Journey to the Library [The Library Saga]

by Amy Cross

  "You're welcome to stay on the boat," Table replies. "We don't need you."

  Sitting up, I realize that we've moored alongside a small stone jetty that juts out from what appears to be a barren and deserted town. Shelves reach up from the dry, dusty ground, and Table has already disembarked from the boat, standing on the jetty and staring back at the rest of us. There's a look of passion and determination in her eyes, and I have no doubt that she's willing to strike out alone if necessary. Whatever's driving her onward, it's a force that's getting stronger by the hour.

  "If I might speak for a moment," Omman the Joth says, "there are better places where we might set you down. There are other towns -"

  "I want to get off here," Table says, her eyes scanning the river, constantly on the lookout for company. "There's no debate about it." She turns to me. "You're free to stay on the boat too," she continues, "but I'd advise against it. If you want to find your parents, I'm the only one who can help. These people are just merchants. They're gonna sail to the next town, trade some goods, and then sail right back again. You're not gonna get anywhere by traipsing back and forth along the same fifty-mile stretch."

  "Where are we?" I ask, somewhat taken aback to find that along this stretch of the river there's no sign of life whatsoever. Just dust and ruins.

  "Don't worry about that now," Table mutters. "Just make your mind up. Are you coming with me or not?"

  "This is a dry and dead place," Omman the Joth replies, clearly concerned. "Nothing good will come of time spent among these ruins."

  "I know where I am," Table replies firmly.

  "There are -"

  "I don't believe in ghosts," she adds, cutting him off. "I'm not gonna get hemmed in just because a bunch of idiots spreads tales of spooks and monsters."

  Omman the Joth turns to me, and I can see the look of exasperation in his eyes.

  "We don't have all day," Table continues. "We need to get moving before nightfall."

  "But are you sure this is the best place?" I ask, struck by the deathliness of the scene before us. "It doesn't look as if anyone's been here for years."

  "No-one's forcing you to come with me," Table says firmly. "If you want, you can stick with these loonies and see where they get you."

  "I need to find my parents," I reply, starting to panic as I realize that I have no idea what to do. I look over at Omman the Joth and see that although he looks troubled by Table's decision, he seems powerless to offer me any help whatsoever. He told me to always have some hope, and I feel as if I'd lose all my hope by staying with him. Turning to Table, I pause for a moment. "Can you really help me?"

  "I promised, didn't I?"

  I turn back to Omman the Joth.

  "I can make no promises," he replies, with sadness in his eyes. "We're headed for a town, and someone there might have some information. But the chances of success are -"

  "Much better if you come with me," Table says, interrupting him.

  Slowly, and still not entirely convinced that I'm making the right decision, I get to my feet and walk across the creaking deck until I reach the edge, where Nodby is sitting in his box, evidently waiting for me to make a decision.

  "What about you?" I ask, looking down at him.

  "Are you going with her?" he replies skeptically.

  I nod.

  "Then you'll have to lift me up onto the jetty," he says with a sigh. "I don't wanna end up in some market town where the locals'll stuff me in a freakshow."

  Reaching down, I pick up his little cage and lift him onto the edge of the jetty, before climbing up and then turning to look back at Omman the Joth.

  "Good luck," he says, as the little silver worms continue to crawl across his skin. As he speaks, one of the worms seems to pulse and bulge, before unfolding a small pair of wings and taking flight, fluttering around his neck and finally heading up into the air. "Just one of my nemites passing onto the next stage of its life cycle," he adds with a smile, aware of the look of shock on my face. "Don't worry, though. When they depart, they always leave a few eggs behind to continue their work."

  "Thanks for the ride," I tell him. "We -"

  "Come on," Table says, interrupting me. "I'm not waiting for some sobbing goodbye."

  Reaching out, I shake Omman the Joth's hand; his skin is cool and gel-like, but his grip is firm and although I'm aware of my naivety in a place like this, I feel as if I can trust him. Turning, I climb up onto the jetty, just as Table starts walking away with Nodby behind her. I know that I need to keep pushing onward, but at the same time there's a part of me that feels I can't entirely rely upon Table to help me.

