“But what about the fifth archway?” asked Dorrie impatiently.
“The fifth archway showed Petrarch sky, a bit of land, and beyond it, a sea,” said Mistress Wu. “Passing through it, he found himself no longer in a mountain meadow, but standing on a rocky island beside a five-sided tower, the sea stretching in all directions.”
Mistress Wu explained how Petrarch’s Library had grown steadily larger over the four hundred years it had existed.
“How could it not?” she asked, taking out a handkerchief and looking as devastated as only Mistress Wu could look. “Every time someone destroys a library out in the wherens or lets one fall to wrack and ruin, its ghost squeezes into Petrarch’s Library where it can.” She dabbed at her eyes and then perked resolutely up. “But it’s no graveyard.” She explained how new archways materialized every so often, secretly connecting Petrarch’s Library to lively, perfectly functional Spoke Libraries in new centuries.
When Mistress Wu seemed to have finished, Phillip reached for a pickle. “During the first hundred years the Lybrarid and Petrarch’s Library existed, a good portion of Europe and North Africa and the Near East was still under the control of the Foundation.”
“The what?” asked Dorrie’s father.
“The Foundation,” repeated Mistress Wu.
“Bad, bad people!” said Dorrie.
“Total control freaks,” added Marcus.
“I’m sorry,” said Dorrie’s mother, as though she’d heard just one incredible thing too many. “But I’ve studied a good bit of history, and I’ve never heard that Europe, North Africa, and the Near East were ever under the control of something called the ‘Foundation.’”
“You wouldn’t have,” said Mistress Wu. “Because the Lybrariad has spent the last four hundred years—Petrarch’s Library time—changing history out in the wherens as we’ve fought the Foundation. The Foundation is now only a shadow of a footnote of a legend.” She made her voice gentle. “The history you currently know isn’t the history that always was.”
Dorrie’s mother stared at Mistress Wu, looking flushed. “I…I…feel a bit dizzy.”
“And half like you might have to throw up?” said Dorrie eagerly. “That’s how I felt when I first heard how it all worked!”
“An entirely natural reaction,” said Mistress Wu. “Very disorienting. Do you need to lie down? Do you want a cold compress? Menelik knows some wonderful Persian lullabies.”
“Oh, she’s fine,” Marcus answered for his mother. “Mom loves amusement park rides.”
“All right,” said Dorrie’s father, a scoff in his voice. “What was this Foundation all about then?”
“Back in Petrarch’s day,” said Phillip, reaching for another pickle, “the Foundation kept tight control over the people in its territory. Part of how they did it was to keep written language all to themselves.”
“No one but Foundation members could learn to read and write,” said Mistress Wu. “The skills were closely guarded secrets forbidden to most people, and the penalties for teaching or learning were…” She glanced at Miranda, who was now curled up asleep between Menelik’s feet. “Severe. Over time, the Lybrariad succeeded in chiseling away at the Foundation’s control of reading and writing, and our work shifted to rescue missions.”
“Rescue missions?” said Dorrie’s mother faintly.
“Oh yes,” said Mistress Wu. “Once more people could write, you wouldn’t believe how often they would be locked up in cold, damp places or chased around with flaming torches and portable guillotines. Even with the Foundation vanquished. All because of an unpopular thought scribbled here or an opinion printed there. We lybrarians don’t go for silencing people with threats and abuse, and we swore to protect writers from such tormenters.”
“It takes many lybrarians to conduct the rescue missions,” said Phillip. “The Lybrariad regularly trains librarians with an i into lybrarians with a y. If you permit Dorrie and Marcus to train as apprentices, they’ll learn research and reference skills, along with how to gain entry to a locked room, set a broken bone, ride anything with four legs, practice all seventeen uses for a flaming arrow—”
Dorrie’s father pushed his chair back, and Dorrie had the terrible sense that he was about to flee back to his workshop in the yard. “I truly wish warrior lybrarians did gallop around the world shooting flaming arrows, but I can’t listen to any more of this elaborate fantasy.”
