Journey to the Library [The Library Saga]

by Amy Cross

  "There'll be water in Papyr," Nodby says. "We just -"

  "I can't do it," I reply, my voice starting to sound harsh and scratched. "Maybe other species can cross this desert, but I'm just a human."

  He stares at me.

  "I really don't think I can make it," I say quietly, struggling to focus on him.

  "Do you want to know the truth about humans?" he replies after a moment. "Everyone says they're weak, and that's true. Humans aren't the strongest, or the smartest, or the wisest creatures in all the seven worlds. They're not the most ingenious or the most cunning, either, or the toughest, or even the kindest. In almost every regard, humans come second best or worst." He pauses. "But do you know what makes humans so goddamn successful? It's the fact that they never give up. They never slump down onto the desert floor and accept death. Humans always, always keep pushing."

  "Maybe I'm not human, then," I whisper, "because I -"

  Before I can finish, I'm startled by a slap that seems to come from nowhere.

  "Listen to me!" Nodby says firmly. "You want to see your parents again, right?"

  I nod weakly.

  "And you want to live, right? That's what drives humans. You're all so scared of death, you keep pushing until the end."

  "I've got no more energy," I whisper, hoping that he might finally understand.

  "Try carrying a little box with you wherever you go!" he shouts. "Try that, and then tell me how much energy you've got!"

  Sighing, I realize that he's right. With a gasp, I manage to haul myself back to my feet, pausing for a moment as I sway a little; the harsh midday sun is high above, and as I hold my hands out, I realize I can feel the skin slowly burning. In the distance, the city of Papyr looks to be as far away as ever, and I can feel an empty space in my chest where I'd normally be filled with hope and determination. It's as if Table's departure has somehow broken me, but I have to keep going; after everything I've been through, my -

  "Move!" Nodby grunts, pushing the side of my leg. "Stop standing there and start walking!"

  "Sorry," I mutter, starting to stumble forward again. I guess the best thing is just to empty my mind of all these doubts and concerns, and instead -

  Suddenly I stop, frowning as I watch a patch of sand up ahead. I swear to God, I just saw something move, but I suppose it must just be some kind of mirage.

  "No no no," Nodby says, pushing my leg again. "Come on! Are you gonna stop every couple of seconds?"

  "I saw something," I whisper, watching as the patch of sand moves again. "Over there," I add, pointing toward the spot. "Don't you see it?"

  "There's nothing there," he replies. "There's just -"

  Before he can finish, however, the sand moves again; this time, it's impossible not to notice that some kind of shape is churning beneath the surface, something large.

  "What is it?" I whisper.

  "Well..." He pauses, and it's clear that he's worried. "I mean, there's many things it could be. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, there's not really anything that lives in this part of the Library naturally, but lots of things end up out here for one reason or another."

  Up ahead, the sand continues to churn, and finally some kind of long, thin gray leg emerges, followed by another, and then another. Whatever's down there, it looks as if it's slowly coming to the surface.

  "I can't run," I whisper, realizing that I don't have the energy to escape if this thing turns out to be bad news. All I can think about is Table, and the fact that if she was here, she'd undoubtedly know how we can get around whatever obstacle is in our path; without her, I feel completely helpless.

  "It's a..." Nodby says, sounding uncertain. "Well, it could be one of a few things. Hard to tell so far, but -"

  Suddenly the creature, whatever it is, seems to rise up through the sand, pushing its way through and exposing, in the process, a large, shiny gray back potted with small marks and dimples. It looks to be about the size of a rhino, and although it seems a little unsteady, there's something horrifying about the way its rows of legs are kicking and scuttling at its sides. As it starts to turn toward us, the creature lets out a kind of clicking sound, and finally it's possible to see some kind of small, knotted face on the front, with a set of thin, twitching gray antennae.

  "Tick!" Nodby shouts, stumbling back a few paces. "It's a tick!"

  "Is that bad?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I can already guess the answer. "That's bad, right?"

