“The Scrivener!” the woman said. She glanced at the other troops, then whispered to me, “Finally! Where has Lord Biblioden gone? What has he been doing? We haven’t seen him in the Highbrary in weeks!”
I gulped. So it was true. Someone claiming to be Biblioden had been here in the Highbrary leading the Librarians.
“That is none of your concern,” I hissed.
“He gave you Lenses,” the woman said. “Is his plan succeeding, then?”
“I…” Plan? “Sure. Of course it is. My awe-inspiring power should be proof enough for one such as you.”
She studied me, squinting, and I hoped the gloom would keep her from seeing my face within the hood.
“Awe-inspiring power,” the woman said.
“Yup.”
“Stronger than I am?”
“Most certainly.”
“Great,” the woman said, pointing down the tunnel. “Then you can go deal with that.”
“Uh … No, too busy. Too much to do. I need you to direct me toward the room with the Forgotten—”
“If you have been sent by the Scrivener,” the woman said, “you’ll know about the Code of Irrevocability.”
“Uh…”
“And since there are valuable texts that direction,” the woman continued, “you’ll know that you have to go and rescue them. By the oath of all Librarians.”
She looked satisfied, as if she’d won the argument. Which was probably true, in the same way that you’ll likely win any argument you have with a lump of coal. I had no idea what we’d just talked about.
But it seemed that I didn’t have much choice.
Another roar echoed in the corridor.
“I need to get to the Forgotten Language texts,” I said stubbornly.
“Then I will take you,” the woman said. “As soon as the immediate threat is dealt with.” She stepped back from me and turned toward the troops. “Looks like we have a volunteer to go deal with the danger on his own. Unfortunately, the rest of you won’t be able to participate.”
“Oh,” said one of the Librarians, looking disappointed. “Are you sure we can’t go and—?”
He yelped as the others nearby knocked him off his feet and several piled on top of him.
“Never mind what I just said,” a voice said from the pile, obviously someone else imitating the guy. “We’re good waiting. Happy to let someone else have the opportunity. Not selfish at all.”
Everyone looked toward me. In the group, my mother shook her head and raised her hand to her brow.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go deal with the unspeakable horror on my own. Be right back.”
The Librarians waited expectantly. So, with a sigh of resignation, I started down the corridor alone, dragging my too-big sword behind me.
Chapter
Shu Wei
Not long now.
I keep thinking of ways I could slow this down. I’ve changed my mind. Instead of getting me that sandwich, I want you to go find a big thick epic fantasy novel. Or a dictionary. Basically, anything boring with lots of words in it that would take forever to read.
You got that? Good. Now hit me over the head with it. Maybe if I have a concussion I’ll forget about what’s coming in a few chapters.
I walked slowly down the corridor, drawing closer and closer to those horrible sounds. Was this the ghost that the Librarians had been talking about? It seemed far too noisy for that, but what did I know?
Another blast of angry roaring washed over me. My already slow step grew increasingly hesitant. This is your real “hero,” my dear readers. This is my true self. Lots of bluster, lots of talk of being a Smedry and charging forward recklessly. But when confronted with a real danger, I found myself terrified.
A coward.
I heard footsteps on the stone behind and—grateful for any excuse to look away from the darkness ahead—I glanced back. Was help coming?
No, it was only Dif.
He scuttled up the tunnel toward me, a cloaked, spindly figure I identified because of his height. Several Librarians behind called to him, saying, “There’s no need!” and “Let that other guy get eaten first!” But ever a stalwart Smedry, Dif ignored them, joining me, grinning beneath his hood.
“Couldn’t let you have all the fun on your own, Cousin!” he exclaimed. “Why throw one Smedry into the pit of doom when you can throw two!”
I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of relief—and affection—for my cousin. The guy was over-the-top, but he’d come to join me when nobody else would. Beyond that, he was family. I’d decided this was where I belonged—anywhere another Smedry could be found. Merely having him nearby strengthened me, made me turn back toward the darkness and start striding forward again.
