by Jon Etter
“But isn’t finding these books a lot more important than just, I don’t know, making money and being snooty?”
“I most certainly would agree with that, but not everyone would. One man’s mountain is another man’s molehill and vice versa. But to get to the heart of the matter, once upon a time, a small group of book lovers did what we thought was best. What matters now is that you do the same, regardless of what any of us have ever wanted.”
Shade nodded. “Thanks. That helps. I think.”
“I hope it does. Well, I’m off to tinker a bit on my latest project and do more poison research. I believe I’m on the verge of a breakthrough on both fronts.” Poor Richard began to walk away, then stopped. “Do you know what your great-grandfather Moonshadow would probably say about you going tomorrow just for his sake?”
“No. What?”
“I believe he’d say, ‘Get donkled!’ Heh, heh! Such language he used! I do wonder if he kissed his mother with that mouth . . . ” Chuckling as he went, Poor Richard left Shade to her thoughts.
Well, I guess I’m off the hook if I want to be, Shade thought. But is that what I want?
She lay on her bed, hoping both sleep and an answer to her dilemma would come quickly. Neither did.
In which not enough breakfast is
eaten . . .
Even though she was famished, Shade didn’t go straight to the staff dining hall when she awoke the next morning. Instead, she walked down the spiral ramp and ran her hands along the books filling the shelves. I know what my dad would want me to do, she thought, but I still don’t know what I really want to do. I think I want to go, but I need to know why.
Just as she thought this, she came to one of the many areas formed in the branches that grew out from the great library tree’s trunk. But this was not just any area: It was the new children’s section. “They sure got this done in a hurry,” Shade muttered, impressed. Colorful books filled the low shelves running the length of the room. Picture windows with padded window seats filled the walls, each window looking out on a different part of Elfame: rolling hills and stretching plains, bustling towns and sleepy villages, roaring seas and babbling brooks. There were tables for art, chairs and sofas for reading, and there at the far end was a slightly raised stage with a big chair surrounded by large, floofy pillows. Shade smiled. I wish I had someplace like when I was little, she mused.
Shade scanned the shelves until she found a thin red book: Goodnight, Little Sprite, her favorite book from childhood. She paged through it and thought about how her own copy was lost when her home burned and how she had feared the story had been lost forever. But the story wasn’t gone. It was there in the Grand Library and always would be, safe and sound and waiting for her, for any reader who came looking for it. And then she knew why.
Shade put the book back and marched off to the dining hall. She threw open the doors and put her hands on her hips. “All right, everyone. We’re going to climb Mount Wyrd and get those books because books aren’t meant to be locked up or hidden or buried in private collections. They’re meant to be read and read by everyone and, donkle it all, they belong in libraries where that can happen, so we are going to go up that mountain and bring the lost books of Alexandria home!”
Everyone at the table sat frozen mid-bite. “Can we finish the breakfast first?” Ginch asked sheepishly as the Professor slid some slices of toast into his pocket and then spooned in some jam.
“Yes,” Shade declared resolutely. “Because I am hungry.”
•
“I wish I had eaten more at breakfast,” Shade grumbled hours later as she, Ginch, the Professor, Sir Justinian, and Ginnie Bowser scaled the black rock cliffs of Mount Wyrd while far below the turbulent northern sea roared up at the iron-gray sky. Following the mountain climbing guidelines Shade had read, her companions were tied to each other by rope with Sir Justinian, the biggest and strongest of them, at the top. Shade, however, was not tied to them. Instead, she took the lead, her reasoning being that, should she fall, she could fly herself to safety. Down below, Grouse and Trudgemore reluctantly stood guard by the library tree while Ronnie Bowser, at her insistence, went back to Bilgewater to get reinforcements—or, as she said, “try again to find the lads and round oop any other geezers what weren’t copped by the bizzies,” in case Lady Perchta managed to track them all down.
There was a lull in the wind, so Shade fluttered up the mountainside a bit to look for especially treacherous stretches or flat places where they could stop for a rest. To her relief, she found a grassy plateau where evergreens grew near a pool of water. She flew down to let the others know, then returned to the plateau to give her aching muscles a rest.