Mistress Wu glanced at the untidy teetering piles of books spread across the ballroom. “Would you be more convinced of our claims if we did a speed cataloging and shelving of your book collection?”
“Or Dorrie could stand up against a wall and Menelik could outline her in throwing daggers,” suggested Phillip.
“No!” cried Dorrie’s mother and father together. “That…that won’t be necessary.”
“He does have truly phenomenal hand-eye coordination,” Mistress Wu said with more than a hint of pride.
Dorrie’s father stood. “We’d have to be mad to believe you.”
“But it’s all true,” cried Dorrie. “Marcus and I spent months in Petrarch’s Library!”
“Now just stop it,” said Dorrie’s mother, her voice shaking. “I think I’d know if my children disappeared for a day, let alone months.”
“But we did,” said Marcus. “You just didn’t realize that we were gone because time just about stopped in Passaic while we were in Petrarch’s Library.”
Dorrie’s mother stood as well. Her expression gave the clear message that as far as she was concerned, the meeting was over.
Inspiration seized Dorrie. “Call Great-Aunt Alice! She knows all about it. You’d have to believe her. She doesn’t know how to make something up!”
“Plus, she’s old,” added Marcus. “And old equals credible.”
“I don’t know what exactly is going on here,” said Dorrie’s father, “but I’m not going to bother Great-Aunt Alice while she’s on her first vacation in a decade to ask her if she’s visited any magical libraries lately.”
“She’s not actually on vacation,” said Phillip delicately. “She’s being credible at the International Librarians’ Conference. She’s recruiting librarians with an i interested in training as lybrarians with a y.”
Dorrie’s parents gaped at Phillip.
“She asked me to give you this,” said Mistress Wu, pulling from her briefcase one of the sky-blue envelopes that Great-Aunt Alice favored. She handed it to Dorrie’s father. “It explains everything.”
With clumsy fingers, Dorrie’s father tore it open and unfolded the matching piece of stationery within. Heads together, Dorrie’s parents scanned the lines of writing, and then slowly looked up.
For a moment, all that could be heard was the clicking of Menelik’s knitting needles. Dorrie was sure her parents were deeply pondering the fact that Great-Aunt Alice had never made up anything in her life and looked severely down upon anyone who did.
“Either she’s lost her marbles—” said Dorrie’s father at last.
“You know she hasn’t!” said Dorrie.
“Or…” his voice trailed off.
“They’re telling the truth,” said Dorrie’s mother, looking wonderstruck.
Mistress Wu beamed. “Now that we’re all agreed that Petrarch’s Library exists, I’m afraid I must warn you that your family may be in some danger from the Lybrariad’s enemies.”
Dorrie’s father dropped back into his chair, his eyeglasses sliding down his nose on impact. “Danger? What kind of danger?”
Mistress Wu adjusted her scarf. “A week ago, right in your backyard, a loathsome man named Mr. Aldous Biggs viciously attacked Dorrie and Marcus and your aunt Alice.”
“What?” exclaimed both of Dorrie’s parents.
At the mention of Mr. Biggs’s name, Dorrie had felt a twinge of fear, remembering his pitiless eyes.
The little bottle he’d left behind felt cold in her jeans pocket.
“He also threatened the life of Kash, one of our lybrarians,” said Mistress Wu.
“She means Elder,” said Dorrie. Elder was an old friend of the family. Old like Great-Aunt Alice old. “Kash is Elder’s real name.
“Elder is a lybrarian with a y?” asked Dorrie’s father, as though trying to mentally fit a lawnmower into a matchbox. “But…but…we’ve played golf together!”
“Kash always was fond of the game,” said Mistress Wu wistfully. “The scamp broke more than a few windows out on the Commons when he was younger.” She frowned slightly. “Which was, of course, just a few weeks ago, Petrarch’s Library time.” She gave herself a little shake. “Well, the important thing is that thanks to Dorrie and Marcus, he’s been reunited with the Lybrariad, even if he is eighty-two now.”
Dorrie’s mother sank back into her chair.
“His bullet wound is healing nicely,” said Phillip, picking with fascination at the pickle jar’s plastic label.