  "Remember what I told you," Omman the Joth says, as he begins to push his boat away from the river's edge. "Where there's water, there's life. Where there's no water..."

  He doesn't finish; instead, he turns his attention to the boat, adjusting the sails and checking the cargo as he heads back toward the center of the river, ready to resume his journey. I watch for a moment as he heads away, but finally I turn and hurry after Table and Nodby.

  "You're sure about this route, aren't you?" I say as we make our way along the dusty path that runs between two old, cracked sets of shelves.

  "If you try to second-guess every decision I make," she replies, not looking at me, "this is going to be a very long and annoying journey. I really don't like having to explain every goddamn step of the way."

  "But my parents -"

  "Their scent leads this way," she adds.

  "You can smell them?"

  "Sure."

  "I didn't know that," I reply, wondering why she didn't tell me such a thing before.

  "Well, I can," she says, glancing at me briefly. "Where I come from, we have an advanced sense of smell. Your parents went this way, or they were taken this way. More or less, anyway. Their scent definitely leads from the river, up past the far hill and over toward the east. I'm pretty sure I know where they're headed, and most people take the long route that avoids going through this place, so we'll take a short-cut through all this superstitious crap and head them off."

  "And what is this place?" I ask, looking over at the vast stone buildings that rise up from the dusty ground, lined on all sides by great stone shelves.

  "Its historical name is Aga-Mor," Table replies, with a faint smile, "but in recent years, it's gained a more modern name. They call it the Valley of Dead Books."

  "Huh," I reply, feeling an instant jolt of unease.

  "Don't worry," Nodby says, his voice filled with uncertainty. "It's just a name."

  "Sure," I say, and for the first time on our journey I feel as if I'd rather not ask too many questions. After the hustle of the riverside earlier, it's strange to be in such a desolate and barren place. Despite my curiosity, I figure it'd be better not to ask about the whole 'dead books' thing; all I need to do is stick with Table and hope that she comes through on her promise to get me to my parents.

  Part Four

  The Tomb

  Thomas Never

  "Boy! Wake up!"

  Sitting up with a start, I find that I'm still in the same prison cell, lined on two sides by metal bars and on the other sides by bookshelves. I turn and see one of the Grandapam guards standing by the bars, and to my shock I realize that the gate has been unlocked and opened. For a fraction of a second, I allow myself to contemplate the impossible: that we've somehow, miraculously, been freed; maybe even that my parents have found me.

  "Come on," the guard says dourly. "You've got a visitor."

  I stare at him.

  "Did you hear me?" he continues. "You've got a visitor. Move!"

  I look over at Carstairs and see that he's sitting slumped at the far end of the cell, almost curled up into a ball on the floor. He's been like that for hours now, as if he's completely given up on ever finding a way out of this place. Frankly, it's hard to believe at the moment that he could be any use at all, so I slowly and achingly get to my feet before making my way to the cell door. My legs are aching af
ter a few hours' spent sleeping on the stone floor.

  "Visiting periods are limited," the guard says as I step out of the cell. "One hour, maximum."

  "I can't have a visitor," I mutter, still feeling pretty groggy after having been woken so abruptly. "I don't know anyone here."

  "Well someone knows you," the guard continues, slamming the door shut and locking it before grabbing me by the arm and leading me quickly along the aisle. "Someone's come and specifically requested to speak to you. Doesn't that make you feel special?"

  "Who?" I ask, not daring to hope that it might be my parents.

  "I don't know his name," the guard replies. "He's important, though. Whoever he is, he's known to the Marshal, and the Marshal only bothers to fraternize with people who actually matter."

  As the guard leads me along another aisle, I try to rack my brains and work out who might have come to visit. Since I arrived in the Library, I've only really met Carstairs and a couple of his acquaintances, and there's no way that the likes of Septimus Bomrag or Ana Kettle would ever come and track me down. The only logical explanation is that, somehow, a huge mistake has been made and the visitor is really here to see Carstairs himself. Still, I'm too tired and scared to argue, and I guess there's a chance that maybe I can get this visitor to plead for my freedom.

