The Library: The Complete Series (All 8 Books) (2013)

by Amy Cross

  "And you don't think the timing is a little strange?" I say. "After all, they've had hundreds of years to come and issue this ultimatum, and yet they wait until today. I also can't help but note that they made no effort to stop me from reaching the Citadel. It's almost as if they were waiting for me to arrive before they could put their plan into action."

  "So you think this is all about you?" the Elder asks.

  "I think someone is setting a trap," I tell him, "and I don't trust these creatures. Are we really expected to believe that all this carnage, and all this mayhem, is caused by an irrational desire to get hold of a simple book? Is that truly the story they want to make us believe?" I pause for a moment. "I'm not a fool. I won't be tricked so easily. Before this is over, I will face them and I will know what they truly want. After all, everyone wants something."

  "And what do you want?" he continues.

  "I want peace."

  "No. You want your old status back, and peace is just a way to get it. If true peace came to the Library, Vanguard, a man like you would be obsolete. You need war, or you're irrelevant. You have nothing to offer apart from the ability to kill those who stand in your way. Perhaps a smarter man would be able to adapt to an era of peace, and carve out a new role for himself. But you? You're always going to be like this. The only question is when you'll die in battle, and whether it'll be for a cause that means anything."

  I stare at him, infuriated by his attempt to reduce me to the level of some common, easily-understood animal. There is a part of me that would like to remove his head, but I know I must show a little more respect to someone of his stature. Nevertheless, there is something about him that I don't trust; he seems too eager to hand the book over to the emissary, and too willing to engage in hushed conversations with those who would normally be seen as his enemies. If I am a man of war, then he is a man of peace; we both have our weaknesses, but at the end of the day, and as the sun sets over the battlefield, only one of us would have the strength to continue the fight.

  "I shall find this book," I say firmly, "and then I shall know its nature. I shall not hand it over blindly to the Forbidders. Instead, I intend to determine its true nature. The very fact that they desire it so strongly might be a reason to keep it from them. If I have to fight to keep it from their hands, I will take any necessary measures to ensure that they are not successful."

  "When you find the book," he replies, "you will hand it over to me. I have seniority here, and I will decide what is to be done."

  Without answering him, I turn and walk away. Technically, he's correct: my duty would be to turn the book over to him and trust him to make the right decision. However, I am certain that he has made some kind of arrangement with the emissary, and I am not about to allow this book to be passed to the Forbidders unless I am certain that it would be the best thing for the Library. But these are problems for another day, because right now I have no idea where I might even begin to look for the book. If the emissary was telling the truth, and the Librarian never left the Citadel, then both he and the book must still be somewhere within these walls; unfortunately, the Citadel is vast and it would take many months to search its entire range. I will need help if I am to have even a chance of locating the book, and at this moment there is only one person who I believe could be of use to me.

  Claire

  I reach out and carefully slide the dusty old book from the shelf. Turning it over in my hands, I feel the texture of the cover: the leather is pocked and worn, with stains and marks, and the spine is heavily creased. When I open the book, I find that it's full of faded, lightly browned pages, some of which are dotted with small stains. I don't know how old this particular volume happens to be, but it's clearly well over the hundred year mark. It's such a solid thing, held together by strong binding along the spine, and after a moment I carefully slide it back onto the shelf and take a step back.

  Is it true?

  Was I really, a long time ago, a book?

  I close my eyes and try to imagine what it must have been like. I think of myself as a small, rectangular object resting on a shelf along with a load of other books; I think of myself being slid out and opened; I think of someone reading my pages, occasionally turning from one to the next, and perhaps putting a bookmark in me before setting me on their bedside table while they sleep; I think of myself being carried in a satchel as someone goes about their daily business, perhaps pulling me out to read me on a bus. It all feels so strange and weird and alien, and yet at the same time I have a sense that perhaps I have some affinity with the sensation of being something so simple.

  So it's true.

  I was a book.

