The Passage of Pearl

by Lynn E. O'Connacht

  Pearl thumped her head against the door and wondered at their security. Magical books were valuable. Surely someone should have noticed her by now. But no one came and Pearl wandered back to the brown-and-white mosaic on the ground floor. Maybe, she thought, if the layout was similar, she could find help in the basement. That was where her library’s restricted section was and it always had an attendant at the desk. She set off, clenching her fists because if she couldn’t find anyone she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

  The basement did have a desk, but there was no one sitting at it either. Pearl had to bite back a scream and growled and snarled instead. But steam was still coming from a cup of tea that was standing on the desk. There had to be librarian nearby and Pearl set out to hunt him down, bags in tow.

  Eventually she found a small, wiry man sorting out shelves at the far end of an aisle. With large, round glasses on his nose and dressed in casual clothes, he looked nothing at all like Pearl’s idea of a sorcerer or a mage. She cleared her throat and he turned to face her, pushing the glasses back up over his nose. “Can I help you?” he asked and turned back to his sorting before she could reply.

  Pearl growled softly, then pretended she’d had to clear her throat again. She needed his help. “I think so. I have this book with me and I think it’s dangerous.”

  “Huh. Interesting. I’ll be with you in just a moment,” the man said and waved her back out of the aisle without looking up at her. Pearl bared her teeth, but did as she was told and settled on a chair near the desk. There were a couple, so perhaps having to wait was normal for a magical library. She took Rover out of her bag again and turned it around in her hands. This was a library. Behind the desk in front of her she’d find paper to write on and pens to write with. Soon, she’d be giving up the book that would bring her fame and recognition. Soon, she’d be giving up the challenge of solving her puzzle. Her nails were clipped too short to do much damage to her skin, but she felt them anyway, needed to feel them. She’d already read Rover’s Grand Vacation a dozen times now. If she dared to leave her bags behind, she’d flee into a random aisle to peruse the books. The pens were right there…

  “Well.” Startled, Pearl dropped Rover’s Grand Vacation and looked up. The man was smiling at her, crinkling his face further. “What have you got?” He watched her as she struggled to pull Rhythm and Structure out of the groceries bag and unwrapped it, but he didn’t offer to help. Pearl could feel sweat dripping down her back as she held it out to him. It was her book. Hers. The librarian took the book gingerly and she didn’t know whether there was anything about her expression that made him wary or whether it was just being given an unknown, perhaps dangerous book.

  “I was obsessed with it.” She said it softly, tasted the lie on her tongue, because she still longed to pull the book from his hands and run away with it. The librarian turned it over. “It’s changed,” she said in amazement. The garish green cover read On the Principles of Human Flight embossed in black and no author. It wasn’t as thin as the Rhythm and Structures she’d picked up at her own library either, but when the man opened the book and she looked at it over his shoulder, it still seemed to be pretending to be On the Principles of Flight. The alphabet used inside was one she couldn’t read, so she was guessing at the actual contents, but there was no writing in the margins. There were no miniature diagrams on the book’s strange grammar in empty spaces. The librarian didn’t seem impressed. It looked like a perfectly normal book. If the thought of being trapped in her room for days on end again didn’t make her twitch so badly, she might still be tempted to take it back again.

  After flipping through it a few times, the man said, “I can’t see anything magical about it.” He put the book down and rubbed at his nose. Pushing his glasses back into position he leaned back against the desk. Pearl had to admit that he didn’t seem to be obsessing over the book the way she had.

  “It must be. It looks nothing like what I picked up.”

  “Maybe it’s the wrong book?”

  “No. No, I’m certain it’s the same book.” The thought of taking it home with her because the librarian didn’t believe her made her stomach churn with dread and excitement both. “I don’t have one with that title.”

  The man rubbed at his nose again. “What did you want to do?”

  Her answer was, perhaps, given a little too fast, but she persisted. “Please have it studied. There’s something wrong with it. I know there is.”

  “You want to donate it to our library?”

