by S.B. Davies
‘We will talk about this later.’ said Dave, ‘Any road, so the lad gets a library card then?’
‘Oh yes, Mr Trellis indubitably yes.’
‘Well then Fergus, you better thank the mutt. Shake hands.’
Fergus started to reach out his hand.
‘No, not like that you idiot, want to lose a finger? Get down on all fours.’
Fergus got down on his hands and knees and the dog lunged forward and banged its head into Fergus’s forehead. It hurt, but Fergus had the foresight not make a sound. The dog gave a short, happy bark.
‘Indeed, all square, debt paid,’ said Dave.
‘But there is more Mr Trellis. This arrived at the library yesterday.’
The librarian waved his hand and a small screen appeared, he pressed something and foot high, bright blue letters appeared.
INSTRUCTION – GIVE FERGUS LOAF ACCESS TO THE LIBRARY.
‘It is not so unusual for the Murgatroyd to give a reference, but it means that every representative group of off-world visitors has given Mr Loaf a reference. This means that I am empowered to offer Mr Loaf a full library card.
The first human to be so honoured since Mortimore the Great. ‘Blessed be the sofa’’ said the librarian and beamed at Fergus.
‘Erm, thank you,’ said Fergus, who didn’t quite see why such a fuss; after all it was just a library card.
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Dave, ‘I thought I had a full library card?’
‘Indeed Mr Trellis, it is a full library card for this branch. But it’s what we librarians refer to as a local card. A full library card gives full access to any branch anywhere. Mr Loaf could even visit … The Head Branch.’ There was awe in his voice.
‘Right, well that’s grand, can we get on with it?’ said Dave, who sounded a bit miffed.
‘He can even… Take out books,’ said the librarian in a voice that verged on the incredulous.
Even Dave looked surprised.
‘Take out books? Hold hard a bloody minute,’ said Dave, now positively annoyed, ‘I have begged you in the past to let me take out books or even just copy passages. But you flatly refused.’
‘Local card Mr Trellis, local card. If you wish to complain, please do so through the proper channels.’
Dave glared at the librarian, who ignored him.
‘Any way, can we finally get on with it,’ said Dave.
‘Yes of course,’ said the librarian, business like once more, ‘if you could step over to this end of the counter Mr Loaf.’
Fergus moved down the counter to where the librarian pointed.
‘This won’t take a moment, but it is important that you stand very still. Please ignore the lights they are just for calibration and positioning. If you are ready Mr Loaf?’
Fergus nodded.
‘Very still now,’ said the librarian, who waved his hand and a glowing green button appeared, he pressed it, ‘And begin.’
Fergus could see some flickering lights for a moment; he felt a sharp prick in his forehead and pressure behind his eyes. Then the pain began. Huge waves of screaming agony struck Fergus like an axe in the forehead. It hurt so much he could only whimper and sink to his knees.
‘Come on lad, it doesn’t hurt that much,’ said Dave.
‘On the contrary Mr Trellis the scan required for a full library card is reported to be extremely painful to humans. Not designed for us really; not like the local card.’
Fergus fell on his back and went rigid. He let out a long, piecing yell. Dave looked down, concern written on his face.
‘Why didn’t you warn him?’
‘It’s so much simpler this way. Anyway it will all be over in a moment.’
Suddenly Fergus relaxed and lay on the ground sweating.
‘Are you alright lad?’
‘Been better,’ said Fergus, taking deep breaths, ‘Something has happened to my vision, I can see coloured lines in the air.’
‘That will all settle down shortly Mr Loaf. It is the Library adjusting your perception. It will enable you to see things that the Library hides from mere local card holders.’
‘Oh bloody marvellous,’ said Dave, ‘Now he gets to see all the hidden places as well.’
‘Whatever,’ said Fergus, who was past caring. He lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling. Then there was a dog’s face directly above him. It looked directly into his eyes. For a moment Fergus though he saw sympathy in the dog’s expression.
It growled something.
‘Get on your feet you big drama queen. Get over it, we’re busy,’ said Dave.
‘What was that?’ asked Fergus clambering to his feet and holding on to the edge of the counter.