Shade shirked off her backpack and splashed water on her face to wash off the sweat. As the water dripped from her chin, she heard a scuttling noise.
“Well, I, for one, am famished. What do you sssupose there’ll be?” a voice whispered.
“Sssomething tasssty, no doubt,” another replied.
Shade wiped her eyes and looked around to see who had spoken, but she saw no one. Then she looked up.
There, crawling along the face of the cliff were two figures with extremely long arms and legs that appeared to have an extra set of joints, making their already bizarre movements even more alien and unnerving. Their black hair and robes blended in so perfectly with the black stone of the mountain that Shade might have missed them completely if not for their bare, purplish-red hands and feet—if indeed, they can be called their feet since they looked exactly like their hands, with the fingers being extra long and thin and, like their legs, featuring an extra joint. Shade yelped in surprise. The two creatures turned, revealing the faces of beautiful women. Beautiful, that is, if you find eight black spider-like eyes beautiful (you know, like your cousin D’Artagnan does, bless his creepy soul!).
Shade froze, unsure whether she would be considered “sssomthing tasssty,” and unsure how much she could do about it if she were. The wall-crawlers—which, with your exceptionally impressive knowledge of fairies, I’m sure I don’t need to note were gwyllion—also froze. Three sets of eyes (eighteen eyes total) stared at one another in silence. Shade slowly raised one of her hands and gave a slight wave. “Uh . . . hi?”
Each gwyll slowly raised a hand, to return the wave or to attack, Shade wasn’t sure, for at that exact moment Sir Justinian ran forward, sword in hand, shielding Shade’s body behind his own. “If thou seekest a snack, then prepare thyself for a bellyful of cold steel!”
The gwyllion shrieked and skittered away around the corner of the cliffside. Sir Justinian scanned the area. “We seem to be safe for now, my friends, but be on your guard. Danger doubtlessly stalks the mountain—”
“I’m not sure they were dangerous,” Shade interjected.
“—and spies for the vile villain we seek to vanquish no doubt lurk around every corner.”
“’Ey, nobody said the nothing about vansquishing nobody.” Ginch flopped on the ground as the Professor slurped from the pool. “I thought we just get-a the books.”
Ginnie Bowser swatted dust from her fur coat. “I’ve never backed down from a fight in my life—when you’re a fake gangster, it’s considered very poor form—but if we can sneak in and get the books without a fight, I think that would be for the best.”
“Agree to disagree. Wait here while I secure the area.” The knight slowly made his way around the edge of the clearing and back behind some trees.
Ginnie nodded after him. “Does he ever ease up?”
“No,” they all replied just as Sir Justinian shouted, “Ha-ha! Come, my friends, come!”
With a chorus of groans, Shade and the others reluctantly followed his voice to a gap between two large boulders. On the other side, rough steps were hewn into the rock, leading high up the mountainside and vanishing in the mists above.
“Follow me.” Sir Justinian bounded up the stairs. “Adventure awaits!”
“I�
�m-a gonna take my time,” Ginch grumbled. “Adventure, I no think she’s inna the rush.”
So the crew climbed the stairs with Sir Justinian in the lead, dashing up to see what was ahead and then doubling back again and again to his pokey compatriots to urge them on in much the same way your spaniel, Captain Wilberforce, does when you try to have a nice leisurely walk in the woods. But, because these are quite dreadful fairies (as I have noted on various occasions), the knight’s exhortations did in no way stir deep wells of nobility or inspire heroic enthusiasm. Thus, they trudged slowly upward.
After a solid hour of climbing, the Professor came to an abrupt halt. “What are you—?” Shade began to ask but stopped when the Professor held his finger to his lips.
The four fairies stood still and listened. From the stairs below they heard a clack, clack, clack, like stones tapping against each other. The clacking grew louder and closer. As Shade watched, it looked like four little gold nuggets floated up and around a corner of the black stairway, but as the nuggets drew a little closer, Shade could see they were eyes, eyes belonging to two fairies about half her size, their rounded bodies translucent and smooth like polished quartz.