  She didn’t, but… Now that she’d found someone who seemed willing to take it off her hands without obsessing over it, she found herself desperate not to mess up her chance to be rid of it. “Please! But be careful with it.” Though, if he didn’t believe her, she couldn’t be to blame, could she? She was warning him.

  “It’s a rare book, young lady. We’d be well willing to offer you recom —”

  Pearl interrupted him to say that she needed no money, just an assurance that they’d have several mages or sorcerers look the book over before doing anything with it. Normally, she’d jump at the offer, but her heart was hammering in her throat and her hands were sweaty. She had to get out soon. The man gave her the assurances with a shrug. All she wanted was to feel the wind on her skin again, to be outside and know the sky was just above her without barriers other than her shape to block her access. Principles might offer her a solution to that problem if she took it home, but she gulped down a sob. All she wanted to do was run before she changed her mind or did something she’d regret for the rest of her life.

  “Do you… need anything other than the book before you take it?” she asked, clenching and unclenching her fists. She snatched Rover from the floor and packed up her towel as he answered.

  “Your name and details for our records, but that’s it. I’ll get you the form.” He was gone a few minutes, leaving the book on the desk. Torn between leaving it behind and grabbing it, Pearl paced around the open area and tried to focus on the display cases in the centre of the room, but she barely registered the plaques with additional information and she couldn’t understand the texts in the books displayed anyway.

  She signed the papers as hurriedly as she could, having to cross out her name to give her legal one, and wished the librarian well. She might have tried to make small-talk with him afterwards, but she bolted back outside the building as fast as she dared. She didn’t want to raise any suspicions. Guilt was still burrowing deep into her chest, but she had warned him.

  Walking back to the train station lifted a weight so heavy she felt she might manage to fly even in her wrong, wingless shape. She was free. The mages’ college looked grey and uninspiring, but the sky was gloriously blue. And she had an illness to feign, studies to catch up on, groceries to do, and an essay to rewrite. And notes to toss out. She had to toss out a lot of notes first.

  BACK HOME, IT took Pearl another hour to collect all her notes. Part of her wanted to keep them, to puzzle over what they said, but it was a weak enough desire that she could ignore it easily. The pages disposed of, she made herself dinner, feeling that she was more than entitled to eat whatever she wanted that night and damn the costs. Pearl pondered making a cake from her mother’s tattered old recipe book too, but decided against it. She wasn’t a great baker and it wouldn’t be ready on time anyway. She did promise herself she’d get one as soon as she’d finished her essay, though. She went out to buy the tastiest meat she could find and some beans to go with it.

  After her meal, Pearl set about sorting her apartment. She’d left it a mess. She bit the inside of her cheek as she glanced at the waste paper basket, still filled with the tossed translation notes. Thrumming her fingers against the edge of the desk to distract her, Pearl tried to figure out how to tackle the cleaning. She’d start with all the paper she’d strewn on the floor and what was left on her desk. She had to take the paper waste out much sooner than was her wont, but that was fine. If her notes got buried under a lot of other papers an
d if they were out of her apartment, she could probably return to her life more easily.

  When she got outside, it was snowing. Pearl was surprised to find herself delighted by it. She was still alive. She felt alive. She was so enraptured that she stopped walking and tilted her head up to feel the flakes melt on her face. Still she resisted the urge to twirl and leap with elation and marched to the waste area. She dumped all her notes in the container designated for paper, deliberately forgot to close the lid and went back inside. If there was a bounce to her step, she felt it was well-earned. She was free.

  And she was tired, so she tried to prepare for bed with her thoughts spinning around and around. Worry over her essay gnawed at her as she slipped into a nightgown. She’d lost so much time and she didn’t want to ask for an extension if she could possibly help it, but if she didn’t get at least one good night’s sleep it’d be a disaster. She’d almost failed one of her first-year courses that way. She’d vowed never to let that happen again. She’d have to convince her professors that she’d been ill too. She made herself brush her teeth and crawl into bed, but her mind soon circled back to her essay and the best way to tackle it. Pearl stared at the ceiling. Should she point out the parallels between the texts? She hadn’t yet found any convincing evidence to back up the idea that it was more than coincidence. With Featherstone that wasn’t in her favour. In his opinion, no original argument was as good as ‘But the experts said so’. If the experts hadn’t said it before, it wasn’t an idea worth having. Perhaps she could hedge it. Perhaps.

