Third Chronicles of Illumination

by C. A. Pack

  “People usually are. I’ve worked under Doctor Murchison’s tutelage for the past seven years. I assure you, I’m fully tenured. And, I know something about the library you represent, thanks to Doctor Murchison.” A group of students laughed right outside the office. “It might be better if we talk in my office. It’s more private there.”

  Johanna followed him down a long corridor, around a corner, and up a flight of stairs. He led her through an outer office with a sign that said Department of English and past a door with Dean Cameron Thorne painted on a frosted glass windowpane.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re the dean?”

  He laughed. “Please take a seat, and let me explain.” He sat across from her. “I guess you could say I was a gifted child. I graduated college when I was thirteen years old and received my doctorate by the time I turned seventeen. I worked a year at Standwell College and then applied here when an opening became available. I originally graduated from this school, and I’m very proud to be teaching here now.”

  She shook her head. “I just applied here as an English major to take courses in the fall. I thought Doctor Murchison would be my dean.”

  His brows dropped. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed.”

  “I’m not disappointed. Just surprised.”

  “Good. I assume you’re here because of my request for materials?”

  “I don’t have them with me. I wanted to meet you first.” She hesitated. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone here to confirm you’re really Dean Thorne. Do you have any I.D.?”

  A look of uncertainty crossed his face as he reached into his pocket for his driver’s license. “Will this do?”

  She looked over his picture, his license info, and noted his date of birth. Aquarius. She handed it back to him. “I’m sorry, but I had to be sure you are who you say you are.”

  “That’s okay. I can understand why you’d want to be careful. Is there some kind of contract or agreement I need to sign?”

  “Yes. We require blood oaths from all our borrowers.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

  “Just kidding,” she answered, laughing.

  He laughed with her.

  She stood to leave. “I’ll deliver the books you requested tomorrow.”

  He stood as well. “Would it be easier if I come to pick them up?”

  “No. At least, not for you. The library is tricky to find.”

  “How tricky can it be?”

  “Trust me. It will be better if I deliver them.”

  “Maybe we could meet in the middle somewhere. Let me take you to lunch. That way I can ask you more about what I can and can’t do as a client of the Library of Illumination.”

  “Oh.” Once again, he had surprised her. “Okay. Maybe we could meet at the Willow Inn in Gainesford. It’s not very expensive and the food is great.”

  “It’s a date,” he said, extending his hand.

  She took it and blushed when he held it for a second too long. She rushed out of his office before he could notice her reaction.

  —LOI—

  24

  Marbol opened his eyes. He lay splayed against the bare stone floor in the Juvenilia library. He spotted a bit of chipped tooth about three inches away. He felt inside his mouth with his tongue and confirmed it was his. He looked around without moving. Satisfied that he had not disturbed any monsters, he pushed himself up until he knelt on all fours. Okay. I’m probably not hurt if I can get up like this. Slowly, he rose to his feet.

  His eyes came to rest on a Terrorian tentacle. It had not moved since he spotted it through the window. He took a couple of deep breaths. He had to go see what lay behind the bookcase that hid the creature.

  He walked as quietly as he could and peeked around the bookcase and then gagged. He hadn’t noticed from the other side of the library, but up this close, the smell of decomposing Terrorian was quite strong. And there was more than one. There were four of them, all huddled together. He stared at their ugly faces, praying he wouldn’t see an eye open or a tentacle stretch out in his direction.

  His brain felt like mush. Think. He suddenly smiled. The scrambler works. I’m inside the library. But now that he was there, he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

  I need Peer Meap. He’s the curator. He’ll know what we should do.

  Marbol climbed out the window and ran to the City Center. He found Duddu and asked him about Peer Meap.

  “I’m going to have to find him. The easiest way is with my diary. But it might take time.” Duddu ticked off an imaginary list on his fingers. “I have to run home and find my diary, then ask him to meet us here, then wait for his answer.”

  “Okay. Do that. I’m going back to the library to poke around inside.”

  “I thought we couldn’t get inside?”

  “Yeah. Well, I modified my scrambler, and let’s just say, it worked. One of the side windows shattered and I was able to get in. But there are a lot of rot-gross monsters inside, and I don’t know what to do. The curator will. That’s why I need him.”

  Duddu turned and screamed, “Pollo, you’re in charge.” He turned back to Marbol. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Flayed for this, I will have you,” Dungen screamed from his cell. “Or worse. Put to death, you will be.”

  Most Dramaticans would agree, Dungen was not a model prisoner. He ranted and raved all the way to the provisional jail and continued to scream from behind the barred door of his cell.

  The guards feared for their lives, knowing Dungen’s father was the chief judge of the Commonwealth Court. Most did not know, or refused to believe, that Pondor ordered the incarceration of his only son. The guards feared retribution. And if Dungen’s words were to be believed, their lives, and that of their family members, were no longer safe.

  Because of the guards’ uncertainty, Dungen received special privileges—an extra serving of food at mealtime, a pillow on which to lay his head. Pondor did not order these treats and comforts, nor would he approve them if he were asked. But the guards did not know that. And so, Dungen was treated better than other prisoners, if there were other prisoners.