“So, what do you suppose it is?” Dif asked. “Rampaging super-wombat? Draco-zombi-thulhu? Professional wrestlers watching daytime television? A nest of mutated crocodiles who have been fed a steady diet of Smedry blood, trained to someday be unleashed so they can flay our skin from our bones and chew our skulls to powder?”
Another roar shook the walls.
“You’re not making this any less nerve-racking, Dif,” I muttered.
“Sorry.”
Eventually we got far enough from the entrance to the tunnel that I couldn’t see the pack of Librarians waiting behind. But before we reached the source of the sounds, the ground fell away into a vast pit spanned by a long rope bridge. The roars were definitely coming from the other side.
“Why in the world,” I said, “would there be a pit in the middle of the tunnel?”
“Oh, Librarians are always building things like this,” Dif said, stepping onto the rope bridge. “Bottomless pits in the middle of rooms, tunnels and shafts to nowhere. They think it makes everything feel more evil.”
I watched him start across the bridge, which swung leisurely in a breeze from somewhere. The walls here had been carved with reliefs depicting Librarians kneeling before a figure I could only imagine was Biblioden. The ceiling opened up like the floor did, stretching into darkness. Shouldn’t the surface have been up there? Washington, DC? I saw no signs of sunlight.
I edged my way onto the bridge. Why hadn’t I put “death by falling off a rope bridge into a bottomless pit” on my list?
Wouldn’t this be a fitting end? All this work, all these books, just to have me slip and fall to my doom.
The end.
As great a joke as that would have been on you, it didn’t happen.*
I shoved down my cowardice and carefully followed Dif across the swinging bridge. I could make out some kind of wub-wub-wub sound coming from below. It was hard to hear over those roars, but it was distinct once I noticed it.
I stopped on the bridge and peered down into the depths. Although the only light came from those tiny oil lamps on the walls, I thought I caught a glimmer of something spinning down below. The breeze was stronger here; something was pulling air downward.
“Fans?” I asked, looking toward Dif.
“Probably their ventilation system,” he said, sweeping his hand around dramatically. “This is an archive! These tunnels need a mighty fine set of fans to blow dry air into the rooms to keep things from getting moldy.”
I nodded, thinking of how vast an undertaking it must have been to build this place. This open shaft above us was an air inlet, and the fans below were pulling wind down into the ventilation system.
Dif backed up a few steps until he was next to me on the bridge. He leaned out—much too far, in my opinion—looking down into the pit.
Man, I thought, Bastille would hate this place. She has this thing about heights. And by “thing” I mean “incredible, soul-clutching terror.” I think it’s because she hasn’t figured out a way she can stab “heights” yet.
Another roar seemed to make the entire bridge shake. “So, how are we going to deal with that whatever-it-is?” Dif asked.
“I still have this sword,” I said, holding the thing up.
“Ever
used one of those?”
“Nope.”
“Perfect. Much more dramatic.” Dif grinned a Smedry grin, leaning out farther over the shaft. “Wow. Check out those carvings on the wall!”
If Dif thought the sword was a good idea, then it was probably a terrible one. Instead I fished in my robe pocket, bringing out one of my Lenses. This was my Truthfinder’s Lens, the one Alcatraz the First had left behind so I could discern the lies from the truths. “I just have to use Lenses on the monster, whatever it is.”
And after that, I’d use them on my father. With my Truthfinder’s Lens, I could know for certain what he intended.
“Wow!” Dif said, sweeping the other direction to point at the other wall. “More murals over there!” And as he moved, he accidentally smacked his hand into mine.
The Truthfinder’s Lens tumbled from my fingers.
I cried out, dropping to my knees on the precarious bridge. I reached for my Lens, but it bounced once off a wooden slat and rolled off the bridge. I watched as it flipped in the air, plummeting like a single raindrop down, down, down into blackness.
I heard a faint crack as it hit the enormous spinning fans.