  Or she could switch back to her original idea. That was worth considering too. Or she could dig her notes out of the trash and write an essay on those. Neh. Pearl turned over onto her other side, struggling to get herself to watch her thoughts flit past without grasping at them until she finally dozed off.

  The next morning found her sleeping almost into noon and she flew out of bed. Neither her dress, nor her hair nor her breakfast got much attention as she hurried to catch the train. She was struggling into her coat as she ran down the hallway only to remember she’d left her door open. Snarling under her breath, Pearl ran back to her apartment, taking the stairs two steps at a time. Her apartment door was closed. Fumbling through her pocket, Pearl realised she’d left the key inside. Again. She growled and cursed, but she didn’t track down the super to open the door for her. She had too much to do at university to spend her time tackling something she could do in the evening just as easily. And she was missing her class on Sivellus’ nature poetry. If only she had her wings, she might have made it.

  Even knowing it would prove futile, Pearl hurried to the train station. At least she’d definitely be on time for the next train. It wasn’t due for another ten minutes, so she squatted near the wall to wait. In her haste, she’d forgotten to pack any books at all, so she settled on dozing until the train announced itself an explosion of sound and colour that startled Pearl off her bench. She almost hissed.

  The ride passed without incident. Pearl spent most of it resting her head against the window, trying to soothe her nerves. By the time she got out and started on her way to university, she was calmer again. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to find all her lecturers to explain the situation to, but she could always leave notes in their inboxes. Would she still be able to find the ones she’d tossed out? No. Pearl dragged her thoughts back to what she was going to tell her tutors. Leaving them notes actually wasn’t a bad idea, so she spent her walk composing different versions in her head. When she entered the faculty building, she settled just beside the door and took out a notebook to scribble down what she’d settled on. They were all a little differently phrased, but she kept the gist the same. She said she wasn’t sure what she’d fallen ill with, assumed it was a bad case of the flu, and she was feeling much better now.

  That all done, and suddenly shy of her deception, Pearl decided she’d really prefer to encounter no-one and hoped the universe would comply. The wall of inboxes was on the fourth floor along with the faculty offices. She could hear murmurings from classes as she walked up the stairs, but no one was outside waiting. The fourth floor too seemed empty and Pearl thanked whatever gods she could think of for her luck.

  After dropping all her notes off, Pearl fled back down the stairs. She made herself walk slowly, like nothing at all was wrong, but she was tense and Pearl wanted to shake herself all over. She’d never lied to her professors before and she valued honesty. Even though the notes weren’t entirely lies, she was still uncomfortable. She wanted the book back and to lose herself in the pages and not have to worry about anyone or anything ever again. Stop it, she told herself and went to the library to look for more articles about Sivellus’ poetry and copy them out.

  As she didn’t have the time she’d wished to devote to her essay anymore, Pearl was very careful not to let herself gather more than three new articles. If anything else in the library was going to get her an article more related to her topic, too bad. She could handle one less than stellar grade if she knew why it wasn’t good. The articles she found weren’t great — most touched only tangentially on the way Sivellus’ poetry interacted with one another and none of the articles she’d found at any point would help her make her arguments about his structural similarities — but they could still be useful. They were articles she could reference and use as a starting point for her own thoughts. She hoped that they would be good enough even for Featherstone.

  As she was packing up the texts she’d copied out and marked up, Pearl hit her forehead with her hand. Idiot! She’d forgotten to mention her looming deadline of doom in her notes. At least the journey home should give her ample time to get parts of a draft written and done. The rest of her day, though, Pearl spent searching for the most expensive cut of meat and the most decadent chocolate cake she could possibly find and carrying them along home with her without ruining the cake. She’d also bought herself a bottle of apple cider, banging it against her shin so often as she walked that she thought it’d be a miracle if it arrived at her home intact.