  Dramatica prided itself on being a very honorable world. Most men took each other at their word, and there were few petty jealousies. Most disagreements embodied the spirit of competition but disregarded malice.

  Dungen’s wrath was a phenomenon, and because it was such a rarity, hearing his vile threats made his jailers unhappy.

  Pagaron moaned as the cart that was carrying him hit a rut. His head exploded with pain at every jostle. When he tried to open his eyes, he felt like they were glued shut. He listened to the sounds around him, but everything seemed muffled.

  As his pain continued to shock him into unwanted consciousness, he thought about the weapon he had used to blast the walls of the supply cave. How could I have been so stupid? Yet, it didn’t make sense. The weapon had been strong enough to change stone into crystal. Why did the stone ceiling cave in? Why didn’t it turn into crystal as well?

  He felt his face engulfed in warmth. It was almost comforting. The sounds around him softened. He took a shuddering breath. He would never learn the answer to his question. His pain faded away with his heartbeat.

  Jackson’s new cell phone rang. He placed the decimator on the floor next to him so he could answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Jackson. It’s Emily.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I had a really nice time last night.”

  “Me too.”

  “I was wondering…umm…I realized the senior prom is Saturday. I had been planning to go with my ex, but now that he’s history, I’m wondering if you’re available? I mean, I know you may already have plans and everything, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Are you going?”

  “I hadn’t actually thought about it.”

  “So you’re not going?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to go? With me? I mean, I would love
it if you would be my date for the prom. What do you think?”

  He hesitated for a second before saying, “Sure. Why not?”

  “You will?”

  “Do I need to buy tickets or something?”

  “I already have them. All I need is you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve got a million things to do. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Sure.”

  “Bye, Jackson.”

  A shadow passed over his face. He looked up. It was Johanna.

  She looked around. “Were you just talking to someone?”

  “My phone.” He pointed to it in case she didn’t believe him.

  “You should give me your number.”

  “I should?” He wondered if she wanted to get back together with him.

  “In case I need to reach you.”

  “Oh. Sure.” He gave her his number and watched her punch it into her own cell phone. His phone rang and he quickly looked to see who was calling.

  “That’s me. Just in case you need my number. Now you have it in your ‘recents.’ Are you okay up here, or do you need me to take over for you?”

  “I just got here a little while ago. Take your time.”

  That afternoon, Natalia and the Jolen sisters walked the perimeter of the library. Arraba carried a pad and noted plants that needed to be replaced, burnt grass that required replanting, and soot that needed to be washed off stone benches and fountains. Arraba pushed the renovation even farther, suggesting new flower beds and planting new trees where none previously existed. Natalia was so engrossed in their planning, she didn’t have time to be depressed.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Dame Erato said. “Horatio Blastoe and I saw you roaming around the garden and wanted to see what you’re up to?”

  The overseer looked contrite. HB:✠ I’m sorry to say, as long as the libraries are on lockdown, nothing can be done to replace the interior.

  Arraba clutched her pad. “These gardens are communal. There’s no reason why they should remain an eyesore.”

  HB:✠ You’re quite right. It’s commendable that you wish to restore them to what they were.

  “Oh. Not ‘what they were,’” Felicia said. “We plan to make them so much more, with meandering paths between additional beds of flowers and a new meditation circle. It will be different and even more beautiful than it was before.”

  “We plan to get the community involved,” Arraba added. “Donations of plants and labor should help keep costs to a minimum.”

  HB:✠ As I said, commendable.

  Johanna dressed carefully for her lunch date. She didn’t want to appear too childish. She would scarcely admit it to herself, but she wanted to impress Cameron Thorne.

  The Roth siblings were back in school and Mrs. Roth had gone to work, so no one was available to guard the portals. Not a problem. Johanna searched for the 1862 edition of Les Misérables. She opened the book and was struck by the stench of nineteenth century France. It didn’t compare favorably at all to the lovely city beyond the Roth’s balcony in the George V suite.

  She ran her finger over Inspector Javert’s name and the man sprang to life. No wonder the city smells so bad. These people have horrible body odor. And, apparently, no deodorant.

  The inspector looked around warily. “Où suis-je?” Where am I?

  Johanna closed her eyes and channeled the incantation Plato Indelicat had used when he enacted a translation charm on Terroria. She inhaled, wished she hadn’t, and opened her eyes and answered. “You’re in the Library of Illumination, and I need you to stand guard for me.”

  “The Commissioners of Police have approved this?”

  “Yes,” Johanna answered. “Come with me.” She led Javert to the cupola and handed him the decimator.

  “What manner of weapon is this?”

  “It is designed to stop anyone from entering through this window.” She pointed to the portal opening.

  “What enemy would be so small as to enter through that opening, yet be so lethal as to concern you? Rats?”

  She didn’t have time for this. “Hopefully, none.” She closed her eyes again and enacted one of the spells she had seen in Myrddin’s Memoir. She showed him how to use the decimator. “It is only meant for enemies entering through this portal. Do not aim it at anyone else.”