I knelt there, wide-eyed, feeling a crushing sense of loss. No. Not that Lens! I … I …
“Oh!” Dif said. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” He dropped to his knees beside me, looking down at the blackness. “We can get it, Cousin. We cut the ropes of the bridge, dropping us down while we cling to the wooden boards. No, it’s not long enough. We slice up the ropes on the bridge and make a way to climb down … into a bunch of spinning death-fans that probably already destroyed the Lens anyway.…”
His face fell.*
I stared after the Lens for a long moment, but I knew there was nothing we could do now. Later, once our job was done here, I could try to get down there and gather the shards so my grandfather could reforge the Lens.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Dif said. “That … that wasn’t very Smedry-like, was it? It was spontaneous, I mean, but…” He looked sick.
I was immediately angry with him. Hateful, even. Then I thought of all the things I’d broken in my life, all the mistakes I’d made. With effort, I shoved down my annoyance, then stood and reached to help him to his feet.
“It’s all right,” I said. “We all make mistakes.”
He lit up, nodding enthusiastically. He was earnest. He was also a buffoon, but hey, he wasn’t the one who had accidentally warned the entire world he was going to be sneaking into the Highbrary.
“Come on,” I said, shouldering the sword and striding across the bridge. “I’m tired of wondering what type of deadly monster is waiting to devour us.”
On the other side, I was relieved to step onto solid ground again. This larger tunnel was set with rooms at the sides, and glancing in one I saw shelves upon shelves of books. It looked like the huts in the central chamber mainly kept things like soda cans and license plates, while these deeper chambers had the actual books.
The sounds were very close now. I inched along, back to the wall, approaching a doorway to my left. Yup. That was where the sounds were coming from.
I looked at Dif, and we both took a deep breath. Then we charged into the room, me with my sword out, him with his fists up as if fully prepared to punch the living daylights out of the draco-zombi-thulhu, whatever that is. Instead, we were confronted by an enormous tyrannosaurus rex with blood dripping from its teeth.
“Oh,” I said, relaxing immediately. “Thank goodness.”
Chapter
15
I’ve been thinking.
Maybe my life is a fable, of the kind Aesop wrote. The purpose of those was to warn. He told an entertaining story that, at the end, proved a point. That’s why all those animals got eaten, mangled, beheaded, crushed, and defenestrated.*
My life is not just a story—but simply because this all happened doesn’t mean you can’t learn something. It’s obvious to me now. Maybe there is a point to all this! You are supposed to learn something from it!
Never let your chapters choose their own names. It makes things terribly confusing.
The dinosaur roared again, throwing back its head, shaking the walls with the ferocity of its anger.
“Cheers, Alcatraz!” said a pterodactyl* sitting at a little table in the room. He wore a vest and trousers, and was sipping tea from a small cup.
“Hey, Charles,” I said, waving Dif into the room, then peeking out to see that no Librarians were near. “What’s up with Douglas?”
“Bit my lip!” said the T. rex.
“Really?” I said, setting the sword by the door and pulling a handkerchief out of my pocket.* “That hardly seems worth all of this noise.”
“Don’t mind him, good chap,” said Charles the pteradactyl.* “He merely has a very low threshold for pain and a very high propensity for making a brilliant racket!”
“That’s terribly unfair,” Douglas said. “Have you seen these teeth of mine? A bit lip is no trivial matter, I say!” In truth, he was small for a T. rex. Barely taller than a human adult, but he still had to lean down so that I could dab at the blood on his teeth.
A few other dinosaurs sat at the table with Charles. I’d met Margaret, the duck-billed dinosaur, along with Charles and Douglas during my first library incursion with my grandfather. I didn’t know the last of the group, a dinosaur that had four horns—but also a long pointed face. I’m fairly certain the business suit with a skirt meant she was female, but I’d never seen her species in a textbook.
