by Amy Cross
"Be my guest," I say darkly. "The last time I saw her, she was heading out across the desert."
"She's here," he replies quickly. "She's in Papyr, although she's not doing too well. From what I hear, she's living under the bridges, scavenging for food and making her way as a petty thief. She's a wily young thing, Alice, and she's slipped through my fingers one time too many. That's why, rather than just going and trying to take her by force, I feel that a more subtle approach might be useful."
"There's nothing I can do to help you," I tell him.
"Isn't there?" He pauses again. "I'm afraid I brought you here under false pretenses, Alice. I have no intention of eating you or turning you over to a chef. Instead, I wish to offer you a deal. Your parents are safe, and although I don't have them here, I know exactly where they're headed and what will happen to them when they get there. You still have time to save them, and if I tell you which way to go, it should be only the work of a moment for you to catch up to them and have a happy little family reunion. Everything you want, delivered on a plate." He pauses. "I suppose that was a poor choice of words. You know what I mean, though."
"Are they okay?" I ask, stunned to finally get some news on their condition.
"They're remarkably unharmed," he says with a smile. "It seems they were guided through the Library by some Ceriphs. You might have seen them before. They're small, round little things -"
"I've seen them," I reply, keen to get moving, "but you have to help me find them. My parents -"
"I want the girl who goes by the name of Table," he says firmly. "It's not her real name, of course, but it'll do for now and I know you understand who I'm talking about. I won't rest until I've got my hands on her again."
"Then go and get her."
"No," he replies quickly. "I need you to fetch her. Bring her to me, and I'll send you on your way to find your parents. The girl is wary, and I need her to relax and let her guard down, if only for a few seconds. I'm not asking you to go on a great quest, Alice. You've already traveled so far and overcome such great hardships. You're so close to your goal, and it would be a terrible shame if you were to falter when your parents are so very close at hand. For their sake, I dearly hope that you'll be able to see that this is your only choice."
"And what will you do with her?" I ask.
"That's my business," he adds, with a glint in his eye. "She betrayed you, did she not? It's my understanding that she left you for dead out in the desert, in which case you owe her nothing. Give her to me, and then forget all about her while you're reunited with your family. She's part of this world, not yours. Once you've gone home, you can forget about her. You can forget about all of this."
"What do you mean?" I reply. "I can't give her to you. She's not mine to give."
"But she trusts you," he continues, "and that's worth all the armies in the world. She's the only person whose soul has ever regrown after I stripped it away, and I need to get my hands on her again. It'll happen eventually, but the whole process would be easier and less harrowing for all concerned if you'd just help out. Besides, if you want to find your parents, this is the only way. They're nearly at the horizon, and once they reach that point, you can never get them back. They'll vanish in the blink of an eye as the sun rises."
"Where are they being taken?" I ask, starting to panic. "What's going to happen to them?"
"The Ceriphs will take them through the horizon gate," he replies, "and that will be the last time they're seen in this world. Trust me, human; you don't want to end up chasing your parents from world to world. The Library might seem like a strange and even violent place compared to your home, but there other worlds that pose far greater dangers. Are you really prepared to travel to the home of the Drazi or the Grandapams, or even the Forbidders? Are you brave enough to look for your parents in the empty halls of Gothos and Sangreth? Do you even know what kind of creatures are waiting in the Underworld? And what if your parents end up in the void, or worse... There are rumors of an eighth world, drifting through the void itself. Even I don't know what darkness lives there, but I doubt that you or your parents would last for long. You can save them, but your options are running out fast."
"Please," I reply, hoping to appeal to his better nature. "Just help me catch up to them. You won't gain anything by keeping me here. Look at me! I'm nothing!"
"You have a soul," he replies, narrowing his eyes. "If nothing else, I could strip it from your body and then hold you in a dungeon for centuries, to see if you, like Table, have the gift of regrowing your strength. Perhaps you should be grateful that I view you as a potential ally rather than as a meal."
