Journey to the Library [The Library Saga]

by Amy Cross

  "So we'll go and find my family as soon as we're done with your appointment?" I ask, starting to worry that he doesn't seem too focused on the task at hand. I feel as if I need to keep reminding him about my family, or he'll forget entirely.

  "Of course," he replies. "Absolutely. No question."

  "And this appointment," I continue. "What's it about? Are you selling things?"

  "Not quite," he says. "Well, kind of. It depends how you look at the whole thing, really. The physical items I leave behind are only part of the job. That's not what they pay me for."

  "And what do they pay you for?" I ask as the cart judders through another pothole. "What are you, exactly?"

  "They pay me for magic," he replies, glancing back at me with a smile. "Didn't I mention it earlier? I'm a magician."

  Alice Never

  "So," I say after what feels like an eternity of waiting with this wooden slab strapped to my back, "what if -"

  "Sshhh!" the voice hisses.

  Sighing, I decide to try another tactic. "So," I whisper, "what if -"

  "Sshhh!" the voice hisses again.

  "Listen," I say, speaking as quietly as humanly possible, "what -"

  "Sshhh!" the voice hisses, more firmly and insistently this time.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to think of some other kind of approach. "You're hissing louder than I'm talking," I say eventually.

  "Sshhh!" the voice hisses. "He'll hear you!"

  "Who?" I ask.

  Silence.

  Sighing again, I turn and look across the dusty, sparse yard into which I've been placed. A few meters away, there appears to be a large and very long bookshelf, and when I look in the other direction, I see another bookshelf. It's strange, but while those two creatures don't really seem like the kind to have a lot of books, they seem to have thousands. Trying to see the end of the shelf, I crane my neck a little further.

  "Sshhh!" the voice hisses again.

  "Stop doing that!" I reply.

  "You're breathing too loud!"

  "I can't help that!"

  "You'll set the alarm off!"

  Sighing yet again, I finally decide that I've had enough of being told to stay quiet. Shuffling around on my hands and knees, ignoring the voice's constant hissing and pleas for me to be quiet, I turn a complete 180 degrees, with the table still strapped to my back and the vase balancing delicately, until finally I come face to face with a large-eyed, angry-looking girl who, like me, also seems to have been put to use as a table.

  "You're insane!" she hisses, her eyes darting in both directions as if she expects us to be attacked at any moment.

  "So where's the alarm?" I ask.

  "You'll see," she whispers. "It's coming!"

  "I don't hear anything so far."

  "It takes a while."

  "It takes a while?" Raising an eyebrow, I stare at her for a moment. "So it's an alarm that doesn't go off immediately?"

  "I think so."

  "You think so? Well, that doesn't sound like much of an alarm, does it?" Taking a deep breath, I decide to try another approach. "I'm Alice," I say, taking extra care to sound friendly. "Alice Never. What's your name?"

  She stares at me. "Table," she whispers eventually.

  "Table?"

  She nods, causing the wooden board on her back to wobble slightly.

  "That's your name?" I ask incredulously.

  "It's what I'm called," she replies tentatively, as if she's a little unsure of herself. "These days, anyway."

  "What name did your parents give you?" I ask.

  "None of your business."

  "But -"

  "I'm perfectly happy here," she continues. "I'm eighteen or nineteen now. Every few years, they have to remove the table board and add a bigger one, but I think I've finally stopped growing. I'm lucky, though. They happened to place me quite close to the shelves, so I was able to take a look at some of the books. They keep moving me, too, because they're not quite sure where I look best, so really, I've had quite a nice variety of books to..." Her voice trails off for a moment. "Well, you get the idea. It's not a bad life. You'll soon get used to it."

  "No," I say, shaking my head, "I won't. I'm getting out of here."

  "You can't!" she replies. "You'll see the alarm off!"

  "What alarm?" I ask, starting to feel a little frustrated by her constant references to some kind of alarm that, so far, doesn't seem to exist at all.

  "The alarm!" she hisses. "They told me about it once, a long time ago. They told me the alarm would go off if I ever tried to get up, and they warned me that the alarm would punish me terribly!"

