by Amy Cross
"Sure," I reply, figuring that I can just about follow his torturous logic.
"Besides," he adds, noticeably lowering his voice and leaning a little toward me, "I don't think we should stay here for too long."
"Why?" I ask, looking over my shoulder but seeing no sign of anyone. "What's wrong?"
"Just a feeling," he replies. "An itch, if you like. But I've been around these parts long enough to know that sometimes one must pay great attention to an itch. Occasionally, an itch can save one's bacon." He glances over his shoulder. "Let's just keep moving, shall we?"
"I don't understand this place at all," I mutter, starting to worry that we're being watched.
"Of course you don't," he replies. "The Library is so far beyond the comprehension of your species, it's like asking a butterfly to understand a steam train. Don't take that as an insult, young man. It's just the way things are. There's a reason why your world is usually so resolutely cut off from the rest of reality. Your species generally prefers to stick to one reality rather than traipsing through several."
I open my mouth to reply, but I'm not really sure what to say. I can't decide whether Carstairs is insane, or whether perhaps he's insane and it's this whole world that's crazy, or - worse still - if maybe I'm the one who has lost his mind and everyone else, including Carstairs and this entire creepy Library, makes perfect sense.
"Relax," Carstairs continues with a faint smile. "Just keep a straight back and -"
"Halt!" says a figure, suddenly stepping out from behind a shelf at the next junction. I instantly recognize this intruder as the green-skinned figure who was paying us so much attention earlier at the market, and I can't help but notice the long sword sheathed at his waist.
"Cripes," Carstairs mutters.
"Is this a problem?" I ask, trying not to panic.
"Grandapams," he says with a sigh.
"This is a restricted zone," the creature says, taking a step toward us. "Passage is granted only to those with cleared credentials or direct orders from the High Council."
"I know," Carstairs says wearily, "but -"
"So which do you have?" the Grandapam adds, interrupting him. "Do you have cleared credentials?"
"No," Carstairs says with a sigh.
"Do you have direct orders from the High Council?"
Carstairs shakes his head.
"Then what are you doing here, old wizard?" the Grandapam continues with a faint smile. "You're not exactly new to these parts, and I'm quite certain you wouldn't be dumb enough to ignore the bylaws of this adjunct." He pauses. "You weren't trying to sneak through, were you?"
"Not exactly," Carstairs says, "but -"
"You'll have to come to the precinct," the Grandapam says, interrupting him. "There are forms to fill in, and there's a fine to pay. If you're lucky. If you're unlucky, there might be a full investigation and a punishment. The Marshal might wish to make an example of you."
"Yes," Carstairs says, clearly having resigned himself to this fate, "I was rather expecting that you were going to say that." He looks down at me. "I'm sorry, Thomas, but we're going to have to follow this gentleman."
"But my parents -" I start to say.
"Will have to wait," Carstairs says firmly. "One can't ignore the authority of the Grandapams, not in this part of the Library. We must simply bow down before them and hope that, in their infinite mercy, they decide to let us live."
Alice Never
To say that the river of the Library is crowded would be an understatement.
A huge understatement.
I've never seen so many people crammed into one space. As far as the eye can see, tin shacks and ornate buildings bustle next to one another, seemingly perched as close to the edge of the river as they can manage. The shelves are ever-present, of course, but crude roofs and even occasional doors have been erected, while a few of the more enterprising locals have built over-sized homes atop the shelves, threatening at any moment to come tumbling down into the aisles. The whole place looks utterly dangerous, and I swear I can hear the shelves creaking and groaning under their loads, but no-one else seems to be worried. To everyone around me, this place apparently seems to be completely normal.
There must be thousands, perhaps even millions, of people here, and the noise of their chatter, bartering and arguing is immense. As Table and Nodby lead me through the crowd, I'm constantly butted by creatures large and small, some of whom appear to be surprisingly human while others look like something from a child's nightmare: there are large green men with flattened heads and bulbs of gelatinous orange eyes; nearby, two tall creatures in heavy robes appear to be arguing over some kind of loom; further ahead, a group of squat little fur-covered figures are leading a strikingly beautiful woman through the bustle; and as I watch all of this, I nearly walk straight into something that can only be described as a tall, thin sparrow wearing body armor and carrying a spear.
"Clear the way!" a voice shouts, and seconds later a large wooden chariot comes rumbling through the crowd, miraculously managing to avoid an accident.
"Through here," Table says, grabbing my hand and leading me through a narrow slot between two shelves. She's clearly amused by my sense of wonder, and as we emerge in a narrow alley she picks up the pace until finally we step out into the bright, harsh sunlight of early morning.
And then there's the river itself. Hundreds of meters wide and wending a slow, meandering course between the shelves, this vast waterway - which seems to have no name other than simply 'the River of the Library' - is barely less busy than the strips of land that run along either side. Scores of crude wooden boats, ranging from small boxes being rowed frantically up to large outriggers that glide with relative grace, are criss-crossing the river, often coming perilously close to banging against one another as various navigators cry out warnings and scolding grunts. The whole scene appears to be one of utter chaos, and yet at the same time there seems to be some kind of rhythm that's keeping thing in check; despite seeing several near-misses every minute, I haven't seen a single collision yet. Somehow, this disorder and mayhem seems to work just fine.