"I'm just looking for my parents," I reply, taking a step back. "I didn't ask to come to this place. Neither did they. We just want to get out of here!"
"You know what I want," he says firmly. "Fetch Table for me, or you, and your parents, and your brother, will be lost in the Library forever." As he speaks those words, there's an ominous rumble of thunder overhead. "The Angel really is angry tonight," he adds with a smile that suggests he already knows what's happening. "I wonder what could have riled him this time?"
Thomas Never
Once we reach the other side of Papyr and emerge into the gathering darkness of another night, Carstairs becomes much quieter than before. It's clear that he's worried about our journey to see the Angel, and although he makes one or two small comments that seem designed to ease the tension, the fear in his voice is palpable. I keep expecting him to suddenly change his mind and announce that he's come up with some other, more promising plan, but he continues to lead the way down with all the grim apprehension of a man walking toward his execution.
"It's so quiet," I say as we walk along an empty aisle. Even the books in this part of the Library seem duller and less vibrant, and it's as if a kind of stillness has descended upon the land. Moments later, however, there's a rumble of thunder overhead, and it's clear that there's a storm gathering.
"The influence of the Angel grows stronger with every step we take," Carstairs replies, forcing a faint smile. "We're human, so we don't feel it quite so much, but for most inhabitants of the Library, the air around here is almost unbearable. Apart from the steady stream of pilgrims, these aisles are usually complete deserted. Tonight, even the pilgrims seem to know to keep away."
"Does he know we're coming?" I ask.
"I imagine he's known for a long time," Carstairs replies. "Probably since before I knew. The Angel is said to have certain abilities when it comes to seeing into the future, Thomas. He can't see far, but he can see what's going to happen over the next few days, or at least what might happen. There are lots of theories about how his mind works, of course, but no-one really knows the truth. Either way, I'm sure he's prepared. He's had a long time to get ready for this moment, and I'm certain he'll know exactly what he wants to say to me."
"Are you scared?"
"Me?"
I wait for an answer.
"Never," he adds with a faint smile. "Why, are you scared?"
"No," I lie. "I'm brave."
"You can only be brave if you're also scared," he replies. "If you're not scared, then what you're doing isn't brave at all."
"Then I'm..." I pause for a moment as there's another rumble of thunder overhead.
"It's okay," Carstairs adds. "You don't need to say it."
"And you think the Angel's got my parents?" I continue, keen to steer the subject onto a new course. "Would he really use them as bait?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he says, patting my shoulder. "In a way, though, it'd be better if the Angel is mixed up in this whole mess. At least that way, we'd have a better chance of fixing everything fairly quickly. I'm quite sure the Angel will be happy to let us know what he wants, and then it's just up to us to decide whether or not -"
He stops speaking suddenly, and it takes me a moment to realize that there's a figure hurrying toward us from the far end of the aisle. For a moment, I'm worried that it might be another
Grandapam, but as the figure gets closer, I realize that it's an old, disheveled man who keeps glancing over his shoulder, almost as if he's running from something. In fact, the man is so focused on looking over his shoulder, he trips over an exposed root and crashes to the ground, before scrambling back up and racing toward us.
"Turn back!" the man shouts as he almost slams into Carstairs. Steadying himself, he starts trying to push us back the way we came, but we stand our ground. "Listen to me," he continues, speaking so fast that the words almost run into one another. "Now's not a good time for a pilgrimage! Save your offerings and come back in a few months when the Angel's not so dangerous! People are dying back there! He's playing with their corpses!"
"We're not pilgrims," Carstairs replies, pushing the man away. "What's wrong? What's happening?"
"I've never seen anything like it," the man continues, clearly terrified. "The Angel's angry. Angrier than ever. So much rage, raining down on anyone who goes near."
"What do you mean?" Carstairs asks. "What's it doing?"