“Just because I hev not finished does not mean I hev nothing to contribute, käraste,” one said with a shrug.
“A week you hed, Steinn. A week!”
“Still no sign of the beast,” Sir Justinian announced as he came pounding down the steps. His eyes grew wide as he spied the quartz fairies, whose shiny gold eyes also widened as he pointed his sword at them. “More agents of Robin Redcap, no doubt hoping to ambush us from behind!”
The two quartz fairies yelped and curled themselves up into little crystal balls that clattered swiftly down the steps.
“I return at an opportune time,” Justinian said. “A moment later, and those dastardly devils might very well have waylaid thee.”
“’Ey, I see them coming,” Ginch objected.
Ginnie Bowser cracked her knuckles. “And I can handle myself just fine.”
“Um, they didn’t look like they were going to be any trouble,” Shade said.
Sir Justinian slapped her hard on the back. “That’s the spirit! I’m glad to hear that some of your mother’s warrior mettle is buried there under your ample bookish softness.”
Shade frowned. “Okay, first, rude. Second, what I meant was that I don’t think they were going to—”
“Come, friends—we shall remain together from here on out, lest danger, which dogs our heels, bite us when we are unawares.”
“I really don’t think those two were after us,” Shade muttered.
“Let us press on to the Tower of Dead Souls!” The knight declared with a flourish of his sword.
“Can we no say the name no more?” Ginch grumbled as they all followed. “It make-a my stomach hurt.”
As the sun climbed higher and higher, the black rock of Mount Wyrd began to redden, first into burgundy and then maroon. Finally, when the sun reached its noontime peak, it blazed crimson, the color of fresh blood, as do all of the Fola Dubh Mountains at high noon. Ginch looked around nervously. “You know, I think we got plenty of the books already. How’s about we—”
“Shh!” Sir Justinian whispered down to him. “The end of our quest is nigh. Come.”
The fairies crept up the stairs behind Sir Justinian. Just as he had said, the stairs finally came to an end in front of a gap in a crumbling stone wall. On the other side was a well-tended garden divided into boxed beds filled with herbs and flowers and vegetables with blossoming fruit trees growing on its edges. At the far end a tall ivy-covered stone tower stood, but just barely, for it leaned dangerously. Large stones that had fallen from its sides littered the ground.
And there, standing at its entrance, was a tall, powerfully built, and hideously ugly fairy. Leathery skinned, thickly muscled arms and legs showed through the holes in his ragged clothing. Pebbles ground noisily under his iron boots. In his hand, he held a sickle, its half-moon blade shining in the sun. And on his head, perched above bulging, bloodshot eyes, beaky nose, and wide, thin-lipped mouth, was a red cap, wet and dripping with what looked like fresh blood.
In which there should be an epic
battle with an evil beast, but . . .
Shade, Ginch, the Professor, and Ginnie Bowser dove behind the wall. When Sir Justinian didn’t budge, grim determination on his face, Shade tugged his arm until he joined them out of sight of the creature. “My fairy friends, it ill befits a knight of the realm to cower in the face of terror.”
“We’re not cowering,” Shade said.
“Speak for yourself,” Ginch said. “I’m a-cowerin’.”
The Professor pointed to himself and Ginnie and nodded. “I’m . . . strategizing, not cowering,” Ginnie explained lamely.
“Look, we don’t know what exactly we’re dealing with here,” Shade whispered to the overeager knight as they all peered into the garden. “Before we go charging in, we need to figure out the best course of action. For example, what if—”
Suddenly a chilly gray mist swirled past her. It flowed over to the fearsome fairy, then condensed to form a ghastly, gaunt woman in an emerald green dress and gray cloak. Flaming red hair hung down to her waist, framing her pale face and green, bloodshot, weeping eyes. In her hands she clutched a long white sheet, which she held out toward the red-capped fairy.
“A banshee!” Sir Justinian gasped. “And with a burial shroud for the beast!”
“That looks more like a tablecloth,” Shade said.
“Verily, ’tis a shroud!”
