Journey to the Library [The Library Saga] Read online

  "Right," Carstairs says, swallowing hard.

  "Is this a problem?" I whisper.

  "Shouldn't be," he replies, although there's less certainty in his voice than before. "If all else fails," he adds, "I can always use magic to get us out."

  "Great," I mutter, thinking back to Carstairs' previous attempts at 'magic', which were somewhat underwhelming.

  "You'll have to sign form 33.6," the Marshal says after a moment, sliding two pieces of paper across the desk toward us. "Both of you."

  "And what might form 33.6 be?" Carstairs asks.

  "It's a consent form," he replies, "confirming that you've been fully informed of the reasons for your punishment and the judgment of the Council, for whom I am the authorized representative."

  "Punishment, eh?" Carstairs says, stepping toward the desk and picking up one of the forms. "I see," he mutters as he reads the fine print. "Yes, you really have decided to make an example of us, haven't you? I thought your more punitive days were behind you. I'd heard your species had moved on, but evidently I was misinformed. I must be honest, this is some rather strong stuff."

  "What does it say?" I ask.

  "I suppose I'll have to sign," he continues, taking a pen from the pot on the desk and swiftly signing the bottom of the form. "My young traveling companion is below the legal age of representation," he continues, "so would I be right in assuming that I must sign on his behalf?"

  "That will be acceptable," the Marshal replies. "In all related matters, you will now act as his guardian and representative."

  Muttering something to himself, Carstairs signs the second form before turning them both around and sliding them back toward the Marshal.

  "Excellent," the Marshal says, checking the forms. "I'm glad that we've managed to deal with this matter so promptly, without any of the usual palaver. It's so distressing when there's a lot of screaming and moaning."

  "Screaming and moaning?" I reply, starting to wonder what, exactly, Carstairs just signed.

  "Don't worry," Carstairs says, rejoining me as several Grandapam guards make their way toward us. "Everything's going to be okay. The Grandapams have been very generous, really. Their judgment, as ever, is extremely wise."

  "I'm glad you see things that way," the Marshall mutters.

  "What's going to happen to us?" I ask.

  "Well," Carstairs replies with tension in his voice, "I imagine we'll be taken to a cell and held there for a while, and then we'll have a meal, probably something rather nice, and then..." He pauses, and it's clear that he's worried. "Well, then I suppose our execution will be scheduled and..." He swallows hard. "And carried out," he adds finally.

  "Execution?" I reply, feeling as if someone has just dropped a cold stone into my heart from a great height. "What do you mean?"

  "Death by hanging," the Marshal says calmly, as if there's no reason to be alarmed. "It's really the only way to deal with such terrible transgressions."

  "You can't do that!" I shout, as the guards step closer with their swords raised. "You can't kill us!"

  "I'm afraid I can," the Marshal replies, holding up the forms that Carstairs signed a moment ago. "I have your consent for the whole thing."

  Turning to Carstairs, I see the look of faint embarrassment in his eyes.

  "Don't worry," he says after a moment. "I've still got my plan, remember?"

  Alice Never

  Although I'm exhausted, something seems to be keeping me awake as the long, creaking boat sails along with the river traffic. Having found a spot at the rear of the vessel, I find myself staring up at the ragged sails, watching as they flutter in the wind. I know this moment of rest is important, and I desperately need to sleep, but no matter how long I keep my eyes closed, my mind is racing.

  "You seem troubled," says a voice nearby.

  Opening my eyes, I see to my shock that the blue-skinned man has come to sit nearby. Old and thin, but with a tall, imposing presence, he has a kindly face that's somewhat offset by the strangeness of his appearance: his skin is a kind of opaque blue, and around his neck there are frill-like gills that seems to be constantly leaking small amounts of water. On top of that, there appear to be small silvery worms crawling in and out of the gills, something that the man himself seems not to mind at all.

  "You're not from the Library," he continues. "I think I can guess where you're from, but there's no need to tell me. Sometimes little bridges and byways open up between the worlds, and people slip through. It has happened before, and it will happen again. The trick is to navigate them skillfully and, of course, to eventually find one that leads back home."

  Glancing past him, I watch as Table stalks the deck; it seems that she, like me, can't relax. I can't help noticing, also, that she seems particularly anxious about the route we've taken, as if she's convinced that someone is following us. Based on her reaction when she looked at the crowd earlier, I have no doubt at all that she's being tracked. I just wish that she'd tell me the truth.

  "You're traveling with some interesting company," the blue-skinned man says, with a faint smile on his lips. He reaches a hand out toward me. "My name is Omman the Joth. I come from the swamp-lands around the river's delta, although I ply my trade in the more populous areas. Most of my species prefer to stay in the wilderness, but I'm drawn to the rush of the river. I prefer moving water to the more stagnant ponds of my childhood."

