The Knight of Pages

by Alexie Aaron

  “Marc, Marianne, release the book,” Kabir ordered. The beak opened and Kabir took it in his hands.

  Clara let the head go. It floated for a few minutes before it sunk beneath the waves.

  Kabir tucked the book into his waistband. He took a deep breath and dove downwards, using his arms to pull him deeper into the abyss.

  Clara took a moment to pray before following him. There was no light to guide her to Kabir. She felt the bubbles from his escaping air and moved towards them. She found Kabir on the stone-strewn lakebed. Clara expelled enough air to get her to stay with him. Together, they blindly wedged the book under a mossy rock. The pages had already started to take on water. Clara’s lungs burned. She felt for Kabir and found him floating a few feet away. She wrapped her hand in the belt of his pants and started upwards.

  Coughing, she broke the surface and was surprised to find a light bearing down on her. The sound of a helicopter preceded the splash of two coast guard rescue divers.

  “Here!” she called. “He’s been without air for two minutes.”

  Large experienced hands took over. By the time they had lifted him into the copter, Nash and the police had arrived. She waved off the coast guard and allowed Nash to drag her into the boat.

  “I told you the Barnes & Noble was on Michigan Avenue not Lake Michigan,” Nash said, taking off his shirt and pulling it over her head.

  Through chattering teeth, Clara asked, “How did you find us?”

  “You left a trail of paper, quite a lot of paper. I’m hoping the ink stamp of my bookshop dissolved first or I’m going to have quite a fine for dumping.”

  Clara looked at the two officers who had pulled the boat around and were headed back to shore. “I wonder how much trouble we’re in?”

  “It doesn’t matter as long as you’re safe,” Nash said.

  “Kabir died down there. He was floating by the time I found him.”

  “I was dead for five minutes, and here I am to tell the tale. I’m betting the coast guard have him up and running already.”

  “I hope so. He’ll make an excellent knight.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to stick to cracking eggs. It’s safer,” Clara said and snuggled into Nash’s arms.

  ~

  Marianne stumbled into the observation room in time to see the windows clear and Horace Baumbach trying desperately to break the hold of the book. He gasped for air and found only water, cold water.

  “Kabir sunk it deep. He had help. The books we used to get us there mostly dissolved after twenty minutes of hard swimming. The waves acted like an old washing machine, agitating the pages until all there was, was pulp and ink. One book smelled like piss - or it could have been Kabir?” Marianne said thoughtfully.

  “What do you remember now?” Father Saul asked.

  “For a while, everything, and then when Kabir let go of the head of the penguin, the memories of my days of debasement faded away like a bad dream. I can force myself to remember snippets, but at this point, I know I didn’t kill anyone so why hurt myself anymore.”

  “I agree.”

  The sound of coughing echoed from the speakers. They looked down to see Horace coughing up what looked to be a gallon of lake water on the floor of the cell.

  “How is that possible?” Father Saul asked.

  “Reverse alchemy?” Brother David guessed.

  Horace jerked in pain. He grabbed at his thighs, trying to push whatever was causing the pain away from him.

  “Fish,” Marianne said dully. “Fish are eating the skin that formed the book’s spine. Anyway, that’s what Marc is telling me. How can I still be hearing him?”

  “That you will have to ask someone from the Order of Scrolls,” Father Saul said, massaging his temples.

  “Marc says he can see through my thoughts. I better watch what I’m thinking about,” Marianne said with a twinkle in her eye. She put her hand on her heart. “Whoa, what a rush. Kabir’s back.”

  “He may not be with you long,” Brother David said. “Tell him that he was successful, and the book is dying, as is its master.”

  Marianne looked down, and Horace’s skin looked all waterlogged. His eyes had a glaze to them. Water ran out of his mouth, and his body was now convulsing. With every shake, part of him fell away and dissolved into mush on the floor of the cell.

  “I don’t envy you the cleanup,” Marianne said.

