by C. A. Pack
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Jackson called out, grabbing the end of the ladder.
“Reach the hook with the rope, I must.”
Furst started to crawl across the makeshift wooden bridge that now spanned the open space in the middle of the cupola. He moved very slowly. Jackson couldn’t tell if Furst wobbled because of nerves, or because the ladder wasn’t strong enough to hold his weight. None of Furst’s countrymen moved to help him accomplish his task.
“Johanna,” Jackson called out. “Can you grab the other end of the ladder and hold it still?”
“Will do,” she responded, grabbing the opposite side.
The two teens watched as Furst shakily stood up in the middle of the ladder. He took the section of rope that he had tied into a lasso and threw it toward the uppermost part of the ceiling. It missed whatever target the curator had hoped it would catch on to, and fell downward, pulling Furst off balance. Everyone gasped as the curator fell. Furst managed to grab on to the edge of the ladder and dangled several stories above the library’s main reading room.
LOI
CHAPTER 3
The Library Council members discussed Furst’s dilemma in detail, but not one of them moved to help him.
Jackson climbed onto the edge of the ladder.
“What are you doing?” Johanna screamed.
“Someone’s got to save him,” he told her. “Hey, I’d appreciate a little help here,” he yelled at the council members at large.
One of them, a man in a brown silk caftan without much ornamentation, grabbed hold of Jackson’s end of the ladder. The teen crawled out to where Furst clung, all the while praying that the ladder was strong enough to support them both. He straddled the ladder when he reached the curator and locked his ankles together. Grabbing Furst by his arms, Jackson pulled him up high enough so the Dramatican could get a better grip.
Jackson contemplated his next move. Normally, he would reach over and grab Furst’s waistband to haul him up, but the man wore a caftan. Instead, the teen grabbed the rope Furst had attached to his waist. It had been tied with a slipknot, and Jackson could only reach the part that pulled it loose. As a last resort, the young man grabbed a handful of fabric from Furst’s caftan and hauled him up, hoping the man wore underwear, or else Johanna would get an eyeful.
Furst managed to scramble back on the ladder to the cheers of the council members. As he sat catching his breath, he trembled as sweat oozed from every pore.
“What, exactly, are you trying to do?” Jackson asked.
Furst looked up and pointed. “A hook up at the top, there is. Try to lasso it to pull myself up, I did.”
“Okay, first things first. Untie that rope from your waist and tie it to the ladder instead.” Jackson took the lasso end in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he narrowed his eyes in concentration, and tossed it. Everyone released a collective sigh when the rope missed its mark. Jackson retrieved the line, which now dangled from the ladder, grabbed the lasso again, and thought about how Johanna never missed the trash bin when she free-tossed a wadded-up piece of paper across the length of the circulation desk. I can do this, he thought. He stared at the hook. He envisioned the lasso snagging it. He thought about how contacting the College of Overseers could pave the way for them to get back home. He raised his elbow so the noose hung open from his wrist and, without taking his eye off the hook, flung the rope upward. He watched as it climbed, willing it to snag the hook.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he screamed, when the rope caught hold.
Enthusiastic shouts and whistles erupted from the group.
Jackson looked at Furst, who had broken into a wide smile. “What do I need to do when I get up there?”
Furst’s face fell. “You cannot. The curator, I am. Contact the college, only the curator can.”
“Are you going to be okay doing this?”
“Know, I do not.”
“Have you ever climbed a rope before?”
“No.”
“We should have knotted the rope before we tossed it,” he said, thinking out loud. He looked at Furst, who still looked scared. “Wait here.”
Jackson untied the rope from the ladder and climbed to the top of it. He took a moment to study the Curator’s Key. It wasn’t a key at all, but an intricate dialing mechanism. The odd configuration of brass gears and ivory numbered buttons reminded him of Jules Verne’s Time Machine. I wonder if we have one of these. Jackson shifted his gaze to the hook. It had been solidly integrated in the framework of the cupola. From up close, it was fairly large. He slowly slid back down to the ladder. “Do you have another rope?”
Furst nodded.
“Do you want to get it?”
Furst turned and tentatively stared at the end of the ladder.
“Better yet,” Jackson continued, “tell me where it is, and I’ll go and get it, that way you can save your energy for climbing it.”
“Sub-level six, it is in. Next to the cellar stairs, it is.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Jackson crawled to the edge of the ladder and jumped down onto the floor of the cupola. He didn’t waste any time answering questions. He just ignored them all and ran down the stairs. The buzz level increased, as council members stared at Furst and called out their questions to him.
“Another rope, we need,” he answered, not exactly knowing why they needed it.
Jackson returned a couple of minutes later, with the second coil of rope hanging from his shoulder. He crawled back on the ladder and formed a noose on one end and proceeded to tie knots at one-foot intervals. Then he scrambled up the rope that he’d already attached to the ceiling and secured the knotted line to the same hook.
