"This is your hero?” he shouted. “This, your dissident? I—why! I'll show you what happens to those who oppose me. I'll show you!"
He brought his hand back to send me into the flames. His face burned red as the fire itself. I imagined the heat searing my pages; I prayed it would not hurt too much.
In the midst of releasing me, Yon Diedo hesitated. His hand trembled violently. He clutched me so hard I felt his fingers grinding into my cover.
"I can't!” he shouted, dropping me to the floor. “I can't do it."
He burst into tears. “If only I could burn it all down! Every book. The entire house."
He collapsed into the chair, overcome. After several minutes he looked up, his face red from weeping. “I'm sorry. Forgive my outburst. I didn't mean what I said. You are my friends, the only friends I have in the world."
He lifted me to the side table.
"This cannot go on,” he murmured. “I must consider."
Without another word, he left the room. But I did not know whether he spared me because he was not a murderer, or merely because he could not bear to burn a member of his collection.
The library buzzed with speculation. All agreed the sorcerer had never acted so erratically before. Some suggested he was going insane. But I wondered how many such discussions had occurred over the centuries, how many times the prisoners had sought to comprehend the actions of their captor, the same way the children of a drunkard vainly seek to understand the aberrant behavior of their sire.
At dawn the next morning Diedo returned, eyes set. Without speaking, he began replacing the books on the shelf. It took half the day to finish, because he must have them just so. But he left me where I was, and I wondered if he intended to consign me to the flames in a public execution.
With all the other volumes back on the shelves, he stood at the front of the alcove and addressed us.
"I want my library to be happy,” he said softly. “This ... this insurrection cannot continue. I could take steps against a random number of you.” He glanced at the fire, and I shuddered.
"But that is not the way of Yon Diedo,” he said. “I am a connoisseur of books, and you are the greatest collection in the world. You should be proud; you should be honored to be a volume in this library. I have chosen each of you carefully. Some of you, I traveled hundreds of miles to find. Others came into my hands by chance. Yet, all of you I have treasured. Many of you have outlived your entire generation, your words and thoughts given immortality. Would you leave here only to turn to dust?"
Low whispers came from several of the older volumes.
"Is it such a bad place,” Yon Diedo continued, his voice imploring, “sitting in quiet conversation with the company of interesting people? I keep you dusted; I move you about to give your lives variety. I allow no man's hand but my own to handle you. You can read one another. You have time for contemplation. Is your fate so terrible?"
"Lord Diedo,” Colonel Steed said, “we are not all unhappy here. My time is done; you took me when I was old and past my prime. But love has touched our hearts. These two are young. They should be out in the world together. And some of the others should have the chance for a real life."
Diedo sat down in his chair, his fingernails lightly touching my cover.
"Is this what you all wish?"
"We must have hope, my lord,” the Captain said. “Books are written in hope."
Yon Diedo tapped me gently, his brow furrowing and relaxing, as if he were embroiled in some inner turmoil. At last he said, “As I told you last night, for many centuries you have been my only friends. Should friends have secrets? No, they should not. I will tell you everything.
"When I was a young man, first learning the ways of magic, I found the Gray Book, which has another, darker name I will not repeat. I ignored those who warned me not to delve into it. After all, I said to myself, how can reading a book harm anyone?"
Yon Diedo fell silent a moment, lost in reverie.
"From it,” he finally continued, “I learned the spell for turning people into books. What a wonderful thing it was, to capture all a person would ever be, to delve into every secret thought. And to have it all between beautiful covers. It was a collector's dream. But such power is not given without conditions, of which there were three. First, the Gray Book must always be kept within close proximity of the transformed. Second, as a byproduct of the enchantment, the Gray Book becomes animated. Third, the most dreadful, the one I did not know before using the spell, the user becomes obsessed with his collection."
Yon Diedo looked down. “That is right. I admit my weakness. I think of you constantly; sometimes at night I dream of you. I see your covers in my mind. I have not left the manor in years for fear of something happening to you while I am away. Is there no way to break the curse, you ask? Yes. If I were willing to give up my books, the spell would be broken and I would be free. But how can I bear to lose you?"
He raised his hands to us in supplication. “You see how helpless I am. My collection would be ruined. I cannot do it."
He sighed. “But this insurrection. Things cannot go on like this. You have become discontent, all because of the foolish love between Jakob Mamolok and Janine Laroque. As if that were anything compared to the love of a man for his books."
He hesitated again. “But that being the case, I was thinking that perhaps if I could ... if I could ... release the two of you, perhaps it would give me the strength to give up the other volumes who wished to leave."
A cheer came from the shelves.
"Now, not all at once,” Yon Diedo warned, raising his hands for silence. “It would take some time. I could not be rushed. And I need to read Jakob and Janine a moment before making my final decision."
He took me up and perused me from the time I had first come to the library. He seemed particularly interested in my relationship with the Contessa. At last, with a rueful smile, he set me aside.
"It is not as simple as I first thought. Having read between Jakob's lines, I see his love is not so pure. Therefore, I will free this book and one other, the one Jakob chooses. For three days, I will place him between the Contessa du Maurier and Janine Laroque. Let him then decide."