‘Just translating for you lad.’
‘Mr Loaf, may I just say welcome to the library,’ said the librarian and bowed deeply.
‘Thank you’, said Fergus. In his present state of mind he was not sure he meant it, things had become a little weird, all he wanted to do was sit down and let it all wash over him.
A dog trotted through the archway. It was strong, powerful, and female. The dog beside Dave trotted over and together they walked towards a panelled wall, through which they disappeared.
Fergus saw yellow lines on the panelled wall. He assumed this was more ‘Library vision’.
‘Dave, I can see an outline of an doorway on that wall.’
‘Don’t rub it in, lad, I can see nowt. I don’t get access to the visitor’s wing.’
‘Oh sorry,’ said Fergus, ‘But you know, I no longer think of all this as odd.’
‘Well, this here is the oddest place I know of, so your sense of wonder may yet return,’ said Dave, ‘Come on, I’ll take you as far as the Junior reading room.’
Dave nodded towards the librarian.
‘Good day Librarian.’
‘Good day to you Mr Trellis, I hope your search is successful. It would be a great shame to lose the allotments.’
‘So you know?’
‘We keep an eye on things Mr Trellis.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Fergus.
‘I am sure we shall see you again soon Mr Loaf, good luck in the library.’
Dave guided Fergus towards the stairs.
‘So Dave, what’s all this about Mortimore the Great?’
‘Blessed be the sofa.’ muttered Dave.
‘What?
‘Use your full library card and look him up, why don’t you?’
Chapter Seven
There are 47 rules of success and every one of them involves keeping your mouth shut.
Dave Trellis
One Life, One Woman, One Shed
At the top of the stairs a long gallery stretched out in both directions. Tall Georgian windows looked out over London and they walked past bookshelves and portraits, heading for the junior reading room.
‘My wonder returns,’ said Fergus, ‘this is magnificent, but how can it be here? There’s no tall building near the library and certainly none as big as this.’
‘It’s one of those engineering as magic things,’ said Dave, ‘Just enjoy it.’
‘We must be 20 floors up,’ said Fergus.
‘Not only that lad, look at the sun. It’s late afternoon out there.’ Dave grinned at Fergus’s surprise, ‘This here is one of the seven hidden wonders of the world.’
‘What are you talking about; I’ve never heard of them.’
‘They’re not called the seven blindingly obvious wonders are they? There are the catacombs of course and the M7, more rightly the Causeway. Then there’s here and the Workshops, which are supposed to be in Australia somewhere and the Ship, buggered if I know where that is. And Avalon.’
‘Avalon? The last resting place of King Arthur?’
‘Aye lad, you can get there via the M7, but you wouldn’t like it. Full of twee boutiques and quaint teashops with names like ‘Ye Rounde Table’ or ‘Ye Knight Inne’. You can explore another day, we’re on
a mission.’
‘Fine by me Dave, but why then am I going to the Junior Reading room. It doesn’t sound like I’ll find anything useful there,’ said Fergus.
‘It has a selection of books that attract the attention of novice members. Saves you tromping miles through these here galleries. With what’s on offer will you be able to concentrate on Druidic texts from the first century AD? Especially as you can’t read Ogham.’
‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I just feel I’m letting the side down a bit.’
‘Don’t worry about that. We’re here for just one book and this time the Library may let me find it.’
‘Oh right. What book’s that?’ asked Fergus.
‘Coleridge’s notebook, the one he made when he explored the catacombs. He went deeper and further than anyone I know. I’ve been looking for it for years. It could help us survive in the darker depths. What about you, what are looking for?’ asked Dave.
‘Who killed Marylyn Munroe, who shot JFK, what really happened at Tunguska, all that ‘Area 51’ sort of thing.’
‘Aye well, you may want to look up why the French abandoned the BEF at Mons and what really happened during the Cuban Missile Crisis. It may erode some of the youthful naivety. But anyway, all that sort of stuff will be in the Junior Reading room, so it’s a good place to start. Me, I’m heading for the Stacks to look in the very first place I did all those years ago. I reckon it’ll be sitting there, in the correct place, where previously was just a suspicious gap. I think they hid the notebook in the visitor’s wing.’
