by Amy Cross
“Let go of him!” I yell, grabbing the mop and then using it to hit his shoulder.
As a small crowd gathers to watch, the creature turns to me and snarls, revealing huge, sharp teeth. I swallow hard, but I guess I'm in pretty deep now and I can't back down. I look around for Cromer, hoping that he can come and help, and then I take a step back as the creature lets go of Christian and comes stumbling toward me.
“Don't come any closer!” I gasp, swinging the mop somewhat helplessly as I back away. “I'm warning you!”
“Oh yeah?” the creature replies. “And what exactly are you gonna do? Tickle me to death?”
He reaches out to grab me, and I instinctively hit his arm with the mop. He pulls away, but I don't think he's in that much pain, and after a moment he starts chuckling.
“I mean it!” I say firmly, figuring that my only way out of this situation is to bluff. “We'll get back to work, because that's what we promised to do, but you're gonna leave us alone! Is that clear?”
“Clear?” The creature pauses for a moment, as Christian struggles to his feet. “I'll tell you what's clear. What's clear is that in the next sixty seconds, the pair of you are gonna be overboard.” Suddenly he rushes at me, and I swing the mop too late. He pulls the handle out of my hands and throws it aside, and then he grabs me by my throat and lifts me up. “I told them it was a mistake to let the pair of you on-board!” he roars. “Now you're gonna -”
“Stop this at once!” a voice calls out, and I turn to see one of the higher-ranking crew-members marching toward us. “Gall, you'll put that human down immediately, or you'll be going into the brig, is that understood?”
Gall stares at me for a moment before releasing his grip, sending me slithering down onto the deck.
“Well, this is a good start,” the other man says, putting his hands on his hips. “Gall, I suggest that you get back to work.”
“Of course, Mr. Troppelcade,” Gall groans, casting a furious glance at me before turning and storming off. He shoulder-barges Christian in the process, and then he continues muttering as he wanders out of sight behind one of the masts.
“I want this deck clean by nightfall,” Mr. Troppelcade says, before turning to me. “You're the human, aren't you?”
“Yes,” I reply, “but that doesn't mean -”
“Come with me.”
I pause for a moment.
“Why?” I ask finally.
“Why do you think?” he replies. “Captain Obslath himself requests the pleasure of your company.”
***
The boat pitches and tilts as I reach the bottom of the steps, and I reach out to steady myself. I definitely haven't got my sea legs yet, although at least I'm not throwing up. I look along the corridor and see the door to Captain Obslath's cabin at the far end, and I hesitate for a moment as I try to work out what he wants with me. I mean, I'm no-one. As far as I'm concerned, we were supposed to be keeping our heads down during this journey.
“Keep going,” Mr. Troppelcade says, and I turn to see him staring down at me from the top of the steps. “He's waiting for you.”
“Are you sure he meant for me to go alone?” I ask.
“He was quite insistent.”
“Okay, but...” I hesitate, and I can feel real fear in my chest. “Am I in trouble?”
“Are you in trouble?”
“If he's going to keelhaul me or make me walk the plank, or something like that, I'd really rather know now.”
“He told me to send for you,” he replies archly, “and that's all I can say. Captain Obslath's intentions are his own business, and you'd do well to remember that, rather than trying to second guess him.”
“Right,” I mutter, turning and looking toward the distant door again. “I can do this. I haven't done anything wrong. He just wants to talk.”
I take a moment to pull myself together, and then I start walking along the corridor. I'm sure the boat is moving around a lot more now, enough for me to bump against the walls on either side a few times, but finally I reach the door and take a deep breath. The whole boat is creaking all around me, almost as if the timbers themselves are trying to warn me that I should turn back. I hesitate for a few more seconds, and then I reach out and knock as loudly as I dare.
“Enter!” a voice booms from the other side of the door.
I turn the handle and the door starts to swing open, revealing a long room with a desk at the far end. A man is sitting at the desk, although it's hard to make out any of his features since he's silhouetted against a large lattice-framed window. The boat tilts again, causing more creaking, and then the man looks toward me.
“Come in, then,” he says calmly. “Please, I don't have all day. We'll be hitting the Perpetual Storm soon enough, and that's always quite a wild ride.”
I take a step forward.
“And shut the door,” he adds. “We want a little privacy in here, don't we?”
I do as I'm told, and then I start making my way across the room. This section of the boat is much nicer than all the other parts I've seen so far, with paintings on the wall and even a bookshelf nearby. To be honest, it's something of a shock to see a normal-looking bookshelf after having been surrounded by the damn things over the past few days, and I can't help wandering over to take a closer look at what turns out to be a collection of classic English literature. Captain Obslath has everything here from Dickens and Austen to Bronte and Thackeray. Strangely, the sight of these books makes home feel further away than ever.
“Impressed?” he asks.
I turn to him, and now I can see his features properly. He's older than I expected, maybe in his sixties or even seventies, and he has a kind face that looks totally human save for a large yellow beak.