  "But you've never seen or heard this alarm?" I ask, starting to realize what's going on here.

  "No," she replies. "Thank God!"

  Sighing, I decide that it's now or never. "Okay, Table," I say after a moment, "I'm about to blow your mind." Before she can reply, I count to three and then finally I stand up. It's an awkward process, since I have a large wooden board tied to my back, and the vase of flowers quickly falls down and smashes against the ground.

  "You'll be killed!" Table hisses frantically.

  "You think?" I ask, taking a moment to untie the rope from around my waist. Finally, the wooden board falls down and I'm free again. I take a moment to stretch my aching arms. "Being a table really took it out of me," I say, feeling a little sore and stiff. "Come on, it's your turn. There's clearly no alarm, so you might as well get up."

  "It's coming!" she whispers, her eyes darting about. "You can't see it, or hear it, or smell it, or even tell that it's there, but it's coming!"

  "You know," I reply, "if you really can't see it or hear it or smell it or anything, it's tempting to suggest that maybe it doesn't exist at all. Have you ever thought of that?"

  "I think I might have heard it once," she says defensively. "It was a sound like... like bones being banged against other bones."

  "Let me guess," I reply skeptically. "Did the creatures make the sound behind your back, and just tell you that it was some kind of alarm?"

  She stares at me.

  "Then it's blatantly not real," I point out.

  "Then why would the recyclers warn me about it?"

  "I don't know," I say, walking over and picking up the ceramic bowl from the board on Table's back. "Maybe, just maybe, they were using mind games to trick you into staying put. Come on, it's obvious that there's nothing here, so let's get out of here before the creatures come back. I need to find my parents."

  "You'll get us both killed!" she hisses.

  "Fine," I say, kneeling next to her and reaching around to start untying the rope around her waist.

  "Stop that!" she whispers.

  "Make me," I reply, pulling the knot loose. Getting to my feet, I pull the board away and prop it against the bookshelf. "You're free," I say, taking a step back. "Come on. Get up."

  "Put it back!" she hisses.

  "Get up!"

  She shakes her head.

  "What are you scared of?" I ask. "There's no alarm! Do you hear an alarm? Do you see a flashing light?"

  "You don't know that there's not an alarm!" she replies. "Remember, I've been here a lot longer than you have!"

  "That's nothing to be proud of," I point out. "Seriously, there's clearly no kind of alarm. This doesn't exactly look like a high-tech kind of place, does it?"

  She stares at me, and it's clear that I'm just about starting to get through to her. "They'll know my board was removed," she says after a moment. "I mean, even if I tie it back on, they'll know. They'll see that the dust has been moved. They notice things like that, you know. They're very observant."

  "Why would you tie it back on?" I ask.

  "I miss it," she says, sniffing back the tears. "I feel like a snail that's lost its shell. I can still feel it, like a kind of ghost pressure on my back. I feel naked without it." She pauses. "Look, I just want to stay here, okay? This is better than..."

  I wait for her to finish. "Don't you find it k
ind of... soul-crushing?" I ask eventually.

  "That's a very poor choice of words," she mutters darkly. "Just listen to me, okay? I'd rather stay here than go anywhere else. I really don't want to attract attention to myself."

  "You'll forget about this place soon," I reply, starting to feel sorry for her. "Come on. I need to get going, and I'd rather have someone with me." Glancing over my shoulder, I realize that this strange open-air library doesn't exactly seem very inviting. "Either that," I mutter, "or I need a damn good map."

  Slowly, as if she's feeling a lot of pain, Table starts getting to her feet. I wince as I hear her bones clicking and grinding together, as most of them begin the process of moving for the first time in many years. Finally, albeit still looking a little stiff and awkward, she gets to her feet. She takes a few seconds to stretch her arms out, and there's a look of wide-eyed wonder on her face. "So that's how it feels," she says, before grabbing hold of the bookshelf. "It's so weird being all the way up here. I can barely even remember how to walk."