  “We’ll wait until it dries, and then we will gather him for cremation. We’ll have to consult the Order on what to do with the ashes,” Brother David said.

  “He’s gone, isn’t he? He won’t come back, will he?” Marianne asked.

  “He’s dead. There will be no immortality for Horace Baumbach,” Brother David promised her.

  “What if he has other books out there? Could he have escaped into one of them?” Marianne asked.

  The priest and the monk looked at each other. They didn’t have an answer. They prayed it wasn’t possible.

  ~

  Nash and Clara appreciated the ride back to the bookshop. They were thankful to see that someone had replaced the broken glass with plywood. Inside, the forensic team was busy looking for the fifteen bullets.

  Kalaraja ran over and picked Clara up off her feet and carried her into Nash’s workroom and set her on the couch. He bent down, pulled off her sandy jeans, and massaged her shaking legs. Clara was too grateful for the relief his actions were giving her to object to losing her pants.

  Nash came in carrying a blanket he brought down from upstairs. “They will be out of here soon, and we’ll get you into a warm bath.”

  Wendell walked in and over to the bookshelf. He pulled out the whiskey bottle and poured Clara a dram. “Drink,” he ordered.

  Clara did as she was told. She started to feel the warmth returning with a little bit of a whisky high thrown in.

  “Did anyone hear whether Kabir made it?” Clara asked.

  “He started breathing in the helicopter,” Natalie said, walking in, carrying a pile of Clara’s clothing. “Joon-ki is going to make sure they put him in Marc’s room when he is out of danger.” Natalie looked at the men in the room. “Out. Clara needs to change.”

  Natalie locked the door behind them. “Clara, did you touch the book?”

  “It was too dark to see. I could have brushed it with my fingertips as I was lifting rocks.”

  “Show me your fingers.”

  Clara did so. Natalie took a thin metal needle and scraped under Clara’s nails. “I’ll have this analyzed.”

  “I thought if the book was destroyed, all of this would be over.”

  “So did I, until Marianne Irving asked if Horace could transfer himself to other books he may have created. Joon-ki says that Elma Kis isn’t cooperating.”

  “Elma Kis didn’t seem like a very cooperative person when I met her before the book took hold. It’s going to be hard to tell what is normal nuts and Horace nuts.”

  Clara got dressed. Natalie bagged her soaked underclothes.

  “I’m going to go with Wendell to check on his mother. Would you like to come along?”

  “No, I’m exhausted. I’d like to hang with Nash if that’s alright.”

  “If you feel anything outside the ordinary, have Nash call me immediately.”

  “I promise,” Clara said.

  Natalie unlocked the door and stood back as Nash rushed in, followed by Wendell. Nash stared down at Clara.

  “You’re right, Clara, he does smolder,” Wendell said.

  “Come on, Wendell, your mother will be worried. Hand over the keys.”

  “Yes, Natalie,” Wendell said.

  Clara cocked her head, listening to the softening of Wendell’s voice. Either it was the whiskey or the water in Clara’s ears, but to her, it sounded like Wendell liked Natalie and not in just a friend way.

  Clara sat up and tried to stand. Her muscles screamed, and she relented and s
at back down. “I shouldn’t be this out of shape.”

  “You haven’t been swimming for the last week.”

  “No, I was busy with other things.”

  Nash sat down. He took her hands. “Clara, I was so worried, but my heart kept telling me that you were going to be fine.”

  “You got your heart from a teenager, and we know teenagers think that they are immortal. That’s why they climb water towers, skateboard, snowboard, and tempt fate like they do. Ron’s just telling you that, sometimes, you have to let go of caution and live.”

  “I want to live with you.”

  “I’m glad because I intend on living with you,” Clara said. “I’ve fallen in love with your apartment, especially the kitchen.”

  “So you love me for my kitchen?” Nash fished.

  “And the bookshop. The bookshop is a definite draw.”