"Shouting," the old man replies, his eyes wide with fear. "The Angel's always had a habit of being a little noisy, but this is something different. It shouts and screams all day and all night, as if it's trying to twist itself free from its own wings. It's a terrible thing to hear. Some people even claim to have seen strange lights coming from the Angel himself, as if he's burning in an eternal night. It's as if the Angel is in torment. When he's not screaming, he drags one of the dead pilgrims closer and starts pulling threads of meat from their carcasses, almost as if he's bored."
"When did this start?" Carstairs asks.
"Yesterday," the man explains. "It was such a sudden change, everyone noticed it. The priests went to offer more signs of our faith, but they were..." He pauses, as if the memory is too horrific to contemplate. "The Angel rejected them. All these years, our offerings have at least been tolerated, but this time the Angel swiped them away. Two of the priests were able to get clear, but one of them... No-one's brave enough to go and collect his body. It's as if the Angel suddenly feels angered by our worship. They're talking about moving the church back by an aisle or two, just for a little extra safety in case..."
"In case what?" Carstairs asks impatiently.
The man opens his mouth to reply, but he seems momentarily unable to speak.
"In case what?" Carstairs shouts, grabbing the man's throat and slamming him against the nearby shelf with unprecedented ferocity. "Tell me!"
"It's forbidden to speak of the end-times!" the man stutters.
"Who forbids it?" Carstairs shouts.
"You're hurting him," I point out, tugging on Carstairs' sleeve. "Let him breathe!"
"Who forbids it?" he shouts again, ignoring my plea for him to show a little mercy.
"The Angel has always made it clear that he dislikes any talk of the future," the man gasps. "Please! I can't breathe! The Angel would strike me down if I went against his wishes!"
"The Angel forbids talk of it," Carstairs says firmly, squeezing the man's throat even tighter, "and I forbid silence on the matter. Since I'm the one who has his hands around your neck, I think maybe you should tell me what the hell you're talking about! Right now, I'm angrier and closer than any god you worship, so I think it's my anger you need to worry about, not his!"
"Please..." the man gasps.
"Tell me!" Carstairs shouts.
"The Angel... waits for someone..." the man splutters. "That's all we know! I swear! The ancient texts all speak of the Angel's long, lonely wait for someone to return. Someone who was there at the beginning, and who must be there at the end. Our scholars have tried to interpret these words in so many different ways, but no-one can truly understand the Angel's fury. Only the chosen one, the one who must return, can ever know what the Angel really wants."
Loosening his grip, Carstairs finally lets go of the man's throat and takes a step back. There's a look of shock in his eyes, almost as if he's surprised by his own anger.
"I hope to God I'm wrong," the man continues, "but the Angel's anger is unprecedented. No-one knows what he wants -"
"I know," Carstairs says darkly.
"Then give it to him," the man replies, before turning and running along the aisle.
We stand in silence for a moment.
"I'm sorry," Carstairs says eventually, turning to me. "I shouldn't have acted like that, but sometimes these people are just so slow to tell you what's happening. They're all so superstitious and scared, they take forever to get a few words out. It's not their fault; they're very primitive, most of them, and they've been cowed into fear and submission by this damn thing." He pauses. "The Angel has ruled this part of the Library for too long, Thomas. Something needs to change."
"You wouldn't really have killed him, would you?" I ask, stunned by this new side to Carstairs. "I mean, if he hadn't told you about the Angel, you wouldn't have actually..."
He turns to me, and I can see the anger in his eyes.
"Of course not," he says finally, as the anger seems to blink away. "I'm a soldier, Thomas. I was trained in the best army the world has ever seen, but I also have a sense of honor. I just become frustrated sometimes, but I'd never step over that line and kill an innocent man." He pauses. "I've killed a lot of people over the years, but only ever the enemy. Germans, mainly, during the war. I've never killed a non-combatant, though, and I've never killed out of anger. Only duty."