“One of the problems with this place,” he explains, getting to his feet, “is that while it contains a copy of every book in all of existence, it only contains one copy of each. So what you're looking at over there is actually a one-of-a-kind collection. Believe me, I feel more than a little guilty for keeping them in here, but I honestly think I'd lose my mind otherwise. I had to hunt these marvels down over many years, and even now I don't consider my collection to be complete. One day, I intend to travel to the Massaries and the Cassaries, and see about obtaining some Eliot. Don't you think that would be a good idea?”
“You sent for me,” I reply, although I immediately worry that perhaps I sound rude. “I mean -”
“You're quite right,” he says, coming closer. To my surprise, I notice that his beak doesn't actually open when he talks. “You're the human girl, aren't you? Mr. Troppelcade told me that we had one coming aboard for a short spell. Your name is Alexandra, I believe?”
I nod.
“Human, eh?” He stares at me for a moment as if I'm the strangest thing he's ever seen in his life. “And based on that accent, dare I say... London? Or the South East, certainly.”
“London,” I reply, “although my parents are both from Kent.”
“I knew it,” he says with a grin. “One never forgets these things.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, before realizing that there's only one possible explanation. “Are you human?”
“Barely, anymore,” he mutters. He looks around, as if he's worried that we might be spotted, and then he turns to me and carefully removes his beak, revealing a very human-looking mouth. “I learned early on,” he continues, “that humans don't get a lot of respect in this place. It's not as if we're hated, but people tend to look down on us. I wanted to rise to a position of respect, and I happened to stumble across a large dead bird and... Well, it's rather amazing that I haven't been found out. The truth is, I rule this boat with an iron fist, and I don't let anyone get close enough to see that the beak is held on by Althurian honey. If the crew of this ship found out that their captain is a human... Well, I think there'd be a rather swift mutiny.”
“This place is so weird,” I reply.
“Oh, I know,” he says, “although I've been here f
or so long, I'm afraid I've rather gone native. That's another reason I've created my little library within a library. Technically it's considered bad form to cage books up like this, but...” He looks at the shelves for a moment, as the boat tips and creaks again. “Well,” he adds, “I'm a pirate, so what do I care about the rules?”
“How did you end up here?”
“Probably the same way you did, more or less,” he explains. “In my case it was January 1960, and I'd just finished work. I left my bus at the depot and I began to cycle home along the canal. I remember noticing that the weather was a little odd, that the air seemed to have a reddish tint. Then, as I cycled around a corner that I must have cycled around a thousand times before, I was suddenly confronted by the most astonishing thing. Right there in front of me, there was -”
“A library?” I ask.
“So you arrived here the same way, did you?”
“It wasn't next to a canal, though,” I tell him. “It was on Southwall Road, it just appeared there between an M&S store and a bank.”
“As is its way,” he replies. “From what I can tell, that particular library has a habit of squeezing itself into the most unlikely of places, although only for short periods of time. It's some kind of portal through to this world, although I have no idea who set it up or why or how. All I know is that I slammed straight into it so hard that I knocked myself out. When I woke up, night had fallen and the door was wide open. If curiosity hadn't led me to venture inside, I imagine I would have carried on living an ordinary life.”
“But instead you ended up here?”
“Oh, that was hundreds and hundreds of years ago,” he explains. “Time seems to run so differently here. I tried to find my way back, which is how I ended up signing up with a pirate ship under the legendary Captain Cab Obslath.”
“Wait,” I reply, “you're not Captain Obslath?”
“I am now,” he says, “but back then I was just a deckhand. Eventually I was promoted, and promoted again, and again and again until I was his right-hand man. When he was eventually killed at the end of the Battle of All the Spoons, he handed over his command to me, and he ordered me to take his name so as to inspire the men. By that point, I confess that I had long since given up trying to find a way back home. Tell me, is it still 1960 where you come from?”
“1960 was about sixty years ago,” I tell him.
“Sixty years?” he replies, clearly astonished. “Time works so strangely here, it's even muddled in my head. Well, I'd love to see what London is like now. Sometimes I dream of the old place. There's a part of me that would give anything for the chance to take one last walk around Regent's Park and listen out for noises coming from the zoo. Or a ride on a bus. Yes, I would definitely enjoy taking a little trip on the good old number 72.”
“Do you seriously never try to find a way home anymore?”
“There's no way home,” he explains, with a hint of sadness in his voice. “I don't know who's been filling your head with that nonsense, but let me put you straight. Once you're in the Great Library, you're not going to ever get to leave. If you persist in trying, you risk losing your mind. It's far better to accept that fate has thrown you this great curve-ball, and to focus on trying to carve out a new life for yourself in this utterly astonishing new world. That's why I asked to see you this afternoon. I knew you'd most likely be looking for a way home, and I wanted to help you understand the futility of your search.”
“You want me to just give up?” I ask.
“No, I want you to take on this challenge and try to make it work!”
“Don't you have family back in London?”
“I did, although I doubt many of them are still alive now.” He pauses. “I try not to think of the past too much, it only makes me feel wistful. I found a place here, Alexandra, and you can too. Perhaps even on this very ship. I know it might seem like a strange new way of existing, but you'd be surprised how quickly it can seem normal. And while piracy certainly has its drawbacks, there's a certain safety to be found when you're with people you know. Honestly, I almost never set foot on dry land these days.”