  I hold my hands out and spread my fingers, imagining that they're pages. There are so many questions that I didn't think to ask Sharpe. Was I conscious when I was a book, or is that something that came later? What kind of book was I? What was I about? Was I fiction or non-fiction? Did I get read a lot, or was I the kind of book that sits unnoticed on a shelf and gathers dust? Was I hardback or paperback? Did I have thick pages or thin? Did I have a dust jacket? Perhaps most importantly of all, is my human form a permanent change, or am I destined to one day go back to being a book? Sighing, I realize that I should have asked him all these things, but I guess his answers would probably have been typically inscrutable and, most likely, not at all helpful. Even if -

  I pause for a moment.

  This is crazy. I'm not a book! Have I really been in the Library for so long, that I'm willing to believe such a crazy idea? I mean, the whole thing makes no sense. How and why would someone take a book and turn it into a baby? Sharpe's clearly just a bullshit merchant, peddling a load of rubbish to cover up whatever truth he wants to keep hidden. He probably just wants to distract me, or to make an excuse to hide the real reason for his departure. I'm no more a book than I am a camel or an aardvark. Smiling, I realize how easily I allowed myself to be fooled. I mean, how stupid can I be, right? How did I ever manage to believe such an insane thing?

  But.

  But it's there, in the back of my mind. Twinkling in the darkness, something keeps nagging me; reminding me that, actually, Sharpe's story might be true. No, not that it 'might' be true: it's absolutely true, without a shadow of a doubt. I can't explain the sensation, but part of me seems to know that he was telling the truth. It's almost as if there's a little piece of book left in my head, just enough to anchor me to my old identity. Maybe it doesn't all make sense right now, and maybe I can't imagine my old existence and I have no idea where I'm supposed to go next, but it's almost as if I can sense an underlying quality of truth and logic to the whole thing. I only have pieces of the story so far, but I can tell that eventually they're going to fit together seamlessly.

  So I'm back to where I was a few minutes ago.

  It's true.

  I used to be a book.

  "Claire?"

  Turning, I find that Natalia is standing in the doorway. She has that same old smile on her face; it's a smile that means she's here to help me, and she won't take 'No' for an answer.

  "I was just looking at the books," I mutter, wondering if maybe Natalia knows the truth about me. After all, Sharpe said that he didn't tell Vanguard, but maybe he told everyone else. Perhaps that would explain why Natalia has been so keen to look after me: she knows that I'm not what I seem to be, and that I might need special treatment.

  "You must come back to your room," she says. "You need to rest."

  "In case my spine gets damaged some more?" I ask wryly.

  "Does your back hurt?" she replies, a look of concern crossing her face.

  "No," I say, figuring that she doesn't seem to know the truth about my bookish past. I wander over to the doorway. "Sorry. I just wanted to see what was in here," I say.

  "You don't have to apologize," she says, leading me along the corridor. "Curiosity is a natural thing. I'd be rather surprised, and a little disappointed, if you just sat in your bed and showed no inclination to explore the Citadel. Th
e only reason I try to keep you confined is that I'm still a little worried about you. Although you've made a remarkable recovery, it's possible that you could still have a relapse. You just need a few more days, so that I can be certain that you're on the mend, and then you can start poking about to your heart's content. Does that sound like a good plan?"

  "As good as any," I say quietly.

  "There are a few parts of the Citadel that are off-limits," she continues. "I'll explain those to you later, but it's not too complicated."

  "Like the parts near the top?" I ask. For a moment, it occurs to me that maybe I could ask her about Fig. After all, Sharpe didn't seem to know anything about her, but Natalia seems to be more of a part of this place. Then again, I still don't know if I can entirely trust her, so perhaps I shouldn't let her know that I've been exploring quite so thoroughly. Deciding to keep quiet about Fig, I smile. "I don't know. It's not like I need to know every nook and cranny. I'm just passing through."

  "On your way home?"

  I nod, although I don't really know where 'home' is anymore.