  Rounding the next corner, I see that the Grandapam Marshal is standing by his desk, deep in conversation with a dark, hooded figure. I can't make out the figure's face, but there's something about him that immediately strikes me as dangerous. It's almost as if he's radiating a sense of fear, and I slow down for a moment, only to be yanked forward by the guard.

  "Wait here," the guard says, finally letting go of my arm and marching over to the Marshal. They exchange words, and after a moment they head away, leaving the hooded figure standing by the desk.

  Silence.

  "Come closer," the figure says eventually, his voice sounding calm and authoritative.

  I pause, wondering whether it would be wise to obey. There's no-one and nothing holding me in place right now, and it's tempting to turn and run; however, something tells me that I wouldn't get very far.

  "It's okay," the figure continues, reaching up and slipping his hood down to reveal a normal-looking face. Well, normal-looking for the Library, anyway: there's nothing strange or monstrous about him, and he just looks like a middle-aged man with strikingly blue eyes and the kind of gaze that can freeze you in place. Still, a shiver passes through my body, almost as if the air around this new arrival is disturbed in some way.

  "I think there's been a mistake," I stammer. "I'm just -"

  "Thomas Never," he replies, interrupting me. "Son of Angela and Kevin Never, brother of Alice. Student at Middleyork Secondary School in the village of Stanby, a small settlement on the human world. Yes, I know who you are. Believe me, I don't make a habit of paying prison visits to complete strangers."

  I stare at him.

  "Fine," he says with a smile, walking slowly toward me. "I understand if you're a little wary. It must be very strange and disorientating for you, being in a place like this after spending all of your life so far in the company of humans. I can imagine that you're keen to get home."

  "I'm..." I start to say, before realizing that maybe I shouldn't tell him too much. "How do you know my name?" I ask.

  "I make it my business to know everything that happens to poor old Carstairs," he replies. "He's a very complicated man, Thomas, and while his heart is good and noble, his mind..." He pauses, as if he's trying to pick the right words. "Well, his mind has many cracks and dents, and sometimes his thoughts don't quite run together. He goes on flights of fancy. In some respects, he's something of a Walter Mitty or Colonel Blimp character, and unfortunately the fantasy world in his head is rarely matched by the reality of his abilities. What exactly has he told you about himself?"

  "That he's a magician," I reply cautiously.

  "Still banging that drum, is he?" the figure says with a smile. "Do you believe him?"

  I nod, even though I'm not sure that it's true.

  "Have you ever seen him perform magic?" he asks. "I know he talks a good game, but have you ever actually seen any evidence with your own two eyes?"

  "I've seen him try," I reply. "I've seen him do things that were... surprising."

  "And that's enough to make you believe his word?"

  "Why would he lie?" I ask.

  "You seem very credulous," he replies. "Tell me, are all humans the same way?"

  I take a deep breath, feeling as if this man has an answer for anything I might say.

  "I suppose this whole place seems magical to you," the man continues. "Humans are the only species in all the seven worlds that have no concept of the way reality is organized. I've visited your world once or twice, you know. Your libraries are small, roofed places. I'm sure the idea of a library that covers a whole world is rather... novel for you. Perhaps you're disorientated and a little bewildered, so it's understandable that you might not quite have got to grips yet with the way we do things around here." He pauses again. "Let's try another approach, Thomas. What has Carstairs told you about the Angel?"

  "Not much."

  "Nothing at all?"

  "Just that he doesn't want to go anywhere near it."

  "He doesn't any choice in the matter," the figure replies. "The Angel has been calling out for Carstairs since... Well, since the Angel was first able to call out for anything. As time goes by, he only becomes more desperate for Carstairs to pay a visit. Two whole religions have been established purely for this purpose, although neither has managed to get much further than some pilgrim trails and the establishment of some cock-eyed cathedrals. Eventually, the Angel decided to try another tactic and send someone else to see if they could change the wizard's mind."