“Elder’s been shot?” cried Dorrie’s father, his eyes blazing.
“And can you believe he still insisted on going to the International Librarians’ Conference with Alice,” said Mistress Wu, her voice trembling with admiration.
“Which brings us back to the danger,” said Phillip. “The Lybrariad is concerned that Mr. Biggs may have cronies in the area, which is why Menelik has been watching your house this last week.”
As Dorrie’s parents gaped at Menelik, he nodded serenely and shot a needle through a loop of yarn.
“But what would they want with us,” said Dorrie’s mother.
Phillip and Mistress Wu exchanged glances.
“Mr. Biggs came to Great-Aunt Alice looking for a powerful stone called Petrarch’s Star,” said Phillip. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “It seems the Foundation has risen from its terrible ashes, and Mr. Biggs serves it.”
“I thought you’d…you’d…vanquished the Foundation,” said Dorrie’s father.
“We had,” said Phillip. “In the past. Kash discovered that the Foundation has been operating with great strength in future centuries. Ones with which Petrarch’s Library doesn’t yet connect.”
Like the Lybrariad, it possesses a headquarters that lies outside time,” said Mistress Wu. “The Foundation calls it ‘the Stronghold.’ Until recently, it only connected to centuries after the twenty-first.”
“But now they’re connecting to earlier times,” said Dorrie. “Like ours!”
Mistress Wu nodded. “And ancient Athens and Egypt.”
Dorrie’s father’s eyes nearly crossed.
Phillip leaned forward. “From what Kash could glean while a prisoner in the Stronghold, the Foundation operates in the future in the same cruel way it operated in the past. Unfortunately, it has definite plans to re-conquer all the earlier centuries.”
Dorrie’s blood ran cold.
Her father staggered toward one of the kitchen cupboards. “I need a cup of chamomile tea.”
“Why is the Foundation coming back now?” Dorrie’s mother asked.
Phillip and Mistress Wu shared another long look. “Because they only lately learned how to use Petrarch’s Star to break into the past.”
“We have to get the Star back!” cried Dorrie, jumping up, possessed by the urge to search the streets of Passaic for Mr. Gormly that very minute.
“Indeed,” said Phillip. “But there’s more to the story, and its possibly good news. Kash found out the Foundation needs more than just Petrarch’s Star to succeed in its plans.”
“What else,” whispered Dorrie, sitting back down.
“Something called ‘Whim’s Gift,’” said Phillip. “Petrarch’s Star has to be put inside Whim’s Gift to force it to do the Foundation’s bidding.”
“How is that good news?” asked Marcus as Dorrie’s father set a tray of jiggling teacups on the table.
Phillip happily reached for one. “Because whatever version of Whim’s Gift that the Foundation used to break into Athens and Egypt is no longer available to them. Broken or lost, Kash supposes.
“Is it some kind of box or machine?” asked Dorrie.
“We don’t know,” said Phillip. “But the Foundation is now desperately trying to make a replacement. It buys us some time.”
“So what happens if the Foundation takes over the past?” asked Marcus.
Mistress Wu’s eyes snapped with anger as the kettle began to shriek. “It would seek to enslave people again, no doubt. Taking back written language would likely be one of their first moves. The Lybrariad will be doing everything in our power to stop them.”
Dorrie’s father began to pour hot water into the cups, spilling a great deal of it on the table.
“In the meantime,” said Mistress Wu, looking at Dorrie’s father with some concern, “we’d like Menelik to stay with you. Great-Aunt Alice has offered her room.”
“All right,” said Dorrie’s mother. “If you really think it’s necessary.”
“Good,” said Mistress Wu briskly. She sprang the catches on her briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers. “Now, I wonder if we can discuss the matter of the apprenticeships.”
Dorrie heart skipped a beat.
Dorrie’s father chugged what was left of his chamomile tea.
“I want to make it clear,” said Mistress Wu, “that Lybrariad’s offer has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Dorrie and Marcus inadvertently managed to become keyhands.”
“Keyhands?” said Dorrie’s mother, lost again.
