Frivlok (Appointments on Plum Street Book 2)

by Eli Ingle

  “Okay,” said Rona. “Thank you.”

  “Our pleasure,” the professors said together, grinning.

  “Er … thanks,” said Rigel.

  “Would you perhaps like to stay for an after-lesson drink?” asked Bry. Mry’s eyes shone as she looked at Rigel.

  “No! I mean no, thank you. We have to be getting off now,” said Rona.

  Feeling awkward, with the professors’ eyes on their backs, the children hurried out of the screening room and into the bare stone chamber.

  The air felt even colder on Rigel’s clammy skin. He rubbed his hands across his arms, trying to get rid of the chill. The doors thumped shut behind them and the only sound filling the chamber was the hiss of gas lamps and the children’s ragged breathing.

  “Where are you going now?” asked Rona.

  Rigel wiped a hand across his mouth. “The library, I think,” he replied. “I can’t do any more lessons today. How about you?”

  “I’m going to bed. I’m sure I’ll do something later, but for now, I need to unwind and forget all of this.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

  “Meet me for dinner at six.”

  “Alright.”

  Walking over to the tresculator, Rigel pressed the button and the doors slid open. He turned around and stepped in backwards, once again pulling down the speaking tube.

  “Library,” he said.

  The doors shut and there was a moment of silence before a roar filled the tube. Then, he was catapulted back up the 500 feet he had dropped down earlier. Wincing as the g-force pressed down on him, his stomach rolled as the tresculator stopped. With a bang, it shot right and then jumped up, stopped, went right again and continued up in jerky steps. It paused again and then flew left in what felt like an arc shape before the doors opened.

  “Library,” announced the cool female voice.

  Rigel stumbled out into the open and looked around. Before him lay the biggest library he had ever seen. Five levels of shelves filled the circular chamber, leaving him to feel awed and humbled. In the centre of the bottom floor was a circular desk with a hollow centre where the chief librarian was situated. The shelves radiated outwards like spokes. Looking up to the roof, Rigel looked at each floor in turn. The floors above were laid out similarly but there was no central point; instead, the centre was hollow, the edges forming a round balcony that allowed the visitors to stand at the wrought brass bannister and look at the other levels. Above the fifth floor, a swirling galaxy of stars was projected onto the ceiling. The middle was not entirely empty, however: a twisting column of tiny tracks led up to each floor. These started at each book shelf and crisscrossed in a pattern so complex that Rigel lost sight of one track almost immediately and realised he was looking at an adjoining piece. Occasionally, a four-wheeled cart as small as the rails would whiz across the room or up to another level with a book clamped firmly between two flat grips. This retrieval system was designed so that books could be requested by readers who did not have time to make the long journey to all the different levels. The books were then dropped off into baskets at collection areas around the library.

  Smiling despite his earlier trauma, Rigel walked over to the central desk.

  “Hello, Rigel,” said the head librarian. She was a woman dressed smartly in a white shirt with a gold necktie. Black trousers and a waistcoat embroidered with letters of the alphabet.

  “Hello,” he replied. “Can I have a booth for one, please?”

  “Certainly. Level three, okay?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Would you like me to recall your previous reading list?”

  “Yes please.”

  “No problem, they’ll be waiting for you when you arrive. It’s booth 22.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Leaving the desk, he walked to the back of the room where the spiral staircase would lead him to the third floor.

  Passing between a row of bookshelves, he arrived at the other side and followed the curve of the wall until he arrived at booth 22. He opened the wooden door, went inside and shut it behind him. There was a small window looking out over the library, with a blind for privacy. He turned to look at his room and saw a cat sitting on the table.

  “Oh, hello,” Rigel said, looking at it.

  The cat regarding him with glowing yellow eyes and began licking a paw. It was not actually a cat but an android programmed to act like a cat and then shaped and covered like one. Such cats were primarily used to control the mice, which had a tendency to eat the books, but the programmers had obviously enjoyed themselves so much that they had made the animals almost perfectly lifelike. With no need to eat or drink, or go to the vets, they were the perfect pets – this one even appeared to take pleasure in being stroked. They were allowed to come and go as they pleased. Rigel was not sure whether they had a programmed route to take or whether they just went wherever they felt like, but nevertheless, this one was in his room and it was probably better to let it stay: android cat or not, it had sharp claws.

  Clicking his fingers, he watched as the cat came over and sniffed him. He stroked behind its ears and around its neck before it moved to an empty chair and curled up.

  Rigel looked around. There were two armchairs (one now occupied by the cat), a table and a chute for book deliveries. As he looked in the basket below, he saw that his books had already been delivered and pulled them out onto the table.

  Rigel spent a pleasant afternoon reading up on bodybuilding, sword fighting techniques and theory, Kozenian history and meditation.

  During his reading, he realised that he probably had around another two hours before he had to return to the dining hall for tea with Rona. A thought came into his mind and he stood up and stretched. The android cat in the corner opened a yellow eye and regarded him suspiciously. A small box was fixed to the wall near the door. Similar to a telephone, it had a one-armed bandit style lever on the side and a set of sturdy coloured buttons along the front along with a speaker. On the other side was a coiled wire attached to a cone-shaped speaking piece. Rigel picked up the microphone, pulled the lever and pressed the blue button, calling the head librarian.