He returned to Furst. “Those knots will keep you from sliding back down as you climb up. Just grab the rope above the knot, pull up your knees, and then wrap the loose end of the rope around one foot and use your other foot to hold it in place. Every time you straighten your legs, you’ll be able to reach higher, and you just need to keep doing that until you reach the top.”
Furst nodded. He grabbed the rope and used it to pull himself up to a standing position. He reached as high as he could and pulled up his knees as Jackson had advised, but had difficulty wrapping the rope around his foot and using the other foot to hold it in place. After three tries, he returned to a sitting position on the ladder. “Do it, I cannot. Doomed, we are.”
Jackson gave it some thought. “You can do it,” he said, with a smile. “Try it again.”
Furst slowly stood up and grabbed the rope. Jackson stood up as well. When Furst pulled his feet up, Jackson looped the rope around one foot and pushed Furst’s other foot into place. “Straighten your legs and move your hands higher,” Jackson told him. Furst did, and Jackson climbed the second rope to help the man wrap his foot again. Together, the two men climbed the pair of ropes—student and teacher—until they reached the top.
“Okay, do your thing,” Jackson said.
“Afraid to let go, I am,” Furst replied, his voice filled with panic.
“You won’t fall. I’ll hold you in place. Are your feet tight against the rope?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Jackson pulled himself up and wrapped his legs around Furst’s waist, holding him in place. “Do what you gotta do.”
Furst tentatively let go with one hand and manipulated the dial. Jackson watched as the gears slowly turned, screeching with years of non-use.
“Descend, we must,” Furst said nervously.
“Just loosen your grip a little at a time and slide.”
Jackson released Furst and slid down the rope. The Dramatican curator slowly made his way down to the ladder, at the bottom of which Jackson waited to guide him in. Above them, the gears continued to turn as the opening in the cupola slowly grew larger. They headed in opposite directions, and when they each reached firm ground, Furst motioned Jackson to help him remove the ladder from the railing and place it out of the way.
Then they stood and watched with the others as the cupola yawned wider.
*
Metal on metal clanged thunderously as the gears in Dramatica’s cupola locked into place. The crowd gasped when a magnificent white light shot upward from the center medallion embedded in the library floor, straight through the opening in the roof. After a minute, the light stopped as suddenly as it had appeared.
“Now what?” Jackson asked.
“Look,” Johanna said, pointing toward the various alcoves. A dozen men—nearly identical in appearance—emerged from the twelve portals. Each one had a long, white beard and even longer, white hair that touched the floor. They all wore purple robes and matching miter hats.
“A plethora of popes,” Jackson whispered.
Johanna jammed her elbow in his side. “Stop,” she said under her breath.
Torran addressed the overseers. “Torran, I am, Dean of the Library Council.”
ℌWho is the curator? the twelve overseers asked in unison.
Furst pushed forward through the throng of men.
“Furst, I am. Curator.” He bowed deeply.
ℌThere is another.
Furst looked for Johanna in the crowd and signaled for her to join him.
She walked over to where he stood and addressed the twelve men. “I am Johanna Charette, curator of a library in a different realm.”
Ω Realm Eleven. She heard the words, as did everyone else, but did not know who spoke them.
ℌShe breached the portals on Realm Twelve. We must extract Nero 51.”
The light shot up through the portal, and two of the overseers disappeared. When the light suddenly turned off, they retuned, flanking the curator known as Nero 51.
The Dramaticans gasped. Nero 51 had the body of a man, but his feet were larger and flatter—like swollen platypus feet—and he had multiple tentacles for arms that could stretch out to untold lengths. His wide head dipped in the middle, rising on either side over large black eyes that commanded more than half his face. He had a flat nose and a very small mouth.
He made a series of unintelligible sounds. One of the overseers waved his hand, and Nero 51’s words instantly became understandable. “Terroria has been invaded,” he declared, “and our property maliciously destroyed.”
The overseers addressed Johanna. ℌWhy did you breach the portal and destroy library property?
“We did not know about the portals or how they work. When we were unexpectedly transported to another world, my assistant Jackson wanted to explore it. But he was taken and locked in a force field.”
“TAKEN? I did no such thing. I found him trying to break into my residence.”
“I wasn’t really trying to break into the residence,” Jackson volunteered. “I only wanted to get Johanna’s attention.”
ℌYou are Jackson? the overseers asked in unison.
“Yes.”
They all nodded.
“Who is Jackson?” Nero 51 demanded. “A curator?”
ℌA curator-in-training.
“A curator-in-training who has broken the laws of the Library of Illumination, just like his master.” Nero 51 glared at Johanna. “I demand justice, with a trial on Terroria before a jury of Terrorians.”
ℌLibrary law is regulated only by a jury populated by overseers. There will be no jury of Terrorians. But we will acquiesce to your request to have the trial on your home world. It is decided.”
Johanna felt a moment of nausea and realized she had unexpectedly been whisked through the portal to another library. She recognized the structure of the executive boardroom, and knew she was on Terroria when she saw the oily mist swirling in the air. It resembled the atmosphere inside the residence in which she found Jackson. Even here, shelves filled with obelisks of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. She looked around the room to see who had accompanied them to witness the proceedings. The twelve overseers were there, as well as Jackson, Furst, and Nero 51, but she was the only other person in the room. The Dramatican Library Council had been left behind.
