Domnall snatched the broom from Lucy’s hands, leaving her without even that meager defense. William jumped up, the stool clattering behind him. Startled, the drunken man turned away from Lucy and lurched toward William. Before William could even raise his fists to defend himself, Jack appeared from behind a wooden post and clouted Domnall on the skull. Rage melted into confusion, and Domnall’s eyes crossed as he thumped unconscious to the floor.
Jack ran to Lucy and put his arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay, Lucy?”
“I’m fine. You boys shouldn’t have had to see that, but I’m grateful you stepped in. I doubt he would have done much harm, especially if I gave him that beer, but I wasn’t happy about giving it for free.”
A door opened, and a heavy-set middle-aged man appeared on the base of the stairs he had just descended. “What’s this ruckus? Are you boys causing trouble?”
“No, Daddy,” said Lucy. “Jack and William protected me. It was him again.” She pointed at Domnall who lay senseless at her feet.
The man shook his head and scratched his beard as he stared at the drooling Domnall. “King’s blisters, that man is a pest.” He turned to Jack and William. “You boys defended my girl?”
William raised his hands in denial. “I didn’t really do anything. Jack knocked him out.”
“Don’t be modest, Will,” said Jack. “You distracted him for me.”
“Not on purpose.”
Jack smirked at William. “I’ve always said you do your best thinking when you aren’t thinking.”
Lucy’s father clapped the boys on their shoulders. “Well, my girl is safe and my tavern undamaged, so you have my thanks. Dan Deacon is my name, and your meal is on the house today.”
Jack and William protested, but Deacon would have none of it. “Lucy, could you please call the Guard to come haul our unwanted guest away, then bring another round of whatever Jack and William were having.”
“Right away, Daddy.” She turned on her heel.
“And something for me too, if you don’t mind. I’d like to have a chat with these boys.”
“Of course.” Lucy took a step toward the kitchen.
“Something for yourself too. It’s a slow morning, so you may as well enjoy our fine company.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” She attempted to leave again.
He caught her sleeve. “And one more thing. No matter how late it is, if that man refuses to leave on his feet at closing time, come and get me. I’ll make sure he leaves on his backside.”
Lucy pulled her arm away. “Yes, Daddy. Can I go do your bidding now? Or should I just walk away while you drone on?”
Deacon laughed. “Go,” he said. He turned to the boys and continued. “Gets more like her mother every day. Bossier, too, since she got married, but I guess that’s the way of things. What happened to that stool?”
Jack gave the innkeeper a sheepish look. “I broke off the leg to use as a club.”
William stared at Jack. “You snapped a leg off a stool, snuck past me and got behind that lunk all without me noticing?”
Jack shrugged.
“Let me guess,” William said. “Ancient Gypsy secret?”
“Something like that,” said Jack with a grin.
“Well, I can always use more firewood,” said Deacon. “But stools are hard to come by. Not that I blame you, Jack. I’d trade a stool for my daughter’s life any day.”
Lucy returned with trays laden with food. “Thanks, Daddy. It’s good to know I’m worth at least a stool.”
“In fact, Lucy is worth four or five stools at least, wouldn’t you say, boys? Don’t look at me in that tone of voice, Lucy.”
Lucy rolled her eyes at her father as she sat down. “I sent David to fetch the Guards.”
“David’s her younger brother,” said Deacon to William and Jack. “Completely obsessed with the Guard. Wants to be one someday, takes any chance he can to see them.” The Innkeeper’s smile faded as he saw William’s expression. He glanced at Jack and Lucy, then back at William. “You’re Orrin Whitehall’s son, aren’t you?”
William bit his lip, unsure of what he should say.
Deacon nodded. “And it’s the Library for you, and not the Guard, eh? That was thoughtless of me. I should have known who you were.”
William shook his head. “How could you have known who I was? I’ve never stepped foot in here before today. And how did you know about the Library?”
“It’s a lousy Innkeeper who doesn’t know what’s happening in his own town. I get little enough trade from outside, I need to keep the customers I have here. As for knowing who you are…you aren’t your father’s size, and you don’t take much after him, but there’s a look in your eye your father had. I don’t know what to call it, but you have it too.”
“That’s not much to go on,” said Jack. “Just a look in his eye?”
Lucy tilted her head. “What kind of look?”
Deacon tapped his spoon on the table as he pondered. He slapped his hand down and grinned. “Resolve! It took me a moment, but that’s what it’s called. A fancy word for an Innkeeper, to be sure, but that’s what you’ve got. Resolve.” He leaned back and crossed his arms across his aproned belly. “You were lucky not to be selected for the Guard. You know that?”
“Daddy! He doesn’t want to hear that right now.”
“Shush, girl. Folks never want to hear the things they need to. I know David doesn’t. He prattles on about the Guard, but I tell him, and I’ll tell you, William, the Guard is no place for a man today. Not like it used to be.”
Lucy shook her head and looked at the ceiling, but William had to know what he meant. “Why?” he asked.
Deacon leaned across the table as though sharing a secret. “Marshland Crossing is changing.”
Jack furrowed his brow. “Changing? How?”