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded tinny through the speaker.

  “Hello. It’s Rigel here in booth 22.”

  “Oh, hello. How are you getting on?”

  “Fine, thank you,” he replied. “I was just wondering if you had any books on the Dark Wars?”

  There was a pause at the other end and Rigel wondered if he had said something wrong.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Yes, I’m still here. I was just thinking. The books are restricted … but I think under the circumstances we can allow you access … and Rona as well of course if she’d like to read them. Although I must tell you that the books are not for loan; they can only be used for reference,” she informed him.

  “That’s not a problem. Thank you.”

  “Would you like the book bringing to you?”

  “I don’t mind coming to get it,” he told her.

  “Come back down to the ground floor then and we’ll arrange transport. If you just press the button on the side of your door, it will indicate to others that the booth is still occupied.”

  “Thank you. See you in a minute.”

  “Goodbye.”

  The speaker clicked as the line was disconnected.

  “Are you in or out?” Rigel asked the cat. It looked at him and shut its eye. “Okay, well, I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Rigel pressed the button at the side of the door and stepped out into the corridor.

  Passing along the empty rows of books, he arrived at the staircase and hurried down to the bottom floor. Several books whizzed past his head as he walked.

  He arrived at the circular desk and smiled at the librarian. A young man with coffee-coloured skin and windswept black hair was leaning casually on the desk. He was wearing a black leather o
vercoat and had silver goggles resting on his head.

  “Rigel, this is Queet. He will be escorting you today,” said the head librarian.

  “Hello,” said Rigel. The man saluted him casually.

  “Let’s get going,” Queet said. “See you later Ms S.”

  Without saying anything else, Queet led the way towards the southern wall of the library, Rigel hurrying behind him.

  They arrived at a bookcase, where Queet pulled one of the books forwards, making the case and the floor around it spin around until they were on the other side.

  “Oh cool!” exclaimed Rigel. “I’ve always wanted to go to a library with a secret trapdoor!”

  Queet grinned at him but remained silent. The room they were in now was a bare hall. The carpet and lamps remained the same but there was no other decoration on the walls. They walked to the other end of the hall, where Rigel saw tracks inlaid into the carpet.

  “Stop,” instructed the librarian, holding out an arm. Rigel bounced off it. “Queet Hallam, librarian ID 21048467.”

  A loud buzzer sounded somewhere behind the wall and two identical square panels of stone slid into the floor on the left and right of them.

  At first, nothing happened, but then Rigel heard a hissing and clanking as though a train were coming.

  Suddenly a small cart with a miner’s lamp fixed to the front rattled through the right-hand side hole, pulling what looked like two back-to-back benches fixed to the truck bed. A tiny woman with white hair that looked like it was for evermore stuck out behind her was driving. Her head barely poked above the top of the cart. She was wearing a large pair of sunglasses and when she turned to face them, Rigel saw that all her teeth were made of gold.

  “Afternoon, Lou,” said Queet, stepping onto the cart behind hers and sitting down on the bench. He patted a space beside himself and Rigel sat there.

  “Afternoon, Queet,” Lou replied, grinning at him. “Down to the vaults, is it?”

  “You know it.”

  “Alright. You must be the Light One?” she asked Rigel. He nodded. “Good for you. Hold on then.”

  Rigel looked around, alarmed that there was nothing to hold onto. He scooted to the edge of the bench and held the wrought iron railing there. Queet did not appear to be concerned and stretched out casually along the bench.

  “Aren’t you a bit young to be a librarian this high up?” asked Rigel.

  “Aren’t you a bit young to be a Light One who’s going to save us all?” retorted Queet. “Mind if I smoke?” He did not wait for an answer as he pulled out a black carton and then a black cigarette with what looked like purple leaves wrapped into it. He struck a match that burned green and lit the end. Inhaling, he blew out a plume of purple smoke that extinguished the match, which he tossed onto the rails behind them.

  “Hit it, Lou,” Queet said, pointing forwards.

  With a delighted screech, Lou shoved a lever forwards and the cart shot ahead into the tunnel.

  They were plunged into immediate darkness and Rigel’s only sense of direction was the way he was tossed around as the track wove backwards and forwards with the wind buffeting his face.

  “Here we go!” cried Lou and the cart lurched in a downward arc. Their speed increased and Rigel could hear both Lou and Queet laughing as the cart careened downwards. Rigel was pressed against the railing at what he could only guess was an impossibly steep angle down and grimaced as the sensations made his stomach roll.

  Then they were spinning around in a sinkhole loop that went around three times before they were suspended over an edge. A faint glow was emanating from a hole below them, giving Rigel enough light to see that the track was going vertically downwards.

  “Oh no!” he cried, looking for a way off.

  “Oh yes!” cried Queet, laughing again, the end of his cigarette a purple glowing dot that bounced as he laughed.

  With a clank, the cart went over the edge and rushed downwards, making Rigel’s head ache, and an involuntary cry of fear that he did not even remember making burst from him.

  And then it was over.