Dif regarded the dinosaurs with a sneer that he obviously tried to cover up when I glanced at him. Like Bastille, he didn’t seem to think much of them. Personally, I was more than happy to find friendly faces—even reptilian ones—instead of some eldritch monster thirsting to drink my soul.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?” The Librarians liked to kill dinosaurs and stick their bones in museums.
“We’re field researchers,” Charles said indignantly. “We can’t do important work in a stuffy university.”
“Stuffy libraries are much better,” Megan the duck-billed dinosaur agreed.
“Besides!” said the T. rex. “We couldn’t let you come here alone, good chap!”
I groaned. “So you saw my speech too?”
“‘It’s time for you to stop whining!’” Charles proclaimed, raising his teacup. “‘And either help or get out of my way!’ Very dramatic. Set the Librarians all abuzz.”
“They knew I was coming for them,” I said with a sigh, sitting down with the dinosaurs and eating a few of their British-style cookie things.*
“Yes, yes,” said the not-triceratops. “But that’s not what made the Librarians so upset. Not merely your arrival, but your speech. Don’t you realize what you said? It was incredible, extraordinary, spectacular!”
The dinosaurs looked at me expectantly. Hopefully the Librarians outside in the hallway would think I was fighting in here or something. This particular hall of books didn’t seem to have any archivists in it at the moment.
“Your speech,” Charles prompted. “You said, ‘I know something the Librarians don’t.’ The Librarians have gone crazy trying to figure out what it is!”
“I was talking about my determination,” I said. “It was a metaphor. ‘I’m stronger than they think.’ Something like that.” I shrugged. I didn’t really remember what I’d said all that well; it had just kind of come out.*
“Well,” Douglas said, flopping down beside the table near me, “they certainly thought you meant something by it. So we couldn’t sit back and let all this happen!”
“Well, I suppose we can use all the soldiers we can get,” I said.
“Soldiers?” Charles the ptterodactyl asked.
“Militants,” the not-triceratops explained. “Combatants, fighters, warriors.”
“I know what it means, Mary,” Charles said. “I was simply surprised. Uh … we’re not exactly the fighting t
ype, Lord Alcatraz.”
“But you just said—”
“We’re here,” Margaret said, raising her cup, “because this is a fantastic opportunity to explore Hushlander reactions to extreme stress!”
“Do you have any idea how many papers we could write about this?” the four-horned dinosaur said. “Essays, dissertations, treatises!”
“Librarian homeland besieged?” Charles said. “Smedrys running around in the Highbrary, having a bash at bringing down the entire place? This will be golden.”
“Marvelous,” the not-triceratops said, “engaging, fascinating, wonderful.”*
“Oh,” I said. “I was hoping you’d help.”
“Well,” Charles added, “we did have Douglas eat the M section in the fiction archive. That might sow a little chaos.”
“Honestly,” Douglas said, “sparkles? Hasn’t she ever met any undead?”
“Alcatraz,” Dif said, “we should get back. The Dark Oculator might send one of those poor fools outside to come look for us.” He’d refused the seat I’d pulled out for him, and stood by the doorway, arms folded.
“Yeah, all right,” I said, rising. “I don’t suppose you guys could create a ruckus in here for a few minutes, make it sound like I’m fighting you?”
The dinosaurs grew silent.
“Like … acting?” Margaret asked.
“Performing!” the not-triceratops said. “Playing, portraying!”
“I don’t know about that,” Charles said. “Did anyone here take any classes in theatre?”
“What?” Douglas demanded. “And mingle with the unwashed cretins in the humanities department?”
“Please?” I asked. “The Librarians have to think I destroyed whatever monster was in here. Otherwise they’ll come peeking in and discover you.”
The dinosaurs sighed, then rose. “Very well,” Margaret said. “Though I don’t like interfering in the social experiment environment that you provide here, young Smedry.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
Then they started roaring. I was shocked by the ferocity of it, and stumbled back, my eyes widening. For all their complaints, they quickly got into the act, screeching, bellowing, and making such a racket I could barely hear myself cake.*
The Dark Talent Page 11