"Life," Nodby says, stopping next to me as Table hurries over to the edge of the water and starts what appears to be an urgent conversation with a blue-skinned old man sitting behind a small desk.
"What?" I ask, looking down at Nodby as I realize that I was momentarily distracted.
"It's said that all life in the Library came from this river," he continues. "I'm not one for myths and legends, but this is a story I can believe. Life comes from the water and then it clings to the shore. There are more people living along the lengths of the river than in the rest of the Library put together. They just crowd into the narrow spaces and hope for good luck." He pauses, peering out from between the bars of his mobile cage. "They say the river draws all those with ambition, all those who wish to make something of themselves in this crazy world."
"Don't you want to come out of there for a moment?" I ask, pained by the sight of his cramped body and his ungainly legs and arms sticking out from the cage. "Just for a minute or two?"
"Out?" he asks, looking up at me. "You mean in, surely? You're the one behind bars. All of you."
Sighing, I realize that there's no point arguing with him. I watch as Table pulls several small pouches from her pocket and places them on the desk, and although I can't tell what the blue-skinned man is saying, he's clearly not very impressed. Table produces yet another pouch, and now the man seems lost in thought.
"What's she doing?" I ask.
"Saving our lives," Nodby replies. "Well, saving her own. Apparently she thinks it's worth having us go along with her, or she wouldn't be bothering. She'd have given us the slip as soon as we reached the river."
"She promised to help me," I point out.
"And why did she do that?" Nodby asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Because..." I pause as I realize that any answer I might give would probably sound hopelessly naive. "I trust her," I
add eventually. "I think I'm a pretty good judge of character, and she seems genuine. She's got us this far, hasn't she?"
"Not much use if your parents went in the other direction," he replies.
"She said she'd help me," I tell him firmly, watching as the blue-skinned man stands up, shakes Table's hand and then - to my total shock - opens a set of gills on either side of his neck and expels a considerable amount of dirty gray water.
"I think they've come to some kind of agreement," Nodby mutters.
"No kidding," I reply.
As the blue-skinned man gathers up the pouches of gold, Table turns and comes marching back over to us with a satisfied and slightly smug look on her face.
"I hope you don't get sea-sick," she says, fixing me with a faint smile.
"Of course not," I reply, starting to get sick of her constant inference that I'm somehow not up to this journey.
"We can sleep onboard," she adds. "Not for long, but at least for a while."
"What about the danger you keep mentioning?" I ask.
"The river should cut our trail," she replies. "That's the whole point. Anything following us by our smell will get to the edge of the water and have nowhere left to go. It's not a fool-proof plan, and there's still a danger that our scents might be carried by the wind, but it's the best idea I've got right now." She turns and looks back at the old man, who has begun to wade into the water before, finally, climbing up onto the deck of a long, narrow boat loaded down with crates and barrels.
"There are no rooms," I say, shocked at the idea that we're going to sleep on such a thing.
"I tried to get one with a royal suite," Table replies, "but they were all out. You'll just have to sleep out on the deck with the rest of us. I'm sure you'll manage."
"And where are we going?" I ask, my head spinning as I contemplate setting sail with such a bizarre collection of people. "You said you'd help me find my -"
"I know," she replies, interrupting me, "your parents. I haven't forgotten. As soon as we get to where we're going, I'll be making some inquiries. I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty well connected around these parts. Around all parts, really. That's kind of the problem."
"And where are we going?" I ask, watching the boat with a mixture of fear and terror.
"I could tell you," she says with a grin, "but that'd ruin the surprise. Come on. If you want to, anyway. You're welcome to stay here and try your luck. You're not a bad looker, Alice, and I'm sure there are plenty of gentlemen around this place who could put you to work. For a while, anyway. Until you break at least."
As she turns and heads back down towards the water's edge, I look down at Nodby and see the look of concern in his eyes.
"Is this a good idea?" I ask, hoping that he might reassure me.
"Who knows?" he replies darkly.
"Why are you still with us?" I ask. "You're free. Don't you have a home to be getting back to?"
He pauses, as if he's about to answer, and then finally he sighs. "I'm coming with you," he says eventually, pushing past me and starting to shuffle down toward the boat. "Isn't that enough for you?"
Setting off after him, I spot Table up ahead, swimming out to the boat and pulling herself up the side. I keep telling myself that I trust her, but I can't deny that there's something about her that doesn't quite make sense. As I reach the edge of the water, I glance over my shoulder and take a moment to stare at the bustle of the town - city, even - that lines the river. Table's clearly running from something or someone, and I'd like to know what. Right now, however, I guess I don't have time to ask too many questions. I have to find my parents, and if that means hitching a ride on a rickety old boat with a bunch of strange creatures, I guess I've got no choice.
"Hurry," Table says anxiously as she leads me through the knee-deep water and finally helps me up onto the boat. "We don't have all day."
I watch as she lifts Nodby up, and finally she climbs onboard herself.