  By the time she finally got there, she knew she would be in financial trouble for the rest of the month and she’d probably have to beg and plead her friends or family (not that they had anything to spare) to loan her some money to buy cheap foods, but the smell alone was worth it. She tracked down the super to open her door for her again. Even though he was visibly angry with her and the cake was her ‘I survived the book of doom and finished my essay on time anyway!’ cake, she offered him a sizable piece. While he ate, she set to work on her dinner. Her cider bottle had survived somehow, so she put it on the table. Then she set her desk up for proper essay writing. The super thanked her for the cake as he left. Pearl waved at him with a cleaver in her hand as she’d just started to prepare the meat.

  Pearl made sure to put at least half of the meat away and feasted on the rest until the chocolate decadence won out in her celebratory desires and put the remainder of her food away. She finished the whole bottle of apple cider too, which hadn’t been her intention. She didn’t care. It was tasty and she was full and contented and her essay could wait another evening while she celebrated her own freedom and the last year of her studies. When she’d finished this one she’d be able to get a job somewhere. Just a few months more. Just an essay, a couple of exams and a dissertation she’d already found a topic for. Pearl could manage that. Tonight, however, she would go to bed sleeping soundly and with a ridiculously well-filled stomach.

  In the coming week Pearl promised herself she would make sense of that essay. But that was for tomorrow at the earliest. Tonight was for celebrating that she was alive, herself, and that she knew exactly where she wanted her pesky essay to go. Life was pretty good. Pearl raised her glass, empty though it was, and shouted, “Cheers!”

  Extras

  The Original Passage of Pearl

  IT WAS ALMOST as noisy inside as it was outside. Pearl had expected it to be quieter in the library. The world beyond its dark-bricked walls and shelve
s crammed (respectfully) full of books usually always faded once inside, but she could hear the parade just as clearly as if she were standing outside to watch it. She’d hoped to continue doing a fair bit of work in the afternoon, but now she found that she couldn’t concentrate in the library either. Painfully bright orange splotches got in the way of the text she was trying to read and, even though the parade was only supposed to last for half an hour, Pearl decided that it was a good time to take a break. Perfect, actually. She’d already been sitting at the desk all morning, sifting through books in search of useful articles. At the very least she’d be able to stretch out those limbs she actually had.

  For a few moments, she leaned back against the chair and pondered whether she should take the book she’d been reading along with her so no one would borrow it whilst she was gone, but decided against it. Her assignment wasn’t due for a while, she had a fair amount of useful articles, and the book didn’t seem to contain the information she’d been hoping to find anyway. In the unlikely event that it got checked out before she returned from the cafeteria, she’d survive.

  So she shut Sivellus’ Flowers: Metamorphosis in His Later Years as she got up, then packed her stuff into her bag, returned the book to the shelf she’d gotten it from and left. Out in the hall the noise of the parade was louder and the splotches accordingly even brighter, harder to ignore and, occasionally, bigger, but at least navigating the grand hall didn’t require her to pay too much attention. An elderly-looking security guard slash library attendant sat at the entrance, his back to her, to ensure no one brought anything illegal into (or out of) the library, but other than him and Pearl the big hall was empty, its supposed-to-be white-and-blue tiles basking in the sunshine and the music.

  On impulse, Pearl took a deep breath to catch the scent of the hall and let it tickle across her tongue - nothing unexpected there, really, but it was nice to try - then set off down the helix staircase to the ground floor and the cafeteria in the right wing of the building. The guard only gave her a glance and a nod when he turned to look at her. Pearl nodded back and hurried down the branch of hallways that would lead her to food, but if the library above had been noisy the cafeteria was a lot worse. In fact, the place was downright cacophonic and Pearl quickly fled the way she’d come. She far preferred painful, bright orange splotches over the toddler’s finger-painting exercise gone terribly, horribly wrong, and that was without the taste and scent of sweat, perfume, assorted food options, and hormones in her mouth.