The boat shudders and lurches again, and I turn to see that the storm is really brewing ahead of us now.
“We can't avoid the Perpetual Storm,” Captain Obslath tells me, “but we've been through it enough times in the past. We know what we're doing.”
“I'm not giving up,” I reply. “We're trying to find our friend Rinth and save her, but after that I will figure out a way home.”
“No, you really won't.”
The boat shakes yet again, and a moment later I realize I can hear voices shouting up on the deck.
“What are those oafs up to now?” Captain Obslath mutters, looking up toward the ceiling as the boat tilts first to one side and then to the other. Sighing, he fixes the beak back into place, covering his mouth. “We shall have to pick this conversation up another time, Alexandra, but I'm sure that eventually you'll realize I'm right. Pining for home never did anyone any good. You must embrace your new life here in the Great Library!” He leans toward me, and the beak's tip almost pokes my eye out. “Let's face it,” he adds, “what choice do you have?”
Chapter Fourteen
“What the hell are you all doing?” Captain Obslath shouts as he steps out onto the rain-dashed deck. “Stop this at once!”
Hurrying out after him, I suddenly have to steady myself as the boards tilt beneath my feet. At the same time, I slip and fall onto my knees, and then I look across the deck and see that Christian and the gray-skinned creature named Gall are fighting as all the other crew-members gather to cheer. I quickly spot several figures tossing silver coins into a pot, and I realize to my horror that these people are betting on the outcome of the fight.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” Captain Obslath roars, stepping between Christian and Gall and forcing them apart, as the boat tilts in the storm and the sails billow high above us. “I don't mind this kind of sport when we're on dry land, but we're heading directly into the Perpetual Storm! You fools haven't even prepared the boat, the sails are at risk of getting ripped to shreds! Get to work!”
Spotting Cromer nearby, I hurry over to him.
“Why didn't you try to stop all this?” I ask, raising my voice so he can hear me over the howling wind.
“I tried,” he replies angrily, “but -”
“You should have protected Christian! You should have done something when they started picking on him!”
“And how should I have done that,” he snaps, “when Christian's the one who started the fight in the first place? I warned him to keep his mouth shut, but he wouldn't listen!”
Before I can ask whether he's serious, the boat tilts again, and I turn to see that the crew-members have all set to work. Christian's limping this way, and he's clutching his side as if he's hurt. I hurry over and see that there's blood on one side of his face, although he quickly turns away to keep me from seeing more.
“Are you nuts?” I ask, grabbing his arm. “Don't take this the wrong way, but that guy would have wiped the floor with you! You'd be a liquid by now!”
“I can look after myself,” he replies.
“We just have to put up with these pirates for a day or so, and then we're out of here,” I point out. “I know you're angry, and I know you're hurting, but you have to find a way to keep it all inside!” I wait, but he's still looking away, and after a moment I realize that he's made eye contact again with Gall, who's watching us as he works on the ropes. “Christian,” I continue, “are you even listening to me? You're going to get yourself killed!”
“I told you I can look after myself!” he yells, turning to me again. “That guy might be bigger than me, but I know a few tricks! And for your information, I didn't just pick a fight with him for no reason! He was talking about you, and about how pathetic humans are, and about how it's humiliating to even have one of you on-board!” He leans closer to me. “He was talking about how good it'd b
e to take charge of the boat and cook you for dinner!”
I open my mouth to reply, but for a moment I'm not quite sure what to say. And then, just as I'm about to tell Christian again that he needs to stay calm, I hear a horrific cracking sound, followed by lots of shouting. We both turn just in time to see that one of the huge masts has broken in the storm and is crashing down straight toward us.
“Move!” Cromer yells, pushing us out of the way.
The mast's tip hits the top of the cabin section, and now all hell seems to have broken loose. Angry voices are yelling in the distance as the storm begins to intensify with each passing second. Rain is falling harder and faster, and the boat is pitching wildly from side to side now that one set of sails is down. I hear an ominous creaking sound from beneath our feet, as if the entire hull is on the verge of splitting open, and a moment later a large wave crashes against the side of the boat, momentarily soaking us all.
“Is there any chance this is all just par for the course out here?” I stammer.
“Those bloody fools!” Captain Obslath roars as he stumbles over to us and starts examining the top of the damaged, fallen mast. “We've sailed the Perpetual Storm before, they know what to do in order to keep us safe. They were all so busy watching the fight, they didn't prepare the boat for the storm in time and now we're at risk of sinking! I don't even know if I've got enough gulley paste to repair this thing in the middle of all this rain, but we have to try.” He turns and steps back out onto the main part of the deck. “Gulley paste!” he yells. “Now! And get the ropes ready! We're hauling this thing back up!”
“What's gulley paste?” I ask.
“They're going to need strong men on the ropes,” Cromer mutters. “You two wait here!”
He stumbles out across the deck, as the boat pitches and almost knocks him straight down onto his knees. I can see several crew-members gathering around the section where the mast snapped, applying some kind of gray paste to the broken wood, while other pirates are coming this way. I watch as they attach ropes to the top of the mast, and then suddenly Christian pushes past me.