ℌJohanna Charette, state you story from the beginning, before breaching the portals.
Once again, she could not tell where the voice originated. She looked at Jackson, startled to see that he, Furst, and Nero 51 were suspended in what appeared to be tubes of glass.
ℌDo not be alarmed,” the voice said. “It is to prevent interruption, or the accidental disclosure of sensitive information not meant for the many.
Johanna recounted how Jackson had discovered a window in the cupola that would not open and how he was sure there must be something like a safe hidden behind it. She explained how she had been skeptical but allowed him to try to remove the window after he promised to fix anything he broke. She explained how saying the word Illumination caused the window to fly open, and how Jackson repeating it had resulted in their transport to Terroria. She stated she was “scared” and her primary goal was to return home, but Jackson had a curious mind and a zest for exploring new places. She recounted everything that happened—from breaking the obelisk to escaping the residence—and finished by telling the overseers how surprised she and Jackson were to find themselves on Dramatica, when all they wanted to do was return home.
She revealed how Furst had explained that there were a dozen realms, plus the home world, Lumina, and that she came from Fantasia, Realm Eleven, which she hadn’t known.
An overseer nodded, and Johanna found herself inside a glass tube. She watched as Jackson answered the overseers’ questions, but could not hear what was said.
*
Jackson had a similar version of what had happened, except he gave more detail about being captured by Nero 51.
“It felt like a steel cable had wrapped around my arms, and when I saw all the tentacles he had, I was surprised he didn’t wrap them around my legs as well, because I kicked as hard as I could, trying to get away. But then he reached for this huge weapon that looked like a rocket launcher, threw me against the wall, and fired it at me. I found myself locked behind a force field and couldn’t move. He started clicking and whirring at me, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying. I just knew he meant business, considering the number of weapons he had stacked up across the room. If that guy’s going to war, I don’t want to be the enemy.”
Jackson found himself back inside the glass tube and watched as Nero 51 approached the overseers.
*
“This is an outrage,” the Terrorian said in a low-pitched, threatening tone. “Those two curators,” he sneered, “invaded my library and wreaked havoc. It is against library law. I demand that they be executed for breaking the peace of a million millennia.”
*
Furst was the last person to be interrogated. He spoke about how he had first found Johanna behind the circulation desk holding the bell, and how she said she was back there because the bell was not on the desk. He stated that she spoke the truth, because he had hidden the bell after Dungen gave him a headache by ringing it nonstop.
He was mystified that Johanna did not know anything about the various realms, but said, other than that, she seemed very knowledgeable about the layout of the library and its inner workings.
He talked about his decision to ask the Library Council for permission to contact the Board of Overseers, and that once the decision was made, how Jackson helped him climb to the dial at the top of the portal. He also detailed how the teen had saved his life when he lost his balance and nearly fell to his death.
Like the others, Furst was returned to a soundproof holding tube after his testimony.
*
After much deliberation, the College of Overseers agreed their decision would depend on the testimony of Johanna’s mentor, whom they instantly summoned to corroborate the information they had been given. Mal was escorted to Terroria through one of the portals.
ℌMalcolm Trees?
“Yes.”
ℌIt is said your charge had no knowledge of the confluence of realms. Did you not teach her?
&
nbsp; “I did not. I thought her too young to fully comprehend the importance of the information when she first became curator of the library. She is, by far, the youngest person ever to assume that role, although it must be noted, she has admirably mastered the proficiencies necessary to run such a, shall we say, dynamic institution. I had arranged for the provenance of the library system to be apportioned to her within the text of my eternal diary, which I know she refers to frequently. I had scheduled it to start in her twenty-first year. She is not even nineteen years old, and I did not want her youth to influence the possibility that she might overlook the importance of our history.”
ℌThis would bear out the testimony of Furst, who claims she entered Dramatica without knowledge of the realms or her place within them.
“I am sorry to admit that I have been remiss.”
ℌThe boy, Jackson, is a curator-in-training?
“Yes. Johanna hired him to help out at the library. After I witnessed his devotion to her and to the library, I—quite unknown to them—took the necessary steps to have the young man designated a curator-in-training. Like Johanna, his background makes him highly suitable for the position. Together, I believe they will grow into all that the job demands.”
ℌYou see them as equals, then?
“Not exactly. The girl is intelligent and pragmatic, with excellent business sense and a love of literature. She is a natural-born leader of the levelheaded variety. Jackson, on the other hand, takes risks Johanna would never take. While this may seem foolhardy at times, his bravery, geniality, and ability to take charge of difficult situations and foresee their outcomes complement her leadership by making Johanna push her boundaries past what is comfortable. I believe they can accomplish great things together. In light of the rumored build-up of arms and unrest in some of the realms, I see them as the light of the future.”
ℌYou have ascertained, then, the increasing possibility of conflict within the realms?