“But look—on the edge it’s all lacy and—”
“She has clearly come to shriek the soul of Robin Redcap to beyond the veil.” Sir Justinian, eyes flashing, drew his sword and charged into the garden. “Have at thee, Robin Redcap!”
The brutal-looking fairy slumped and gave an annoyed sigh. “Really? Fiona, get back while I take care of this. Look, the name’s Cuthbert. Robin was my—hey!” The fairy blocked Sir Justinian’s down-sweeping sword with his sickle and sent him staggering back with a metal-shoed kick to the chest. “Would you knock it off, please? I’m really sick of—”
But Cuthbert was unable to finish because Sir Justinian lashed out, the pommel of his sword connecting with the fairy’s nose. There was a sickening crunch, and the fairy dropped his sickle and put his hands to his face. “I thing you broge my nose, you creeb!” he said.
“I’ll break more than that, foul fiend!” Sir Justinian swung at Cuthbert, but the red cap punched him in the side, grabbed and lifted him in the air, then slammed him to the ground. Sir Justinian gawped and struggled to catch his breath.
Cuthbert grabbed his now crooked nose and jerked it back in place with a snap. “Ow! Fiona, hide in the tower! This one’s dangerous!” He raised his foot high above Sir Justinian’s head.
“Wait!” Shade dashed toward the two brawlers.
Sir Justinian’s hands shot up and grabbed the iron boot. “I am dangerous, villain,” he cried, rolling his body into the red cap’s leg. Cuthbert crashed into the nearest garden box, and Sir Justinian leapt on top of him.
“My catmint!” the fairy cried, grappling with Sir Justinian.
“Hey! Knock it off!” Shade shouted. She circled the two wrestlers but, being a wee sprite, could think of no way to separate them. “Stop, you meatheads! Stop! A little help with these nitwits, somebody?”
The Professor pulled a pitcher of ice water out of his jacket and splashed it on the two. Ginnie, for her part, ran over and screamed, “Knock it off, dummies!” Her piercing shriek made all of them drop to their knees and cover their ears in pain.
“Right hard on the throat, that is,” Ginnie coughed and rubbed her neck. The Professor pulled out a lozenge and handed it to her.
“All right, you two,” Shade shouted, her ears still ringing. “The next one of you who raises a fist against the other is going to have me to deal with!”
; “But the fiend—”
“Didn’t look like he was doing anything,” Shade said.
“Yeah! You are the one who attacked me in my garden!”
“But you stalked the place with dread weapon in hand—”
“That sickle is a gardening tool! I was coming out to cut some flowers to decorate this old wreck and some rosemary for an herbal tea to help Fiona and me with our allergies. I mean, look at how red our eyes are.”
“But your cap! It’s soaked red with the blood of—”
“Raspberries. I’ve got a really dry, itchy scalp, and raspberry juice helps.”
“There! You see?” Shade slapped Sir Justinian’s shoulder.
Sir Justinian blushed. “I’m terribly sorry. I do get a bit carried away. It’s just that there’s an awful lot of talk of you killing people.”
Ginch nodded. “Yeah, and calling you house the ‘Tower of the Dead Souls’ make-a you sound—”
“Actually, it’s the Tower of Dred Soulis,” Cuthbert explained. “That’s the guy who built it. My great-great-grandfather bought it cheap because, well, it’s on the side of a big creepy mountain.”
“Oh. That no sounds-a so scary then.”
“And I’ve never killed anyone. Grandpa Robin used to get a bit carried away, but my dad, Robin, Jr., and I have only ever tried to scare away people who tried to bother us. Now if you all are done attacking me for no reason—”
“Again, I do apologize,” Sir Justinian said.
“—and quizzing me about my home, real estate holdings, and alleged history of violence, would you kindly explain exactly why I’ve been assaulted in my own garden?”
“Well, to be honest, the attack wasn’t necessarily part of the plan.” Shade glared at Sir Justinian. For a moment, she thought she should probably come up with a clever ruse so that she could sneak into the tower and try to find the books. Then she remembered all the times over the past several days she had attempted clever ruses. “I’m part of a secret organization called the Great Library’s Unseen Guardians—”