  Javert nodded.

  Johanna descended the stairs, hoping she had just made the right decision. When she reached the circulation desk, she took the open copy of Les Misérables and hid it in a drawer. She picked up the books Cameron Thorne had requested and headed out the door to meet him for lunch.

  Odyon waited until the next morning to seek out Nero 51. During his time on Terroria, he determined the troopers were clumsy but well prepared for battle. He saw hundreds of them, but wondered if there were thousands waiting in the wings. Perhaps it’s time to make another deal with the Terrorians. If they were hell-bent on going to war, he might be able to use them for his own purposes.

  Solar flares from the Adventuran sun erupted so violently, scientists studying the cyclical electromagnetic disruptions could see them from the planet surface without the aid of a telescope. The enormous bursts of energy were brief but alarming. The flares were powerful enough to cause power grids on the planet surface to blow out, disrupting the delicate process of hu*bot cloning.

  Curator Prophet IAN c. called for an emergency meeting of violet-eyed “Gold Arms”—the most prestigious strata of ruler*bots.

  “The magnetic bursts are interfering with the cloning process and are expected to get worse. The disturbances are responsible for the death of originator tissue, and we are on the verge of a crisis. I have called you all together for your ideas concerning possible solutions.”

  Prophet CARL a. stepped forward. “Solar flares are cyclical. We have survived them before. Why are they a problem now?”

  Prophet IAN c. pointed to a live image of the sunbursts. “In the past, they have rarely coincided with hu*bot tissue failure. Many of our most notable originators are dying off, and the power disruptions are preventing us from successfully cloning their brains and hearts. We are currently rendered helpless.”

  Prophet DAVID l. stepped forward. “Refrigeration is the key. We have to freeze the failing tissue until a time when we can viably clone it.”

  “The power grid disruptions can affect refrigeration as easily as our cloning operation,” the curator argued.

  “Yes,” DAVID l. replied, “but if we place cryogenic refrigeration units in several different areas, our statistical chance of tissue survival will increase. The Fantasian cliché, ‘divide and conquer,’ comes to mind.”

  The Gold Arms thrashed out the details and assigned groups of Adventurans to install the necessary units. As soon as freezers were in place, viable tissue samples from dying originators were dispatched to those locations.

  In the Exeter High School cafeteria, Jackson found Emily and Cassie having a lively discussion about prom logistics while his best friend, obviously bored, ate lunch. Logan looked up as Jackson slid into the chair next to him. “Thank God.”

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

  “Apparently my car isn’t good enough anymore for the prom.” He nodded at the girls. “They want to hire a limo.”

  Cassie looked up momentarily. “Everybody does it. It’s expected.”

  Jackson shrugged.

  Logan nudged his elbow. “You know what else is expected?”

  Jackson shook his head.

  “Tuxedos. I imagine you’ll be accompanying me when I go to the House of Luxe after school to rent one.”

  Cassie’s head jerked up. “You don’t have your tux yet? I can’t believe you haven’t done that already. You knew about the prom months ago.”

  Jackson took a bite of his sandwich.

  “You have to wear tuxes.” Cassie turned her attention to Jackson. “You’ll look like complete jerks if you don’t. And you’d better hurry. The prom is tomorrow.”


  Jackson finished chewing his food before answering. “I guess that says it all. What else do I need to know about this extravaganza?”

  “Flowers,” Cassie said. She leveled her gaze at Logan. “I’m wearing pale pink.” She turned to Jackson. “And Emily is wearing the most delicious shade of teal.”

  Jackson swallowed. “Delicious?”

  Logan snickered. “But not as delicious as your sandwich.”

  Cassie took a deep breath. “It’s tradition to give your date a corsage that complements her dress. No carnations. Lilies are acceptable. Roses are preferred. Just ask for a corsage of roses and tell them her dress is teal. Perky Petals will know what to do.”

  Logan pushed his food tray aside. “What about the after-party?”

  Emily smiled. “Bring your bathing suit. We’re renting a cabin at The Dunes. We can use it as our base of operations and a place to change. Plus, we can lock up our stuff while we’re on the beach. We can build a huge bonfire after the prom and bring in some food and stuff so we can party until dawn. Then we’ll sit on the sand and watch the sunrise. It’s perfect.”

  Logan nodded. “I’ll get a keg. There’s nothing like beer on tap to make a party soar.”

  “No,” Cassie said. “We should get champagne. It’s way more sophisticated.”

  “Sophisticated, schmafisticated,” Logan replied. “I’m ordering a keg. If you want champagne, you can bring it.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes at Emily.

  “Where’s the food coming from?” Jackson asked.

  “Carnie’s Deli. We’re collecting fifty dollars from each couple.” Cassie took out a large manila envelope and wrote Jackson’s and Emily’s names on one line. She looked at Jackson. “Can you pay me now?”

  “Uh, sure.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Cassie the money.

  She put a big checkmark next to his name before turning to Logan and rubbing her fingers together.