  “But what about me being clever, careful and…”

  “Challenging?” Clara filled in.

  “Yes.”

  Clara grinned. “Well…”

  “You better say it or I’m going to sew you into a book.”

  “I love you, Nash. I love that you’re challenging, careful, and clever. I love that you’re a knight of a secret society. But what I love the most is that you love me.”

  “I do love you, Clara. I think you’re the most beautiful, intelligent, dynamic individual I have ever met. You make me brave. You make me want more out of life. I see you holding up that ridiculous bat and wonder what’s holding me back from asking you to marry me?”

  “Too soon?” Clara asked.

  “Too soon,” Nash acknowledged. “You have to see the boring parts of my life. The tedium of living with a male worried what happens if his next heartbeat doesn’t happen.”

  Clara nodded. “I’ll wait a while longer, and then I’ll have to let you free. If I haven’t earned your trust that I’m going to love you on good and bad days, then there really isn’t any point of sticking around, is there?”

  “But you’d be losing sixty percent of your happiness.”

  “I deserve 100%, Nash,” Clara said and kissed him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Brenda arrived at Marc Davis’s house with Argos. Marianne opened the door and welcomed her in.

  “Thank you so much for going out of your way and bringing him.”

  “I wanted to remind Doc Fonzie that he still needs to ask me out proper.”

  “And did he?”

  “Yes!”

  Argos saw Marc standing there and rushed over. Marc squatted and let Argos lick his face. Marc touched the cell phone in his pocket and a voice came out. “Good boy, Argos. Thank you for saving my life.”

  Argos held his head on an angle and sniffed the cell phone.

  Marc played it again and tapped his mouth.

  The dog caught on quickly. He ran into the kitchen where Marianne had set out food. Argos jumped up and gave Marianne a dog’s equivalent of a kiss on the cheek.

  “He knows Marianne. How does he know Marianne?” Marc typed.

  “While you’ve been in occupational therapy, she’s been visiting since I told her where he was,” Brenda said. “I hope it was alright.”

  “I’m happy you did.”

  Marianne came out of the kitchen. She brought a glass of chilled white wine for Brenda. The three sat down in Marc’s living room.

  Brenda started, “I’ve heard from the DA’s office. They decided that they aren’t going to charge Kabir with interfering with a corpse. Detective Jones had already convinced them to drop the charge of perverting the course of justice because he wasn’t in his right mind when it happened. I believe he cited a few old hypnosis defenses that were on the books already.”

  “I thought Trisha’s husband and parents were determined that he should go to jail,” Marianne said.

  “They don’t blame Kabir for Trisha’s death, just what he did with her remains. The oddest thing happened. Trisha’s second cousin was the undertaker her parents insisted Mr. Prue use. Evidently, he said that, in his opinion, her body was treated with professional care. His choice of clothing wasn’t great, but he did embalm her in a satisfactory manner. He told them, “It was if she was prepared by someone who loved her.’”

  “I’m amazed. How did he know how to do this?” Marc asked.

  “He told the DA he must have read it in a book at one time,” Brenda said.

  “Speaking of books,” Marianne began. “Wendell is going to start a special book club with Marc in mind because Marc isn’t going to be comfortable with the old Page Turners crowd. I thought that if we started a new group with people who would assume Marc has always been this way, he’d be able to fit in better. We understand that you’re a reader. Would you consider becoming a member?” Marianne asked.

  “Do you know what night yet?”

  “Wendell has to look in to see when the community center is available.”

  “If it falls on one of my evenings off, then I would love to join. Do you think Wendell will allow Nash to join or Clara?” Brenda asked.

  “I don’t know. Nash can be rather…”

  “Challenging,” Marc supplied.

  “You’re getting fast and lippy with that thing,” Marianne teased.

  Brenda looked at the two, and the romantic in her wanted to see a budding romance, two people brought together by tragedy. But right now, all she could discern was a deep trust. But as Catherine Baumbach taught her students, “When there is trust, there is possibility.”