‘Who hid it?’
‘The dogs. They didn’t want some clever human stumbling upon the secrets of the catacombs and ruining our happy little community. And the Library let them do it. It’s all politics and power, and the dogs have serious clout; you don’t get to hang around the galaxy’s leading political figures without storing up some useful information. Part of the reason many of them end up here; dead dogs tell no tales.’
‘Here we are,’ said Dave and opened a large panelled door.
Inside the huge room, lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, were sofas, tables, benches and a small kitchen off to one side, fully equipped with coffee machine, fridge, sink and a microwave.
Dave stood silently staring into the distance.
‘Are you all right Dave?’ asked Fergus.
‘I brought Abbey here on her eighteenth birthday. The dogs arranged it. They always had a soft spot for her; they let her stroke them and ruffle their heads, like she had since she was a youngster and thought they were just normal dogs. She was here for twelve hours solid and afterwards cried her eyes out for a whole night.’
Dave threw his arms out.
‘Here is the true nature of humanity, unadorned by glamour or mealy mouthed historians. The raw, naked truth. It isn’t pretty lad, but this is what we are. Learn from it; learn why Machiavelli said ‘put not your faith in princes’; why Mortimore said ’90% of everything is crap’ and Ford said ‘history is bunk’. When you’re done, don’t expect to cry on my shoulder, It may the 21st century, but you’re still a bloke.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Fergus.
‘I hope so lad, you may think me a cynical old fart, but once you understand how the world works you’ll realise I am an optimistic, happy-go-lucky chap, and sensitive too, don’t forget that. There’s a book called ‘The True History of the Last Hundred Years’ I suggest you start there. Read it and weep.’
‘It doesn’t sound like a whole lot of laughs Dave.’
‘Oh it is lad, it is. Once you realise that comedy is just tragedy plus timing.’
‘I’ll try it, but I don’t think I’m that naïve.’
‘Well, you’re a better man than me Fergus Loaf. I must get going; it’s a long walk to the Stacks. I’ll be back in about six hours. We can get some kip and be on our way handy in morning.’
‘It would be nice to get a bite to eat and a couple of beers later.’
‘Don’t worry on that score lad and you’ll need a few beers after six hours in here. I’ll see you later. Good luck.’
Fergus looked around the room. On the table was a well-thumbed pamphlet ‘A Guide to the Library’. It had a foldout map, which he ripped out and put in his pocket.
The book Dave mentioned was in a section labelled ‘Start Here’. He found a chapter titled “The Assassination of John F Kennedy” and started to read.
Dave was having difficulties; he could not go where he wanted. He went down a staircase and ended up on the same floor. He tried door after door, walked down long empty corridors and wide sunlight galleries and ended up back where he started. He needed guidance and there was one way to get it; rules be damned.
He walked over to the nearest bookcase and re-arranged the books. Some he turned some upside down, others he just moved around. Finally Dave took a book from the shelf and placed it in the middle of the floor. He hid in a doorway and waited; it wouldn’t be long.
Soon Dave heard a rattling noise; he peeked out to see a tall cylindrical metal bin with a domed top, lurch awkwardly down the hall. It had two mechanical arms with crude pincers on the end and a strange arrangement of lenses, lights, and grills on top. It moved on castors that made the rattling sound as it moved over the floorboards.
The mechanical bin reached down and tried to pick up the book. After the third clumsy attempt, the book flipped out of the pincers and landed a few feet away. The bin rocked, shivered and started making a banging sound. A small door in the back flew open and a small figure fell out. It looked like a small, dark haystack made of coarse hair, out of which stuck a huge nose, two wide hairy feet, and two big hands. It bounced up and down a few times and gave the bin a vicious kick. It bounced around some more clutching its foot.
The creature was about three foot short, plump with big shoulders and arms. It reached down, picked up the book, and examined it carefully. It stroked the book with long, strong fingers and replaced it in the bookshelf. The creature stepped back and muttered something, then put its hands to its head and gave a squeak. It hopped forward and arranged the books correctly. Again it stepped back and examined the bookshelf. It seemed satisfied.