  "I'll help you," I say reaching out and taking her hand. "Can we get going, though? There might not be an alarm, but there's still a danger that those creatures could come back."

  As I lead her over to the other bookshelf, I look along the aisle and realize that the shelves extend as far as the eye can see, in both directions. Still, I've never been in a library that lacks a roof. In the distance, there appears to be a plume of smoke rising into the sky.

  "What the hell is this place?" I ask.

  "It's the Library, dummy," she replies. "Don't you even -"

  Before she can finish, there's a faint rattling noise nearby, as if bones are being banged together.

  "That's him!" Table shouts, backing toward the shelf. "That's the alarm!"

  "There's no alarm," I tell her for the thousandth time, but this time I'm not feeling quite so confident. The truth is, there does seem to be some kind of noise getting closer and closer, although I'm not sure exactly where it's coming from. After a moment, I realize that Table is looking straight up at the top of the shelf, and there's a look of horror on her face.

  "It's him!" she says, dropping to her knees. "Oh God, it's him!"

  Slowly, and with a mounting sense of dread, I realize that there's definitely something up there, right behind me. I want to run, but at the same time, I feel compelled to turn and take a good look at this thing. After taking a deep breath, I tilt my head up, and finally I see the beast that has driven fear into Table's heart.

  Thomas Never

  "Bomrag!" Carstairs shouts, as we stand in an empty aisle.

  We've been walking for a couple of hours now, and my feet are aching, but at least we're away from the bustle of the Eastern Gate Market. Every time we took a new turn, we seemed to get further and further from the center of the crowd, and it's now been quite a while since we saw anyone at all.

  "Bomrag!" Carstairs shouts again. "Where are you, man?"

  "One along!" a distant voice calls out. "This way!"

  Sighing, Carstairs starts pulling his cart to the next intersection, and I follow him around the corner and then along another aisle until, finally, I spot a middle-aged, slightly overweight man walking toward us.

  "You're late," the man says dourly.

  "You've moved!" Carstairs replies. "You used to live in that aisle back there! Why didn't you let me know?"

  "Had to shift," the man mutters, eying me suspiciously. "Bookworms."

  "Septimus Bomrag," Carstairs says, before turning to me, "I'd like you to meet Thomas Never, a young acquaintance of mine from a far-off land known as Leeds."

  "Never heard of it," Bomrag says, with the sour expression of a man who's been asked to chew a wasp. "Don't really care, either. Have you got what I wanted or not?"

  "I have indeed," Carstairs says, maintaining a bright and happy tone despite - or perhaps partly because of - the other man's black mood. "First, however, I must ask if you have a couple of chairs that we can use? It's of vital importance to the whole endeavor."

  "Aye," Bomrag mutters, turning and wandering back the way he came. "This way."

  "Where do people live in the Library?" I ask, as Carstairs and I start to pull his cart along the aisle. "I haven't seen any houses."

  "People don't have houses around here," he replies with a smile. "You'll see."

  Moments later, we take a right turn into an aisle that not only has several tables and chairs, but also a small campfire, some washing lines replete with sheets and shirts, and even what appears to be a large, empty tin bath.

  "He lives here?" I ask, stunned, as we set the cart next to the bath. "Outside?"

  "I never said it was a comfortable life," Carstairs replies, "but yes, this is how people live in the Library. One can always take shelter on a shelf when it rains, and believe me, it's wont to rain rather often, especially lately." He turns to Bomrag and smiles. "Awful weather we've been having lately, don't you think? Absolutely atrocious."

  "I didn't invite you here to talk about the weather," Bomrag replies. "Did you get what I asked for or not?"

  "Of course," Carstairs says, turning to the cart and pulling open one of the small doors. He rummages around for a moment, before removing a key and walking around to one of the other doors, which he quickly unlocks and swings open. "Now, my dear," he continues, reaching his hand into the dark interior, "would you like to come out and meet the man who will very soon be your husband?"

  To my shock, a woman climbs out of the cart. She's young, maybe in her early twenties, and she has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen in my life. Wearing a wedding dress, she seems a little hesitant, and she carefully holds the hem of the dress up in order to keep it out of the mud. I swear, as soon as she glances over at me, it's as if I fall instantly and hopelessly in love, but she merely smiles before allowing Carstairs to lead her over to Bomrag.