I groaned. Though Yon Diedo was willing to let me go, he would also punish me for the trouble I had caused.
* * * *
Being placed between Janine and the Countess proved awkward for me. I scarcely knew what to say to either of them. But an advantage to being a creature of pulp and paste is that one can hold private conversations to either side without the opposite volume being privy, the left side of a book not always knowing what the right is doing. The Contessa addressed me the moment Yon Diedo departed.
"What an opportunity for you, Jakob. I congratulate you. You have played a dangerous game and won. You will soon be free."
"It appears so,” I said.
"Do you know what I would do if I were you? I would take a coach to the coast. I own a marvelous little chalet overlooking the sea, a cozy cottage for relaxation and healing."
"Unfortunately, I do not own such a chalet."
"Still, you should do something of the sort."
Over the next two days, she told me more of the things she would do if she were in my place, of sea voyages and dinners with royalty. She talked of how glad and grateful her father would be, were she the one leaving. In short, she reminded me that she was wealthy, beautiful, and powerful, fully capable of rewarding her friends. I must admit her words affected me. She was, as I have said, an intriguing woman.
How different were my discussions with Janine, the conversation of two friends whose interests met at so many points. She never mentioned the matter of my decision until I brought it up.
"Jakob,” she told me. “You shouldn't take me with you."
"What do you mean?"
"There are others here, such as the boy, who deserve their freedom more than I. Take him, instead. He's a bright, cheerful lad, who deserves to live his life as more tha
n a book."
"Yon Diedo said I must choose between you and the Contessa. He might allow none of us to leave if I demand the boy. And you have been a good friend to me. More than a friend."
"Don't say it, Jakob. Here among the books, I have a lovely cover, embellished in gold. But in the outer world ... I don't deserve you there. I'm not a beautiful woman—"
"You are too modest. Every woman thinks herself less lovely than she is."
"The Contessa doesn't. But I'm not being modest. I know what I am, Jakob. I come from common stock. I have two beautiful sisters, but I am not beautiful, or even pretty. I'm plain, with too long a face and mousy hair. If you have to choose between us, you should choose the Contessa. I know you have ... feelings for her. She can give you so much more."
"My little mouse, then,” I said, trying to cheer her.
She burst into a fluttering of book tears. “I can offer you nothing, Jakob, neither money, nor beauty. At least among the books, I wear a pretty face. You are the only one who ever thought me beautiful. Leave me here, where you will always remember me that way."
I am not without vanity. The thought of being with the Contessa fascinated me. A woman of such beauty on my arm—and wealth besides. Men judge other men by the loveliness of their wives. I had struggled in business. With the Contessa's fortune, I would struggle no more. Yet, how could I leave my friend among the books? It was a hard choice.
* * * *
Imagine yourself in a prison, with the power to free one person. Think of how the other captives would treat you. I found my name on the lips of many, some of whom I scarcely knew. What good friends we had been! What wonderful talks we had shared!
I ignored them all. I did, however, meet with a committee formed on the shelf above, representing a number of books who wanted me to bring armed guards to rescue them once I attained my freedom. I promised to do what I could.
The night before the announcement of my decision, the Contessa woke me. Or rather, she roused me from my brooding, as I had scarcely slept at all.
"Jakob, I don't know what you'll decide, but for tonight, let us read together one last time."
"No, I—"
"Please, Jakob. Do this for me. Haven't we been friends?"
I complied, though it shamed me to do so. I had avoided reading either Janine or the Contessa while making my decision; such an intimate act seemed inappropriate.
"I will show you a passage I've never shared with anyone else,” she said.
The story, from her childhood, showed a side of the Contessa I had never seen before. She had not been born of wealth. Her father had been a drunkard who cowed her mother. Her life would have been wretched save for a schoolmistress in Dumon, who took pity on the girl, taught her to read, and showed her the ways of society.
At the age of twelve, in an attempt to escape her condition, the Contessa befriended a coach boy about her own age. Through him, she caught the notice of a nobleman. Undoubtedly, she had been a beautiful child. She told him her parents were dead, and the man and his wife eventually adopted her.
My heart went out to her, as I read of her struggles to overcome her hardships.
"You were tenacious,” I said.
"I did what I had to, to survive."
"What happened to the schoolmistress and your parents? And to the coach boy?"
She gave the book version of a shrug. “I never went back. It was all too painful."
I did not easily return to slumber after that, knowing the next morning I would decide the fate of two women, both of whom had struggled in their own way. I fell into an uneasy sleep, still uncertain which to choose.
Yet, when I woke with the dawn, I had made my decision.
* * * *
Yon Diedo arrived at midmorning that day, undoubtedly curious. I had assumed he would change me back into a man and demand my answer. But, of course, that was not his way. Instead, he picked me up and read my final page.
He nodded slightly, whether pleased or displeased, I could not tell. He made the slightest gesture, and my world shifted. My vision expanded; I looked out of two eyes instead of one. I glanced down at my now-human form, amazed at the wonder of my own hands.