Dave was glad the Noggin hadn’t damaged the book; he could do without the drama.
‘Hello little fellah,’ said Dave and stepped out of the doorway.
The Noggin jumped back, squeaked, put its hands to its head, and pulled its hair.
Dave held out his notebook right in front of the startled creature.
The Noggin looked at the note. Written in large letters was:
‘I cannot see you’.
It stared at Dave and flapped its hands at him. Dave turned the page.
‘Please take me to the Stacks’.
The Noggin shook its head and walked off, dragging the bin after it. Dave followed, then stepped in front of the Noggin. He held out the third page out. It said in large letters:
‘Via the stairs’.
The Noggin shook its head again and marched off. Dave followed. He knew most Noggin mannerisms, but the last shake of the head seemed a little off-hand. They walked down galleries and through rooms, eventually passing through a door signed ‘Stores’ into a large closet. With a sinking feeling Dave saw what was on the far wall.
‘No, no, no. Via the stairs,’ said Dave. He knew the Noggin didn’t speak English, but Dave was starting to worry.
The Noggin sniffed, flapped its hands, and disappeared down the large, brass funnel let into the wall. It was five foot across, curving gently inwards to a wide tube at the bottom. Long use had polished it to deep gold. There was a wide handle above the tube, conveniently placed to grab on to and climb into the tube.
‘Bugger,’ said Dave and pulled the next mat off the pile, placed it at the top of the funnel, climb in and sat on it. Ahead of him the funnel ended in a dark tube about three feet across.
‘I really hate this,’
muttered Dave and pushed himself forwards.
After thirty seconds of high-speed terror, Dave shot out into a dim room and careered into the opposite wall. It was like doing the Cresta run on a tea tray in the dark. He glowered at the Noggin, which seemed pleased with its self.
‘Yes, very clever, make the bigun look like an idiot.’
The Noggin shook its head and held out its hand. Dave passed the notebook and it scrawled across the page.
‘What want.’
Dave wrote ‘The notebook of Samuel Coleridge about the Huddersfield catacombs’ and passed it back.
The Noggin peered at the notebook and scratched its armpit. It looked up at Dave, shook its head, flapped its hands, and headed out of the door. Dave followed.
‘Well, thanks for the help,’ said Dave as he and the Noggin looked at the empty gap in the bookshelf. The Noggin nodded and leaned forward. It took a long sniff and then pulled at its ears for a while.
It flapped its hands at Dave and set off. Dave followed and this time the Noggin seemed to know exactly where it was going; not one sniff.
Once again, stood in front of a large brass funnel set into the wall, Dave tried to assert himself.
‘No bloody way. We use the stairs.’
The Noggin gently took the notebook from Dave’s hand and wrote.
‘Only way publishing’
Dave, intrigued by the opportunity to see behind the scenes at the Library, took a mat and with reluctance, set off after the Noggin. This time the tea tray toboggan run lasted much longer before Dave careered into the light. He sat on a mat in a large circular room with a low ceiling and ten or so tube exits set into the walls. Dave added his mat to the huge stack in the middle of the room and followed the Noggin. As they left the room, the Noggin grabbed Dave’s hand.
The corridor was a bustling mass of busy Noggins. Dave knew they looked after the books in the Library, but he had no idea there were so many. He waded his way through the three-foot high flood of animated hair, guided by a hand that reached up out of the crowd. Soon the crowd diminished then disappeared, until he and the Noggin stood alone in the long corridor. The Noggin reached up, took the notebook, and wrote.
‘Shift change. Go publishing’.
Dave followed down a side corridor and through double swing doors into a bright factory floor filled with machines and slowly moving conveyer belts. All sorts of books carried along by the belts that disappeared into holes in the wall. There was a quiet background hum and a chemical smell. They walked between the machines, climbed stairs and along catwalks until they reached a large padded door in a quiet corner of the huge room. The Noggin put its hands over it ears and nodded its head. Dave shook his head and the Noggin opened the door.