  ~

  Nash watched as Cam supervised two of his friends move the first-floor books to areas Cam had decided they would be better displayed. Cam was taking Nash’s promotion very seriously.

  The aroma of beef roasting filled the bookshop. Clara was upstairs testing out a few recipes.

  The bells rang, and Kalaraja walked in with a roll of what looked like blueprints. He held up a hand instead of stopping and asking for his check. Kalaraja ran up the stairs two at a time.

  Curious, Nash walked over tapped Cam on the shoulder. “I’m going upstairs. Mind the register.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” Cam said.

  Nash climbed the stairs. He looked for Kalaraja amongst the books and shook his head. He knew better. Kalaraja was following his nose to Clara’s test kitchen. Nash pulled the Employees Only velveteen rope aside and entered the stairwell.

  Clara frowned as Kalaraja was rolling out a blueprint on her makeshift countertop using her jars of spices as paperweights.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Guess who just acquired the building next door?”

  “Congratulations. Now get your crap off my just-washed work surface.”

  “Not until you look at what I have in mind.”

  “You’re still not thinking about combining secondhand books with food, are you? I’m telling you that you’ll never get it approved by the Chicago Department of Public Health.”

  “Maybe not mixing them in together. In Brussels, they serve food in the bookstore. It’s called…”

  “Cook and Book,” Clara finished. “I’ve seen it on several video travel guides. But as far as I can see, they’re new books. More hygienic.”

  “Are you saying my books are filthy?” Nash asked, walking out of the shadows where he had been eavesdropping.

  “No, but they’re never going to pass a health inspection.”

  “But they don’t need to,” Kalaraja said. “Just look at what I had drawn up.”

  Nash and Clara looked at the name in the corner of the plan, Books and Bistro.

  Clara nodded. “Good name.”

  “Here is an indoor greenhouse where the diners can see two floors of books above them while they dine. The shop next door will be gutted, and a state-of-the-art kitchen will be built. Come on, Clara, look at all that meal-prep area. Nash, look at how you can actually see the shelved books. Instead of dusty…”

  “My books
aren’t dusty.”

  “Dusty books,” Kalaraja repeated, “on dark chipped-veneer shelves, you can see them on bleached wood that will allow for a certain amount of movement.”

  “So you want a fine-dining establishment centered in a secondhand bookstore,” Clara confirmed. She could see the hexagonal greenhouse soaring upwards, cutting through the three floors of shelved books.

  “Yes. We will have two late theater nights. Here,” he tapped, “we can have understudies performing – with their companies’ approval of course. We can sell tickets…”

  Nash shook his head at that nightmare.

  “Okay, we can leave that to the theaters,” Kalaraja compromised.

  “I think it would be better if the performers read from the books, performed a scene from a classic and a scene from something more contemporary,” Clara said. “I could tailor the menu around what readings we are doing.”

  “This still seems like a new-book type of place to me,” Nash said.

  “Are you opposed to selling some new books?” Kalaraja asked.

  Nash put a hand through his hair. “Too much competition out there, too much work.”

  “What if you had a partner?”

  “Who?”

  “Wendell.”

  “No.”

  “Johan?” Kalaraja asked.

  “He is brilliant,” Clara said. “He’s easy to work with, but he can be a bit too nosy when it comes to your personal life.”

  “I think it would be too difficult to get the major publishers to come in when I’m selling their books secondhand without them getting a profit,” Nash explained.

  “He’s making a good point,” Clara said.

  “But,” Nash continued, “what about independents? I could put in a Discover the Next Great Writer corner.”

  Clara listened as Kalaraja and Nash hashed out details.

  “What’s in it for you?” Clara asked Kalaraja.

  “More rent, free meals, godchildren.”

  “He slid that last one in, thinking we wouldn’t notice,” Nash said.

  “If Clara’s on early mornings and you’re here working retail hours, I’m never going to be a godparent.”