  "Well," he replies, "that depends on your definition of bad, doesn't it? If you like having every drop of moisture sucked from your body, it's actually wonderful news."

  I take a step back, unable to take my eyes off the ugliness of this creature.

  "What the hell is a tick doing out here?" he continues. "They don't even live in this part of the Library! There shouldn't be ticks for hundreds of miles! It must have got lost, or maybe it was released out here by accident. It was obviously hiding under the sand, trying to keep out of the sun, but I doubt much food comes past. It must be starving by now!"

  I take another step back, watching as the creature starts making its way toward us. It doesn't look to be particularly steady, struggling instead on the uneven, loose sand; at the same time, I'm sure it's faster than either of us, and it's definitely headed in our direction.

  "What do we do?" I ask, hoping against hope that this situation isn't as bad as it appears right now.

  "There are three ways to escape a tick attack," Nodby says. "The first is to attack it, preferably with a longsword or an ax."

  "We don't have a longsword or an ax," I point out.

  "The second is to distract it by making it more interested in another target."

  "There's no-one else here!"

  "And the third is to run," he adds, "although that's pretty difficult. Ticks are faster than they might appear."

  "I can't run," I reply. "I really can't. I can barely even walk."

  "Well you're gonna have to try," he replies, as the tick gets closer and closer. "Let's just hope the tick's in worse shape than we are!"

  Realizing that he's right, I turn and start running. I can already feel my tired legs starting to give way, however, and I manage only a few pathetic steps before my foot catches on a rock and I tumble to the ground; my knee strikes another rock, sending a cracking arc of pain along my leg, and when I try to get up I realize that it's a hopeless task; I try again, and again, but it's as if my body is being held down by weights.

  "Come on!" Nodby screams, pulling on my arm. "This isn't the time for a picnic!"

  Turning, I see that the tick is getting closer and closer, and some kind of long, sharp-looking spike is starting to emerge from its body, aiming straight at my face. I try yet again to get up, but finally the tick is right over me, and the spike starts to extend toward my neck; I don't even have the energy to scream as I feel the tip start to push through my skin.

  Thomas Never

  "Welcome," says the little girl, smiling from behind a small lectern. "We hope you'll gain great spiritual satisfaction from your visit to the Church of Dewey."

  "Church of Dewey?" I whisper.

  "Don't ask," Carstairs hisses. "I never do. Anyway..." He pauses for a moment and clears his throat before heading over to the little girl. "My name is Carstairs," he announces grandly, "and I -"

  "We know who you are," the little girl says with a cut-glass English accent. She looks to be only three or four years old, but she has a firm, confident stare and the tone of someone who knows exactly what they're doing. "My name is Helen Dewey and I'd be glad to show you around our facility. Have you been worshiping Dewey for long?"

  "Oh, it's hard to say," Carstairs says with an embarrassed frown. "You know, after a certain period of time, one loses track of the hours and minutes and... seconds and so on."

  "And you?" Helen continues, turning to me. "How long have you been an adherent to the Church of Dewey?"

  "Same as him," I reply warily. "Hard to tell."

  "We worsh
ip Dewey above all other beings," she continues. "To us, Dewey is the greatest of all the Setters. Did you know that in his own lifetime, he was already revered by the other Setters as one of the -"

  "Yes, whatever," Carstairs says dismissively, "we're not here about that. We're here about the Angel."

  "Our god is Dewey," the girl replies, not missing a beat. "All hail the great -"

  "Give it a rest," Carstairs continues wearily. "You're not fooling anyone, you know. We're not here to trick you or arrest you. We're on your side."

  The girl stares at him, still smiling, but there's a hint of grit in her eyes now.

  "Let's be honest," Carstairs says, lowering his voice a little, "very few people truly worship the old Setters these days. Sure, the law of Papyr says you have to pretend, and you're doing an admirable job. I don't blame you; if I was forced to worship a false deity under pain of death, I'd go all in as well. The truth, though, is that almost every church in this city is now just a front for other, more interesting religions, and if I'm not mistaken, the beads hanging from your door offer a very clear hint as to your true interests."