The Innkeeper glanced up and held his tongue as a pair of Guards entered the tavern and laughed at the prostrate figure of Roger Domnall. Their grins widened when they spied William, and there was no hiding their glee at his disappointment the previous evening. They exchanged a few jokes at William’s expense, causing him to blush.
“Gentlemen,” Deacon said in a loud voice addressed to the Guards. “If you aren’t capable of doing your jobs without harassing my patrons, I’ll have a word with your Captain to suggest a few remedial tasks to help you learn.” Chastened, they hoisted Domnall to his feet and rushed him away to sleep off his stupor under lock and key.
“More big words for an innkeeper,” said Deacon. “Boys, Marshland is changing in more ways than one. People are moving away. They say there’s nothing here for them anymore. Look at the rundown buildings. I wasn’t joking about that stool, either; there’s no one here that can fix it because there’s no metal for tools. My beer kettle is near worn through, and there’s little copper to be had to patch it. Iron is scarcer.
“Crops are failing, too. Farmers can’t plow the ground deep enough, or they lose too much grain because they can’t harvest it fast enough without the right tools. And some say worse: they claim a part of their harvest goes missing during the reaping. Once the Earl gets his share for the rent of the land, there’s little enough to eat, let alone sell.”
He took a swig of his beer. “Business used to be good. Oh, I get by. Anyone who sells beer and cider will survive, but it’s not like it used to be. My guess is, if it wasn’t for the Library and the money the King sends for its upkeep, there wouldn’t be a town here at all. And unless something changes, there might not be anything left of the town in years to come.”
Jack and William exchanged glances. William couldn’t challenge Deacon on his comments; the facts were there for anyone to see. It was his conclusion that unsettled him.
Lucy giggled. “Daddy’s always cheering up the customers like that. Aren’t you?”
“Let’s say you’re right, Mr. Deacon,” said Jack. “What has that got to do with the Guard one way or the other?”
“Well, let’s s
ay your friend here takes his Library job, and learns everything about it. What happens if the King moves the Library somewhere else?”
“I suppose he’d go with it.”
“What if he doesn’t want to go? Or what if the Library is closed completely?”
“I’m sure he could find a job as a clerk in another town, or keep books for some Baron somewhere.”
Deacon nodded at Jack. “Exactly. Now, let’s say instead he finds himself a member of our illustrious Guard. A year or two passes, and suddenly the town has no money to pay for all its Guards. Now he’s competing with his comrades for jobs in other towns. He has one skill to sell, and fewer people to pay for it. What happens to a soldier without an employer?”
William looked up quickly, sudden insight forcing the words out. “He becomes an outlaw.”
Deacon pointed his meaty finger at William. “Exactly.”
Lucy shook her head at her father. “Daddy, you go on like this all the time. Do you really think William would become a bandit?”
“No, of course not. But others would, and William would have a tough time of it either way. But that’s not the main trouble with Marshland Crossing.”
“Oh, here we go,” said Lucy.
“Tell us,” said Jack.
Deacon pointed toward the door. “You saw it in those two boys who dragged Roger away.”
William followed the innkeeper’s gaze, then looked back. “What?”
Deacon banged his empty mug on the table. “Rudeness. Simple, personal rudeness. People in a community are polite to each other because they know they’ll spend a lifetime as neighbors, and they stand to lose too much if they create bad blood. Only people with no thought for the future treat others like garbage, and that’s what’s happening. They have nothing to hope for, nothing to build, so there’s no sense in making friends. You can point at shattered windows, broken gates, moss-covered statues all you want. Those are bad signs, all right, but there’s no worse sign for a town than open contempt for one’s fellow man.”
Lucy put her hand on her father’s arm. “Daddy, isn’t it possible the slow business has less to do with rudeness and crops and metal, and more to do with you depressing the customers?”
Deacon chuckled. “I wish it were so, Lucy. I really do. Maybe there’s some hope, but I don’t see it.”
William stared at his bowl, his appetite lost. Jack looked no better and pushed his plate away. It was a lot to ponder. Deacon was older and knew how things had been before William was born, but William had lived enough to see the changes himself. Bad manners were more common than they used to be. People didn’t try as hard at anything. They simply cared less. The conversation carried on around him as he drifted away in thought, and it dawned on him that there were things he had to learn if life in Marshland Crossing was to get better.
Maybe the Library was exactly what he needed.
From the very first, the Colonists were more concerned with storing knowledge than with spreading or obtaining it, especially since their priorities had switched from scholarly pursuits to survival. Marshall Ibycus himself was quoted as saying that knowledge and technology were not synonymous, and that further scientific advances would have to wait for future generations. It was his hope that primitive industries would eventually lead to another renaissance.
Planet of Hope: A History of Esperanza
William woke to find the town shrouded in heavy winter fog. The path to the administration buildings was difficult to find, and his frustration was not helped by the fact that he could very well be late on his first day at the Library. He inched forward, hands outstretched to ward off anything he might run into. Late or not, at least Oz and his gang would not see him—not that they would be up this early. Eventually, the sound of gravel beneath his feet and the slow incline of the path told him he was headed the right way.