“Not just anybody can go skiffing through the archways,” said Phillip. “It takes a particular lybrarian known as a keyhand to do that job. Three for every century. If you’re not a keyhand, you’ll bounce right off an archway, like a bird against a plate of glass. We plainer sorts of lybrarians count on the keyhands to get us in and out of the wherens.”
“And Dorrie and Marcus are keyhands?” asked Dorrie’s father.
“Only technically,” said Mistress Wu and Phillip together.
Dorrie tried not to be hurt by the distinct relief in their voices.
“As a rule, keyhands are chosen from among the most experienced and able of our lybrarians,” said Mistress Wu. “Dorrie and Marcus came by their abilities, well—”
“It happened accidentally,” said Dorrie. “Because we fell into Petrarch’s Library a few seconds after it connected with the Passaic Public Library.”
“But they are in very good company,” said Phillip. “The third keyhand for twenty-first century Passaic is a fine upstanding mongoose.”
Dorrie’s father rubbed his temples.
“Say it loud; say it proud,” said Marcus, holding up a raised fist.
Dorrie rolled her eyes. “His name is Moe. He escaped from this kid at the Pen and Sword Festival we went to last week. Marcus and I tried to catch him. He ran into the Passaic Public Library and then into the secret room behind the janitor’s closet, and then we all fell into Petrarch’s Library.”
“Big splash,” said Marcus.
“They landed in our Roman bath,” explained Phillip.
“Dorrie got an extra seriously weird power that not even the real keyhands have,” said Marcus.
Dorrie’s face went red as her parents’ eyebrows went airborne.
“Don’t worry,” said Marcus soothingly. “It’s nothing too freaky. Normal keyhands only have the power to get through one archway each, but Dorrie can get through any of them.”
“But why?” asked her mother.
Slowly, Dorrie pulled a small walnut-shaped silver vial from her pocket and laid it on the table, where it rocked for a moment on its rounded side. Though made of silver metal like her armband, the bottle dully refused to reflect the light from the windows. “I think this had something to do with it
.”
“What is it?” asked her father, poking it experimentally.
“It belongs to Mr. Biggs,” said Dorrie. “I drank something out of it, and it made this happen.” She held up her thumbnail, which had been black as pitch ever since the day she’d fallen into Petrarch’s Library—black like all of Mr. Biggs’s nails.
“Why, on Demeter’s great, green, globulous earth,” asked Dorrie’s mother, who seemed to be attempting to employ calming yogic breathing, “were you drinking out of a stranger’s…flask?”
“I didn’t know I was,” said Dorrie, impatient to get back to the subject of the apprenticeships. “Miranda emptied it into my orange juice when I wasn’t looking.”
“She pickpocketed Mr. Biggs when he was here,” added Marcus.
Menelik looked with interest over his knitting at Miranda’s slumbering form.
“Of course she did,” said Dorrie’s father. He turned to Mistress Wu. “Well, what exactly did our daughter ingest?”
“The Foundation’s operatives call it, ‘Traveler’s Tea,’” said Phillip. “They must drink it to travel in and out of the Stronghold.
“So can we train?” Dorrie cried, unable to bear the suspense any longer.
“May we,” corrected Phillip, Mistress Wu, Menelik, and her parents in unison, startling one another.
“Sure. That,” said Marcus.
Dorrie’s gaze darted from her father’s to her mother’s face, her breath held, hoping that the interest they shared with the lybrarians in good grammar might have tipped the balance in a good way.
Dorrie’s mother spoke first. “It…it…does sound like a marvelous—”
“Insanely marvelous,” broke in Dorrie’s father.
“—opportunity,” finished Dorrie’s mother. “But it would be a very big change for all of us. I mean…uh…just the time-travel element…”
“A very big change,” repeated Dorrie’s father.
“You always tell us that change is good!” Dorrie cried.
“Well, yes,” Dorrie’s mother replied, reddening a little, “but I meant trying a new kind of vegetable or taking a pottery class or something.”
The Ninja Librarians: Sword in the Stacks Page 2