  The cart arrived in a well-lit station with stone pillars supporting the roof. Two wooden benches were set into the station and stained-glass hanging lamps on chains were suspended over the tracks, giving the station a homely orange glow. The cart bumped slightly as it stopped and Lou pulled the lever up straight. Rigel was panting, sweating and trying not to be sick.

  “All change, please,” said Lou.

  Queet stood up, flicked his cigarette off onto the tracks, and then dropped lightly off the cart onto the platform.

  “Cheers, Lou,” he said, smiling. She winked at him. “Come on, you,” he said to Rigel.

  “Er, thanks?” said Rigel, stumbling off the cart and following Queet.

  Just as they arrived at the next corridor, they heard a delighted screech as Lou set off again, the cart roaring into the next tunnel and making a sound like the London Underground. A wave of wind blasted them.

  At the end of the corridor, they arrived in what looked like a museum reception hall. A portly man in a security outfit with a peaked cap rested behind a desk, his feet up, reading a copy of The Kozenian Times.

  “Afternoon, Alf,” said Queet.

  “Afternoon, Queet,” Alf replied, looking over the paper. “You must be the Light One?” he asked Rigel, who nodded. “Good for you. Enjoy your visit.” Rigel smiled as another buzzer sounded and they reached a heavily barred door at the end of the reception. The bars shot into the wall one by one and then a central wheel spun and the door opened. It was as thick as a bank vault but it swung out without apparent effort or noise.

  Inside were rows of books on dark wooden shelves, but these rows were straight rather than arranged in a sunlight pattern like those upstairs. It was much darker down here, illuminated only by smaller versions of the stained glass lamps on black chains. Stamped signs were screwed onto each bookshelf. Queet leant against the first shelf and pulled out his cigarettes again.

  “The books you want are down at the end,” he said, pointing with his ring finger. “Take as long as you want, I’ll be waiting down here until you’re done.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  Rigel walked down the central aisle and was almost immediately enveloped in silence. Even his footsteps seemed to make no noise. He passed rows of books on astronomy, unreported news items, poisons … the list went on. Passing a row stamped “The Deeper Human Mind”, Rigel spotted Mry engrossed in a book down the aisle. Hurrying onwards, he began to wonder if the place went on forever.

  Then after seven more rows the bookshelves stopped and Rigel found himself in an area set up almost like an exhibition. On a plinth in the middle were statues of five white figures carved out of marble. Their eyes were made of pearl and their hands glimmered like polished white quartz. Rigel stepped closer and looked at the description.

  “The Light Ones go forth,” he read, goose-bumps shivering up his arms and back. The faces were shaped but unrecognisable as particular persons. There were three men and two women, and it did not escape Rigel’s notice that they were fully grown, not children. He seemed unable to pull his gaze away from the statue, and the more he looked at it, the more disturbed he felt. Could one of those figures really be him? How could that be possible when he remembered none of it? Surely something so momentous and important would not be something he could just forget? He turned away, unsettled, and looked around the room. Swords were screwed onto the wall, along with warped and twisted armour and scraps of uniforms. In the right-hand corner, there was a bust of a woman wearing a crown.

  Passing the statue, he found a second smaller plinth behind it. On top was a small multi-faceted black stone that glimmered slickly. It was lit from underneath by a light on the plinth and seemed to bend the shadows around it. Rigel moved closer and looked at the tag.

  Multi-Dimension Stone

  Dark Realm

  (Replica)

&
nbsp; Wondering what a multi-dimension stone was, he turned and spotted two paintings on the wall covered with a thick black cloth. He moved over and pulled the cloth off. There staring back at him was a portrait of Frivlok. The Dark Angel was dressed in a full military outfit befitting a field marshal. The material was black and most of the front left-hand side was decorated with medals. A thick fur cape lined with purple velvet was draped across his shoulders and his head was held with pride.

  Rigel stepped across to the other picture and pulled the material off. Three figures stood looking out over a sunset that had dyed the sky a burnt orange. As he looked closer, Rigel realised that they were standing on a mound of burnt, smoking bodies and each figure held a sword that appeared to be made as much of smoke as of metal. His feeling of uneasiness increasing, he covered the pictures again and looked around for books.

  In a shadowy corner, he spotted a lectern with a huge leather-bound book resting on it. Walking over, his hand brushed the front as he read the gold-stamped inscription on the front.

  “The Dark Wars: A full and accurate account of the events leading to, during and following the terrible war between dark and light,” he read. His nerves was washed away as adrenaline-fuelled excitement coursed through him.

  Rigel opened the book.

  It was blank.

  “What the—?”

  Rigel flicked through the rest of the pages to make sure he had not just opened it on a blank page, but to his confusion, every heavy page was without a mark.

  “Frustrating, isn’t it?” said a cool voice.

  Rigel jumped and spun around, but the room was still empty. A cough came from the wall.

  “I’m covered up … if you’d be so kind?”

  As the ever-present uneasiness crept through his stomach again, Rigel moved over to the paintings he had just re-covered and pulled the cloth off. Where before the portrait had been still, now it was animated like a picture on a television screen. Frivlok smiled, making Rigel jump back.