Which Farm?”
“The second one.”
“Where is the first one?” Ezer asked.
“It… There was…” he was clearly confused and a little agitated, a couple crumbs of cookie sticking to his lips as he tried to think through a response.
“Don’t worry about any of our questions, Bastiaan,” Monday said. “We’re just talking. And we can get you some more, better food soon. Do you mind if we talk while you eat?”
“No. That’s fine. May I have another?”
Monday nodded and Bastiaan took a second cookie. Kendra opened a Coke for him and he nodded his thanks, taking a sip before unwrapping the snack.
“So you live at a farm?” Monday asked. He had moved his chair closer to Bastiaan and was leaning down quite a bit, keeping his head a little lower than the other man’s. He was also speaking very gently and slowly, Kendra noticed. Almost like you’d speak to a child.
“Yes,” answered Bastiaan.
“Do you know where it is?”
“It’s by the woods. The first farm was by a river. And it was colder in the winter.”
Monday nodded. “Did the river freeze in the winter?”
Bastiaan tipped his head to one side. “I think it might have. The ground got very cold and the grass all died. That was the grass in the field. I remember because my name used to be Thomas Brownfield Edgington.”
All the others looked confused by this, so Bastiaan explained, smiling at the memory. “Brownfield. It’s funny. Because the field was brown in the winter. Like my name. I once made a joke to myself that in the summer I should change my name to Thomas Greenfield Edgington.”