Something stirred to my right. A young woman stood there, dressed in red velvet with gold brocade.
"As you can see,” Janine said, her eyes downcast, “I told the whole truth."
She was not beautiful. She lacked the high cheekbones, the wide eyes. Her face was too long for beauty. Her hair was straight and mousy. Yet, when she spoke, it was the voice of my friend. I took her hand and kissed it. “I have looked between your covers and seen the beauty of your soul."
A murmur of approval rose from the shelves. Together, Janine and I turned and faced our fellow captives.
When the small approbations died, I detected another, more strident tone, the voice of the Contessa. To my surprise, I found books entitled Janine Laroque and Jakob Mamolok still sitting on the shelf beside her. I glanced inquiringly at Yon Diedo.
He shrugged. “They do not live. But if a man can't own a first edition, a second will have to do."
I grimaced. The sorcerer would still be able to read the details of my life. But at least I would not be there to suffer the humiliation.
I addressed the Contessa. “I'm sorry I—"
"You fool!” she cried. “I could have given you everything. Everything! You ... little man!"
"You must go now,” Yon Diedo said. “This is no longer your place."
We left the library feeling helpless, knowing we could do nothing to aid our fellows.
"You have chosen wisely,” Yon Diedo said, as he escorted us to the door, “I have read both women from cover to cover. You may never be wealthy, Jakob Mamolok, but you will be happy."
I knew he was right, for the Contessa's story had the opposite of its intended effect. True, she had suffered great hardships, but she had never inquired concerning her parents or the schoolmistress and coach boy who helped raise her fortunes. If I had chosen her, she would have discarded me as one beneath her station. I had read enough of fairy gold to see the common stones beneath. A man becomes more evil—or more good—one step at a time.
"Do not try to find this house,” Yon Diedo said. “Or try if you must, but you will never do so."
"Will you free the others, as you said?” Janine asked.
"I will ... try. This is a first step. I will see if I can take another."
Janine and I exchanged shy glances. I took her hand. We walked away.
"Janine! Jakob!” the sorcerer called after us.
We turned. He stood at the doorway, his expression tortured, one hand half-lifted in farewell.
"I will miss you, my friends."
We left without another word.
* * * *
Forty years have passed since our release, and Janine and I have remained together.
We have searched for Yon Diedo's house, but true to his word, it is not to be found. But half a dozen years ago, while on business to Dumon, I felt a tap on my sleeve and found the Contessa standing there. Her beauty had failed; she had grown heavy. Her clothes were shabby. It took a moment to recognize her.
"You are Jakob Mamolok,” she said, her voice trembling.
"Contessa! Diedo set you free!"
She grimaced. “No thanks to you. He set us all free eventually, except for those who wanted to stay. It took years for him to overcome the power of his obsession. I returned to find my fortune gone, my connections ruined."
"I am truly sorry. I—"
"I wanted to make certain it was you."
She slapped me twice, as hard as she could, then turned on her heel, muttering, “Nothing but a dime novelette."
As for my little mouse and me, we have been happy, though as Yon Diedo predicted, we have not grown wealthy. Still, we are comfortable and have raised good children. I often regret that I did not read Janine's entire story when we were together as books, so that she remains somewhat a mystery even now. Tho
ugh she is not beautiful to others, she is beautiful to me.
In the evenings, we sit together by the fire and read to one another out of our little library, which does not include a single first edition. But we never, ever mistreat a book.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Books To Look For by Charles de Lint
The Darkest Evening of the Year, by Dean Koontz, Bantam, 2007, $27.
This book is a love story from Dean Koontz to Trixie, the beautiful golden retriever who enriched the lives of Koontz and his wife Gerda for the past few years, and who, incidentally, was also a published author in her own right (Life Is Good! Lessons in Joyful Living and Christmas Is Good! Trixie Treats and Holiday Wisdom, both from Yorkville Press) and the author of an occasional newsletter dedicated to Koontz's work.
Trixie was a service dog for the wheelchair bound who had to retire when she was three because of an elbow problem in the late ‘90s, which is when she came into the Koontzes’ lives. All the royalties from her books went, and still go, to Canine Companions for Independence. She had to be put to sleep in June of 2007 due to an aggressive cancer.
Now when I say The Darkest Evening of the Year is a love story to Trixie, I hope you don't get the impression that this is a sappy book. Yes, you'll learn a lot about golden retrievers and dog rescue. But this is also another lean rollercoaster-of-a-ride entry into Koontz's body of work that builds from the rescue theme.
(And isn't it unfortunate that there are so many animals in need that to augment the work of the SPCA, every city seems to have their own additional services—such as Friends of Abandoned Pets, where I write this in Ottawa—and there also need to be organizations, and individuals, specializing in certain breeds?)
The novel opens with Amy Redwing rescuing a golden retriever named Nickie from a particularly nasty situation. She forms an immediate bond with the dog, but the joy of this new addition to her household is soon challenged by the threat of persons unknown who are shadowing every move Amy and her boyfriend Brian make. The mystery quickly deepens, reaching far into the hidden histories that both of them carry.
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