"What did he mean by the end-times?" I ask, as the sky above us begins to rumble with a hint of more thunder. Looking up, I realize that the darkening clouds seem to be twisting and turning around some point in the distance. "Is that the Angel?" I continue, convinced that I can feel the ground starting to tremble. "Is this what the man meant when he said the Angel was angry?"
"There's only one way to find out," Carstairs says, staring along the aisle. "I suppose I should have warned you sooner, Thomas, but this isn't going to be easy or pleasant. I can't promise that I'll be able to satisfy the Angel, and if his anger boils over..."
"It's okay," I say after a moment, realizing what a huge sacrifice he's making by agreeing to go and face something that has cast its shadow over him for so long. Although I'm scared, there's no way I want to let my fear show, so I take a deep breath and try to remind myself that no matter how terrified I might be, my parents are probably in a worse position right now. They need me, and the only way I can help them is by following Carstairs and joining him when he confronts the Angel.
"Come on," Carstairs says after a moment, starting to walk along the aisle. "There's no point putting this off any longer. We'll only make the Angel angrier."
As I set off after him, I can't help but look up at the sky. I swear to God, it's as if the Angel is trying to make us scared of him, and I can't help but worry that we might be taking a huge risk. If my parents aren't with the Angel, then there's a chance that we're walking straight to our deaths.
Alice Never
It's not hard to find her. She's down by the water's edge, just as the Emissary promised, and she's all alone. Sitting under a bridge, her silhouette barely visible against the darkening storm-clouds in the distance, she's chewing meat off a bone. There's something almost animalistic about her, and yet I still recognize her profile.
"Hey!" I call out as I make my way across the garbage-strewn riverbank. "Table! It's me!"
She stops and turns to me, and finally I see her eyes in the moonlight. For a moment, she looks scared and angry, as if she might attack me, but after a couple of seconds there's a hint of recognition in her expression.
"Surprised?" I add cautiously as I reach her.
"Kind of," she says cautiously. "I've never met a ghost before."
"I made it out of the desert," I tell her.
"How'd you do that?" she asks. "Fly?"
"Actually, one of those grave-robbers found me and dragged me here," I reply. "Nodby wasn't so lucky. You left him to fry out there."
"Correction," she replies. "I left you
both to fry out there." She takes another bite of meat from the bone, but her eyes are firmly fixed on me, as if she thinks I might try to hurt her at any moment.
"I didn't realize you were coming to the city," I say eventually, hoping to keep the conversation going.
"I couldn't stay with you," she replies defensively. "You were holding me back."
"I'm not here to pick over the past," I tell her.
"So a grave-robber found you," she replies. "And then what? He brought you here and just set you free?"
"I escaped," I reply, figuring that I need to lie a little.
"You?" she replies incredulously. "No way. Come on, what really happened?"
"I escaped," I say again. "Is it really that hard to believe?"
"Totally," she says with a grin. "No offense, Alice, but you're a human. A naive, weak human. The idea of someone like you escaping from, well, pretty much anywhere... Let's just say it all sounds kind of unlikely." She pauses again. "Anyway, even if I accept that you somehow managed to sneak away from a particularly incompetent new owner, what the hell are you doing down here? The only people who hang out in this part of the city are the complete losers who've got nowhere else to be. This is the gutter of Papyr. Hell, it's the gutter of the whole Library."
"I have a room," I reply, having come up with this cover story earlier.
"A room?"
I nod.
"You hired a room?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Where'd you get the money?"
"I begged on the street."
She narrows her eyes again, and it's clear that she doesn't believe me. She's got that same old air of superiority about her, and I swear that right now I just want to go over and wring her neck; after all, she left me out in the desert to die, and poor Nodby didn't manage to escape. Sure, Table helped me for a while, but ultimately she seems to only look out for herself, and I figure I owe her some disloyalty. I have to stay calm, though; I have to focus on the endgame, which is the search for my parents. Nothing else matters.