  "Someone else?" I ask.

  "Allow me to introduce myself," he replies, smiling as he reaches out to shake my hand. "I'm the Emissary of the Angel. My life is devoted to the task of persuading Carstairs to go willingly and with as little fear as possible to the Angel's Heartland, where the Angel himself waits longingly. There's really nothing for anyone to worry about, though. They deserve to be reunited, and it need not be forever. The Angel just has a few things that it wishes to impart to Carstairs, and I'm afraid the job must be done in person."

  "I really don't think Carstairs wants to go and talk to that thing," I reply. "Is it really an angel?"

  "Have you never seen its image?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "The Angel rises above us all," the Emissary continues, "with its arms outstretched, hoping to welcome its flock to worship at its feet. It cries out for Carstairs, longing to be brought back to him, but of course Carstairs remains terrified. With good reason, perhaps, given the nature of their previous encounter." He pauses. "Sometimes I feel that Carstairs' whole sorry personality could be most easily explained by referring back to that incident when he leaped screaming and burning from the Angel's embrace. Still, the impasse must be resolved. Things cannot continue in this way and the Angel demands, if not a reconciliation, then at least a proper goodbye. You've seen Carstairs. His mental fortitude is terribly weakened and he can't keep running forever. He's a wreck of a man."

  "I think we've got a bigger problem right now," I reply.

  "I'm aware of that," the Emissary says with a faint smile, "and that's why I'm here to offer the pair of you a deal that will save your lives."

  Alice Never

  "The Valley of Dead Books," I mutter as we walk along the dusty, sun-scrubbed path that runs between rows of vast stone bookshelves. "What exactly is a dead book, anyway? How does a book die? I mean, they're not even alive in the first place, are they?"

  I wait for an answer.

  "Are they?" I add, a little uncertainly.

  "Pray you never find out," Table replies darkly, glancing back at me. "Let's just get through this place as quickly as possible."

  Sighing, I look over at a nearby shelf and
realize that, unlike all the others we've encountered in the past few days, this part of the Library seems to contain no books at all. There doesn't seem to be a single item anywhere, and instead the shelves lay bare and empty. Ominously, however, large holes have been dug in the ground, and it's not hard to imagine that this place is some kind of resting place. Still, a dead book sounds fairly un-terrifying, like something you'd find at a charity shop.

  "Isn't a book just a dead tree anyway?" I ask.

  "Keep your voice down," Nodby hisses, scurrying along next to me. "Don't mock them."

  "Mock the books?" I reply, raising an eyebrow. Since I arrived in the Library a couple of days ago, I've seen some pretty strange things, but angry dead books seem like a step too far. "What are they going to do?" I add. "Give me paper cuts?"

  "Do you understand the Valley of Dead Books?" Nodby asks.

  "No, but -"

  "And do you know the history of this place?"

  "No, but I -"

  "And have you, perchance, heard any of the stories that are told across the land?"

  I sigh as I realize where's he's going with this line of questioning.

  "Then take the advice of someone who does understand the valley and its history," he says firmly. "I've heard tales about people who passed this way and were never seen again, or if they were seen again, their forms had been torn apart and horrifically altered. Death and life are two sides of the same coin, and you'd be wise to remember that fact next time you believe that a dead thing can't cause you any harm. The best approach when passing through Aga-Mor is to just keep your head down, walk as quickly as possible, and hope that you don't attract too much attention."

  "From the dead books?" I reply, still finding it hard to take the whole idea too seriously.

  "Or their guardians," he mutters. "The dead librarians."

  "Everything dies eventually," Table says from up ahead of us. "Every person, every book, every atom. Nothing lasts forever, and dead things need to have a place to go. That's what this place is all about. Put the dead things together, and hope that they don't come back and bother the living." She pauses. "Haven't you noticed how dry it is out here, Alice? The river can't reach into this valley, so nothing can thrive. It rarely rains around here, and when it does, the water quickly seeps down into underwater channels and gets carried away."