  "The beads?" she replies with obvious concern. "I don't know what you're talking about -"

  "This church worships the Angel," he continues, interrupting her. "Don't waste my time by denying it. In case you didn't hear me the first time, I'm Carstairs."

  She stares at him.

  "The Carstairs," he adds.

  "Oh!" she says suddenly, her eyes widening in shock. "I had no idea!"

  "Did the wizard garb not give it away?" Carstairs asks, turning in a full circle so that she can get a better view. "Does my reputation not precede me?"

  "We just never expected you to come to Papyr," she replies. "It was rumored long ago that you'd headed away from these lands, so as to avoid the Angel altogether. We prayed for your ignorance to be lifted, however, and I'm so glad that you've finally seen the light."

  "I'll have you know," Carstairs replies fiercely, "that I'm still as ignorant as ever. Your prayers were meaningless. However, rumors of my departure have been greatly exaggerated, and I'm here today to seek some very specific information."

  "The Angel awaits you," she says, with tears in her eyes. "This happy day -"

  "This is not a happy day," Carstairs counters. "This is just a day like any other. However, I wish to know the location of two humans who might have passed this way recently. Adult humans, possibly injured, almost certainly being accompanied by someone. It's impossible that they could be here without the Angel knowing, and I'm sure that he'd have let his disciples know. So come on, girl. Where are they?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replies innocently.

  ""You're not a fool," Carstairs says firmly. "I've undergone great geographical, financial and emotional inconvenience to come here today -"

  "Like a true pilgrim!" she says enthusiastically.

  "I'm not a pilgrim!" he shouts back at her. "I'm just..." He pauses, as if he's taking a moment to calm down. "These humans," he continues eventually, "must have come this way. I know the church keeps tabs on such things, so all I'm asking is that perhaps you could check your records and see if there's any mention of two humans, an adult male and an adult female, being escorted through or close to Papyr in the past few days."

  The girl stares at him.

  "I'm sure the Angel will notice if you help me," Carstairs continues. "In fact, I'm thinking about going to see the old guy myself some time, and I'll be certain to let him know that dear little Helen Dewey, or whatever your name is when you're not pretending to be part of this whole Dewey cult, is one of the finest followers of the Angel's ministries. In fact..." He pauses, and slowly a smile crosses his lips. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Angel's watching us right now. Do you think he'd want you to help me, or not?"

  "I could... check the logs if you like," she replies, reaching over to a nearby desk and pulling out a small leather book, which she opens and starts examining. "You must understand," she stammers, "that not everything is recorded. Only those matters that are deemed important are entered into the book, and humans don't necessarily fit those criteria. In fact, one might -"

  She stops speaking suddenly, as if something in the book has caught her attention.

  "Go on," Carstairs says firmly.

  "It seems there was mention of two humans passing this way," she says slowly, turning the page to continue reading. "They were being accompanied, and they were taken to..." She pauses, and after a moment she lets out a small gasp.

  "To where?" Carstairs asks, clearly losing his patience.

  "I'm so sorry," she replies, looking back up at him, "but I think you're too late. The humans were taken straight toward the citadel. There's no mention of what happened to them next, but..." She pauses again, and this time there seem to be tears in her eyes. "I mean, the royal butcher has his spies too. He must have found out about them."

  "What does that mean?" I ask, my heart filled with fear at the mention of the word 'butcher."

  "Nothing at all," Carstairs says hurriedly, turning to me with a look in his eyes that makes plain his concern. "It's okay, Thomas. Don't panic. There might still be a chance."

  Alice Never

  "She's not yours!" shouts a voice. "She's mine!"

  I gasp as the sharp tip of the tick's spike is ripped from the side of my neck. Opening my eyes, I'm almost blinded by the sun, but I can just about make out the tick's body being pushed to one side by a figure climbing on top of its back; as I try to blink away the sunspots, I look over and see that the tick is on its side now, its legs flailing in the air as the figure stands on its belly and strikes down several times with a sword. As it dies, the tick lets out a series of high-pitched squeals, until finally it falls silent and its legs stop moving.