  "Don't worry," she continues as we walk into my room. "You'll feel better soon. This place isn't really so strange, not when you get used to it. I'm sure you'll start to understand the way we do things around here."

  "Do you know where Vanguard is?" I ask as I sit back down on my bed. "I really need to see him."

  She pauses, looking a little hesitant. "I'm not sure," she says, clearly choosing her words carefully. "I know I promised he'd come to see you, but I believe I heard that perhaps he's been waylaid a little."

  "Waylaid?"

  "I think perhaps he's had to go and look for something, but he'll be back soon. Don't worry, if there's one thing you can count on with Vanguard, it's that he always comes back. No matter how long he's gone, and no matter how certain you might be that he's left for good, he always shows up eventually."

  "But I need to speak to him now," I say, starting to panic a little at the thought that both Vanguard and Sharpe have left me here. "He wouldn't just go without saying anything to me."

  "It was very sudden," she continues. "He was called away on a very important mission, but when it's done, I'm quite sure he'll be straight through to see you." She takes the bed-sheets and drapes them over my shoulders. "Don't worry about anything. If you worry, you'll slow down your recovery. I'm going to go and find some food for you, and maybe something for you to read. I know it can be rather boring being a patient, and that sense of curiosity must be driving you crazy. Just a few more days of bed-rest, and then you'll be up and about."

  "Sure," I say, as she turns and hurries out of the room. Even if Natalia's right, I don't understand what I'm supposed to do once I'm allowed to be 'up and about'. If everything Sharpe told me was true, then I seem to be nothing more than a sitting target, waiting for the Forbidders to figure out who and what I am. Is that what I'm supposed to do? Should I just sit here and wait for them to decide that they're ready for me? Feeling a cold chill pass through my body, I take a deep breath. All I want to do is go home and pretend that none of this is real.

  Epilogue

  I can hear her. She's downstairs, pacing about in her room. She's worried, and scared, and she's trying to decide what to do. I don't blame her. If I was in her position, I'd be terrified. She's lost in a world that makes no sense to her, and she's learning a great deal about herself. She'll need someone. Someone to talk to, someone who'll listen. That's where I come in. That's why I was left here, all those years ago.

  Except.

  There's been a change of plan. The Librarian chose me because he thought I could be trusted. He told me as much: he said that I had a fairly simple mind, and that I was the least likely to go crazy or succumb to corruption. Well, that was a nice compliment, but he was a little misguided. The thing is, after he left me in this cell, something happened. As things turned out, I wasn't necessarily alone in here. It took a long time for me to realize that there was something in the darkness with me, but and it took even longer for me to learn its name. Eventually, however, it started talking to me, and I found out that it had a plan of its own. It asked for my help, and eventually I agreed.

  All I need now is for her to come up to visit me one more time.

  Book 5:

  The Last Grandapam

  Claire

  Standing by the window, I watch as Natalia makes my bed. Apart from the nurses at the hospital where I had my back surgery, I can't remember the last time someone actually made my bed for me. It kinds of feels wrong somehow, as if I'm some upper-class person who gets her servants to do her bidding. Natalia, though, keeps insisting that it's her duty to look after me, and that there's absolutely no way I could ever, ever be expected to make my own bed. Frankly, she's treating me as if I'm some kind of royalty, which is kind of disturbing. Every time I try to intervene and do something for myself, she acts as if I'm breaking some sacred rule. Right now, I feel as if she'd rather scratch my eyes out than let me lift a finger to look after myself.

  "So you don't mind being a servant?" I ask, watching as she tucks down the corners of the bedsheets. She seems to take such pleasure in her work, as if she cares about nothing else in the entire world.

  "A servant?" She glances over at me.

  "Isn't that what you are?" I continue. "You spend all your time working for other people. I mean, do you ever have a day off? Do you ever do anything for yourself?"

  "This is my life," she replies, as if that explains everything.

  "So you don't ever relax?"