He broke through the misty cloud layer near the top of the hill, and the morning sun blinded him as it reflected off the Library’s white stone. The large, imposing wooden door displayed the usual Crown and Aura relief, and for a moment he questioned whether he was worthy of entering. Don’t be a coward, he thought; you were chosen for this. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The hallway was dark, and for a moment he saw only vague shapes. When his vision returned, a head emerged from a door on his left. “Ah, William, good to finally meet you. I’m Lester Cairns.” William guessed Cairns to be around sixty or seventy, given his thin wisps of hair and stooped figure.
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Cairns,” said William.
“No, no,” said Cairns, who raised a knobby finger in mock warning. “Call me Lester. No formality here.” Cairns gestured for William to follow him into the office and waved at the rickety chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat. Not much comfort here either, I’m afraid.” Cairns lowered himself with difficulty into his own chair. “So, William. I understand you were somewhat…surprised, I think, at being selected for the Library?”
William realized Cairns was being polite, and probably knew all about William’s disappointment. He warmed to his new employer, with his heavy, educated Ibyca accent and old world manners. “Yes, sir…I mean…Lester. But I’ve gotten over the shock of it, and I realized I could learn things here that I would never learn in the Guard.”
“Your mother gave you quite a gift with the education she provided. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”
“That’s true. But I never thought of myself as much of a student, though. Some of the work was interesting, I guess. And I do enjoy reading stories. I just hope I don’t end up a disappointment here.”
Cairns nodded, and William sensed he had passed some sort of test. “Very well,” said Cairns. “Do you know the Library’s history?”
“Some, or at least I think I do. King Stephen founded it about a hundred years ago, right?”
“Correct,” said Cairns. “Stephen the Great, great grandfather of King Duncan, who still funds the Library to this day. Stephen decided the knowledge humanity had saved during the past four centuries would stand a better chance of surviving if it was copied and brought to another continent. Well, you know the story, so I won’t bore you with the details. Any questions?”
“Yes. What exactly is it that we do here?”
Cairns smiled. “We are gardeners of knowledge, William. I can see you are puzzled; let me explain. Information exists all around the world. Our job is to collect it, organize it and present it in a manner most fitting to those who need it. Just as there are trees, flowers and other plants in the wild, which a gardener arranges into something more easily enjoyed. In the same way, we arrange information that already exists into something more easily understood. Follow?”
“Yes, I think so. But…” William hesitated.
“Go ahead, ask,” said Cairns.
“What exactly is it that we do here?”
This time Cairns laughed out loud. He walked toward a bookcase on the back wall and began searching. “I like that you said ‘we,’ William. It means you already consider yourself one of us. I’m glad.” Cairns found the book he was looking for and handed it to William. “This is a sample of our work, commissioned by Duke Vincent from Faywater Port, one of our biggest patrons. This is a condensed version of many other books related to oyster farming.”
“Couldn’t he just buy one of the books on oyster farming?”
“No. First, most of our books are like me: old and fragile. They wouldn’t last long if removed from the Library. Second, none of them had the exact and complete information he wanted. Lastly, we had no books that were strictly devoted to oyster farming.” Cairns sat back and waited for William to speak.
He was being tested again. Put on the spot, his mind came up blank at first, but then the answer occurred to him. “There were several books that contained a little information about oyster farming, and this book was made from that information, but without all the other stuff.”
Cairns beamed. “Very good. Not ev
eryone grasps that so quickly.”
William basked in the praise. “Thank you.” He thumbed through the pages, admiring the neat printing and crisp illustrations. “These drawings are good. I hope you don’t expect anything like that from me?”
“No, we have an artist. She can devote herself to illustrations full time now that you are here. Speaking of which, you should meet your colleagues.”
Cairns led William to the basement, which he had not known existed until now. Unlike the upper floor, the walls appeared to be carved from the native rock that formed Administration Hill. The air was cooler than upstairs, but not as cold as outside, nor as damp. It was the perfect place to store old books. In one of the storage rooms Cairns introduced him to Jessica Wright, a short, friendly woman a little older than his mother. She smiled at William and surprised him with a hug.
“Jessica mainly works on children’s books,” said Cairns. “As well as educational material for advanced classes, but lately she has filled in with research. She also makes hats.”
William looked back and forth between them. “Hats?”
“Not very good ones, I’m afraid.”
Jessica laughed. “Lester, you adore my hats.”
“Jessica, I adore your hats. William, this way.”
Cairns led the way upstairs and into a large room with bay windows along the ceiling that let in plenty of light. A large table dominated the room, covered in books and papers and half-finished sketches. “And here is Melissa. Melissa Reid, this is William Whitehall. He will be working in research and copy.”
William’s jaw dropped. “So this is where you’ve been!”
Melissa flashed a shy smile at him. “Yes, the whole time,” she said. “Did you miss me?”
He turned bright red and stammered until he forced out an answer. “Well…yes, of course…”
“Then why didn’t you visit me?” Melissa tilted her head and batted her lashes.
The Defender of Rebel Falls: A Medieval Science Fiction Adventure (The William Whitehall Adventures Book 1) Page 3