  Reaching up to the side of my neck, I realize that I'm bleeding. I try to sit up, but I feel weaker than ever, and when I try to turn over onto my other side, I feel a sharp pain in my knee.

  "Nodby," I whisper. "Where are you?"

  "Right here," he replies, with obvious fear in his voice. "You're hurt, Alice. Your neck looks -"

  "I know," I stammer, feeling more blood flowing from my wound as I try to sit up. Moments later, I realize that someone is walking around me; someone whose clothes jangle with the weight of thick metal straps. I'd assumed that our sudden savior must have been Table, but now I'm aware that the new arrival stinks of some kind of musk.

  "Whoever thought we'd run into one another again, huh?" the voice mutters, sounding amused. It's a male voice, and it definitely seems familiar. "You're in a bad way, though," he adds, before stopping directly in front of me. "I'm not gonna get a very good price for you if you're all drained of blood."

  "Leave her alone," Nodby says firmly. "Look at her! She's in no state to be moved!"

  "Aye," the voice replies, "but I can't very well sell her out here, can I?"

  Taking a deep breath, I shield my eyes from the sun and look up at the figure, only to realize with a heavy heart that it's none other than Kiran, the grave-robber from the Valley of Dead Books.

  "All my men are dead," he says with a faint smile. "Most of 'em died trying to get out of that tomb, and the last two deserted me. Well, they tried to desert me, but I soon put a stop to that. I was starting to worry about how I'd get back on my feet once I reached Papyr, but now it's looking like the gods have dropped a tasty offering in my lap." He pauses, and it's clear that he's amused by my plight. "I hope you'll understand that all's fair in love and war," he continues. "That's the worst thing about being a scavenger, marauder and all-round tough guy. People always take it so personally when you steal their things, tie them up and then either kill them or sell them for gold. They just can't seem to see that it's a matter of survival."

  "Help me," I whisper, feeling warm blood flowing down the side of my neck.

  "Aye," he replies with a sigh. "I suppose I'll need to keep you alive for the journey."

  Before I can
reply, he opens a pouch hanging by his waist and pulls out some scissors along with what appears to be a length of bandage.

  "Am I going to die?" I ask, looking down at Nodby. "Was that thing poisonous?"

  "They have venom glands," he replies, "but I think you were lucky -"

  Before he can finish, Kiran grabs hold of me; seconds later, I feel a sharp pain in my neck, accompanied by the sound of scissors slicing through flesh. I'm too weak to scream; instead, the pain seems to go inward, jolting my mind.

  "There," Kiran says with a satisfied tone, "you had a loose flap of skin, but I took care of it for you. Now I'll just stop the bleeding with Arv juice..." Seconds later, I feel a splash of liquid on my neck, and it quickly starts to burn; I try to struggle, but Kiran has got me in a firm grip. "And now we just close you up for the journey," he adds, wrapping the bandage around my neck and tying it in position. "There," he says finally, taking a step back. "Don't you look like a pretty sight, eh?"

  I reach up and feel the side of the bandage.

  "You're still gonna be pretty weak for a while," he continues, "but there's nothing I can do about that. Well, maybe one thing." He pulls a small leather pouch from under his tunic and hands it to me. "Water," he adds. "You look like you need it."

  Barely able to coordinate my fingers, I manage to untie the top of the pouch and look inside to see water glinting in the sunlight. Desperately, I pour the contents of the pouch down my throat, and I swear to God, I can feel the water going all the way down until, finally, the pouch is empty.

  "Alright," Kiran snaps, grabbing the pouch from my hands. "I didn't say you could have all of it, did I?"

  "She's not part of this world," Nodby says. "We need to get to Papyr, but then she has to -"

  "I'll get her to Papyr alright," he replies. "Don't worry about that. You too, if you can keep up. But if I'm the one who gets her there, then I'm the one who decides what happens to her when she arrives, and I'm afraid I need money."

  "She's not yours to sell," Nodby points out.