"I'm not sure of the currents yet," the blue-skinned man says calmly. "Perhaps we should -"
"Get moving!" Table shouts, clearly worried about something. She turns and stares at the vast crowds that are swarming all over the river-bank, and suddenly her face seems to turn a kind of ashen white. "Get us out of here!" she shouts.
"The currents are not optimal," the blue-skinned man says.
"Just do it!" Table shouts, her voice filled with panic.
As the sails are unfurled and the boat moves further away from the river-bank, I can't help but stare at the crowd. There are hundreds of people nearby, and it's clear that someone amongst them, there's someone or something that has driven terror into Table's heart. She paces about behind me, filled with agitation, and I watch the crowd, trying to work out which of the faces might be the one that so horrified Table and made her desperate for us to leave. Finally, I turn back and see that her eyes are fixed on the crowd. Whatever she saw just now, it's clear that her pursuer momentarily appear on the river-bank and is probably even now watching as our boat sets sail.
"What are you looking at?" she asks me after a moment, before turning and stomping to the other end of the boat.
Glancing back at the crowd, I can't help feeling that somewhere in that vast throng of people, there's a pair of eyes that remain resolutely fixed on our boat and our course. Whoever's following us, they're still on our trail.
Thomas Never
"Subsection 14a," the Grandapam says, slowly turning the page of a large, heavy old book, "paragraph 5, clearly states that passage through this territory is restricted to those who have confirmed the necessity of their journey." He pauses as he makes a note in a separate book. "I'll have to check the files, but I don't think there's any record of your having made an application. Not recently, anyway."
We're standing in a rundown, shadowy little aisle, where a green-skinned Grandapam is sitting at a desk while poring over a series of books. He seems to be attempting to draw up a list of all the local laws that Carstairs and I have broken, and he's taking his damn time about it.
"With respect -" Carstairs starts to say.
"With respect," the Grandapam replies firmly, "you'll wait to be spoken to." He sighs, before getting up from the desk. "I shall have to consult another volume. The pair of you will wait here. Any attempt to leave without permission will result in the use of terminal force. Do you understand?"
"Of course," Carstairs replies.
The Grandapam mutters something before heading off along the aisle. In the distance, a couple of guards are keeping an eye on us.
"What's going to happen?" I whisper, looking over at Carstairs.
"Don't worry," he says with a faint smile, "everything's going according to plan so far."
"According to plan?"
"You don't think I accidentally wandered into Grandapam territory, do you?" He chuckles. "I'm not that stupid."
"So you wanted them to capture us?"
"Arrest," he replies. "They didn't capture us. They arrested us. There's a difference. And yes, of course I wanted it." He pauses. "Do you know how long it takes to apply for a meeting with the local Grandapam Marshal? You have to fill out forms in triplicate, get them stamped at several different offices, and then wait up to three months for them to turn you down. It's a bureaucratic minefield. However..." He glances along the aisle, to make sure that no-one's listening to our hushed conversation. "However," he continues, turning back to me, "if one merely gets oneself into a spot of trouble, one is brought straight before the Marshal. See? It's a short-cut."
"And this Marshal -"
"The Grandapams have many faults," he continues. "They're officious, obnoxious and prone to making up rules for every aspect of life. I think they'd regulate breathing if they could find a way to enforce more of their silly pronouncements. However, one good thing about them is that they make certain to know everything that goes on, not only in their own territory but also in adjoining areas. If your parents have passed anywhere near here, they'll know."
"And they'll tell us?"
"Probably not. Well, not intentionally, but we'll wheedle it out of them one way or another."
I pause for a moment, trying to follow his logic. "And then they'll let us go?" I ask eventually.
"I doubt it," he replies. "They'll probably want to punish us severely for daring to enter their territory without permission."
"Oh," I say, frowning. "But -"
"I've got a plan, though," he says with a reassuring smile.
"What's the plan?" I ask.
"The plan is to come up with a way to escape," he replies.
I stare at him.
"It's a brilliant plan," he continues.
"It's a little short on detail," I point out.
"Detail can be filled in later," he replies. "The point is, if the plan is executed properly, it'll work. We'll -"
"Are the prisoners conferring?" the Grandapam Marshal says suddenly, looking over at us.
"I was merely telling the boy to reflect upon our error," Carstairs says. "You know what children are like. They can be rather headstrong, and on occasion the importance of authority has to be pointed out to them."
The Grandapam Marshal stares at him for a moment. "Quite," he mutters eventually, before heading back over to his desk and taking a seat. "This is a very serious situation," he continues. "Carstairs the Wizard, you are by no means unknown to the Grandapam Council. Over the years, you have racked up a heady count of infractions, misdemeanors and downright crimes. Your willful disrespect for our territorial authority has been a thorn in our side, and no doubt others have noted your actions and come to question whether the Grandapams truly have the power that we claim."
"Oh," Carstairs replies airily, "I'm sure no-one has paid very much attention to what I've been doing."
"Nevertheless," the Grandapam Marshal replies, "I believe it would be wise to make an example of you. Now that we've finally tracked you down, of course."