  "You've got to be joking," Bomrag says with a look of horror on his face. "Her?"

  "You disapprove of my choice?" Carstairs asks.

  "I'm not marrying Septimus Bomrag," the woman says, looking just as shocked as Bomrag himself. "You didn't tell me it was Bomrag! You just told me I could have a life of true love and happiness if I came with you!"

  "And what's your alternative?" Carstairs asks confidently. "Would you rather go back home and resume your old life as a grease-picker for the Flesh Weavers?"

  "I'm not marrying Septimus Bomrag!" the woman says firmly.

  "And I'm not marrying Ana Kettle!" Bomrag says, equally firmly. "Carstairs, all I wanted was for you to find me a bride. I wasn't picky. I didn't make any specific demands. You could have found almost any girl in the entire Library, so why the hell did you go to all the trouble of bring her to me? She's the last person I ever wanted to see again!"

  "Ditto!" Ana shouts at him.

  "Calm down," Carstairs says, letting go of Ana's hand and taking a step back from the pair of them. "Do you not recall that I'm a master of magic?"

  "There's no magic in the world that could make me look favorably upon this wench," Bomrag says with a sneer.

  "There's no magic in the world that could stop me from feeling nauseous when I even think about this hideous, vile excuse for a man," Ana adds, wrinkling her nose.

  "Ah, so you do still hate one another," Carstairs says with a smile. "I was slightly worried that, as you haven't seen each other for a few years, your feelings might have mellowed, but it's clear that your hatred still burns with the passion of a thousand suns. All I can say to that is, thank God!"

  "This had better be a joke," Bomrag says, looking as if he might be about to strike Carstairs at any moment. "If you think I'm paying you to bring this wretched creature to my home, you're very much mistaken. You can just turn around, stuff her back in your cart, and take her back to whatever filthy, scum-infested swamp she was in when you found her."

  "You see?" Carstairs says, turning to me. "The performance of magic is an exhilarating and -"

  Before he can finish, Bomr
ag lunges at him and shoves him against one of the shelves.

  "Six months!" he shouts. "Six months I've been waiting for you to return with a bride for me! Six goddamn months, and it never occurred to me that you'd pick this filthy specimen! I should have known, though; I should have known you'd mess things up, Carstairs. Everyone says you're a waste of time, but I was dumb enough to give you a chance. Clearly I made a mistake."

  "On the contrary," Carstairs splutters, struggling to speak with Bomrag's hands holding his neck, "I've brought you the perfect woman, and if you'll stop choking me for a moment, I'll be glad to demonstrate the full extent of my wisdom."

  "Let the idiot go," Ana says glumly. "It's my turn to wring the life out of him."

  "You?" Bomrag replies, turning to her. "You couldn't wring the life out of a beetle with those hands. That's one of your many, many problems."

  "You want to put some money on that?" she asks.

  "Money? You haven't got any!"

  "Please," Carstairs says, his voice sounding increasingly strained as his face starts to become a little red, "if you could just stop throttling me, I'll show you why this is, in fact, the most perfect union of man and woman since -" Before he can finish, he lets out a gasp, and Bomrag finally releases the pressure on his throat. "Thank you," Carstairs mutters, rubbing his neck as he stumbles over to me. "Can you believe these people?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "It's as if they don't believe in magic at all."

  "Maybe we should get out of here," I reply nervously, worried that the situation could deteriorate rapidly. "Let's just -"

  "Nonsense!" Carstairs says triumphantly, turning to Bomrag and pulling the small gold-laced pouch from a pocket on the inside of his robe. "This, my friends, is the secret to the whole endeavor! With this magic dust, I shall ensure that your union is the happiest that has ever been known throughout the Library!" He hurries over to two wooden chairs and arranges them facing one another, just a meter or so apart. "If you'll be so kind as to sit down," he continues, holding the little pouch high above his head, "we can begin."