  "I relax by fulfilling my duties and knowing that I have done a good job."

  "But you're a slave. Doesn't that ever bother you?"

  "I was born to fulfill a certain role in life," she says. "I'm able to do this, day in and day out. I consider myself to be one of the luckiest people in any of the seven lands. All Grandapams seek to find a role to play, and to know their duties. I am one of the most blessed of my kind, for I know every day what I must do and how I must please my master."

  "But you have no free will," I point out.

  "Of course I have free will. I choose to do the things that make me happy." She carefully fluffs up my pillows. "Isn't everyone born for a purpose, Claire?"

  "Maybe," I reply, "but -"

  "And what is your purpose?"

  I stare at her. "I don't know," I say after a moment. "I mean, I haven't worked it out yet."

  "And don't you feel lost and scared?"

  "I'm still young," I point out. "There's time for me to work it out."

  "Then why do you pity me," she continues, "when I am the one who should pity you? After all, you're lost in life. You don't have a role. You're just adrift on a sea of possibilities. I, on the other hand, know exactly what I'll be doing every day for the rest of my days. I know what my master wants, and I know how to please him."

  "Yeah," I reply, "but that doesn't mean you have to just be happy making beds for the rest of your life. Don't you want to get out there and see the world? What if you die without every really experiencing everything that's on offer? Would you really be willing to spend all your time just making a bunch of beds?"

  "I don't just make beds," she replies with a smile. "I also cook and clean, and sometimes the Elders have huge feasts, and I have to ensure that everyone is happy. My role is to ensure the smooth running of the Citadel and to make sure that none of my superiors ever experience discomfort. Despite the difficult circumstances that have been forced upon us during the war, I have been able to adapt and to maintain my function. I take great pride in this success."

  "And you're happy with that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  "Yes," she says flatly, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

  "Yes?"

  "Yes." She stares at me. "You surprise me, Claire. I feel as if you think I should be unhappy with my situation."

  "You're like a drone," I point out. "No offense, but you just go around doing what you're told."

  "It's in
my nature to please my master."

  "And all Grandapams are like that?"

  She nods. "Over the years, we've been bred to be this way." She starts gathering up the plates from my breakfast, which I was forced to eat in my room yet again. "It's so much easier. We don't have to worry about what we should be doing. We don't have to fight or engage in diplomacy. It's a very peaceful life." She pauses, and for the first time there's a hint of darkness in her eyes. "I think we shall be missed when we're gone. Unfortunately, the current age has not been kind to my people. There were thousands of us once, in service all across the land. When the Forbidders came, few could afford to keep their Grandapams. Many of us were driven to our fates earlier than we had expected. In fact, I believe I am the last of my kind."

  "You can't be," I reply. "I saw some when I was in the Library."

  "You did?" she asks, her expression brightening for a moment. "Did they look happy? Were they engaged in the employment of superiors?"

  "Actually, they were..." I pause, realizing that I can't tell her that the Grandapams I met were being eaten by their masters. I feel a sickening sensation in the pit of my stomach as I think back to the way I was tricked into eating some Grandapam meat myself, before I discovered the truth. "It was only one or two of them," I continue eventually, deciding to be polite. "They were with some men who were using them for... various things. I didn't really see what they were doing."

  "I've long suspected that there might be a few still dotted about," she says, resuming her usual smile, "but the fact remains, we're a species that has no place in the modern world. There are no longer Elders who need large groups of Grandapams to see to their every need. We're dying out, and I'm most certainly the last Grandapam in the Citadel. When I'm dead, the age of my people will be over." She pauses for a moment. "The Grandapams you met out in the Library are dead, Claire. I could sense their presence until a few nights ago, which was when I suddenly realized that they were gone. Whatever happened to them, I hope they met honorable deaths. I'm the last of my species now. I'm the last Grandapam, and it falls to me to ensure that our extinction takes place in a manner that lends honor and valor to our memory."