  I reach out to shake his hand, but at the last moment I pull back as I see several of the silvery worms crawling across his fingers. I know I'm probably being rude, but the thought of touching this man's flesh makes me feel nauseous. Besides, his skin appears to be partially see-through, and I can just about make out the dark outlines of his bones, as well as the shadows of more worms crawling through his body.

  "These are my nemites," he explains, holding his hand up so that I can watch the worms wriggling over his skin. "They're a part of me, at least for now. Without them, I couldn't live. They clean my blood and help to keep my body in good condition. In return, I let them live inside me; I carry them around, I eat so that they too might eat, and I try to take care of myself so that I remain a viable habitat for their lives. We help each other."

  I stare at the worms, shocked that he seems to not only tolerate their presence, but actively celebrates it.

  "Some of them are in their mating season," he continues, "so soon they'll move on to the next stage of their lives. Their offspring will remain behind and look after me, though. The cycle of their existence fits rather well within the cycle of my own. I've had many generations of this strain in my body, and I hope to continue the relationship for many years to come." He pauses. "I can tell that I'm upsetting you. I'm sorry. Perhaps I should leave you alone -"

  "No," I say, keen not to offend him. "I mean..." I take a deep breath, trying to remind myself not to judge him so quickly. "I'm really not used to all of this," I continue after a moment. "I'm just looking for my parents. And maybe my brother, if he's here too."

  "Are they lost?" he asks.

  I nod.

  "And you, too, are lost?"

  "At least I've found someone who can help me get along," I point out. "They might be completely alone, or worse."

  "And yet you seem very calm," he replies.

  "I think I'm just waiting to panic and freak out until it's all over," I tell him. "There's no point going crazy right now. It wouldn't help."

  "It serves no-one to become lost in this place," he replies gravely. "Even those who know the Library well are always keen to remain on familiar ground. I hope you won't be unduly worried if I tell you that it would be wise to find your parents as quickly as possible. Every time the sun sets, new dangers will emerge from the darkness, and if they venture too far from the river they're likely to reach stranger lands. I've heard tales about far-off parts of the Library, and I myself have no wish to ever venture too far from the water's course."

  "Table's going to help me," I tell him.

  "You have hired her?" he asks,
raising an eyebrow.

  "No. I just... She said she'd help."

  "For no recompense?" He pauses, and it's clear that he's troubled. "Something about that girl worries me," he says after a moment, before turning to watch as she paces along the far side of the boat. "Her energy is nervous," he adds, turning back to face me, "and there is some distinction between her thoughts, and her words, and her deeds. When she speaks, it's as if she's trying to cover her true beliefs."

  "You think I can't trust her?" I ask.

  "I think you would be wise to keep a little of yourself back," he says. "You have enough troubles, without allowing her enemies to become your enemies too. At the next town, you might be wise to seek another guide. Someone who accepts payment, perhaps, rather than claiming to have no motive other than generosity." Reaching into one of his shawl pockets, he takes out one of the pouches that Table gave him earlier; untying the top, he takes out a handful of small silver coins and passes them to me.

  "What are these for?" I ask.

  "You'll need them if you're to hire someone," he replies. "An honest transaction is sometimes more reliable than a dishonest promise. Just remember that if you're in any doubt, stay close to water. In the Library, as in many worlds, water is life." Reaching over the side of the boat, he scoops up some water from the river and holds it in the palm of his hand. "Where there is water," he continues, "there is life, or at least its possibility. Where there is no water, things die."

  I smile politely, not really sure why he's telling me about water.

  "Just promise me one thing," he continues. "Don't give up. If you give up, your parents are lost forever. If you keep pushing, the chance remains."

  I nod, even though I'm not sure whether I have enough strength to push much further.

  "Perhaps you would like to sleep now," he adds, drinking the water from his hand before getting to his feet. "We're two or three hours from the next port, depending on how traffic treats us, and there's nothing else for you to do. I can sense your tiredness, so please, try to rest."

  I nod, and as I do so, it's as if I suddenly feel far more tired than before. Maybe I'm imagining things, but it's almost as if this Omman the Joth guy has helped to calm my nerves. As he turns and walks back toward the front of the boat, I'm left to stare out at the passing riverbank, and slowly my eyes begin to feel tired and heavy. Resting my head on the wooden railing, I try to focus on the juddering rhythm of the boat's motion through the water, and finally my eyes close of their own accord and I'm able to drift off to sleep.

  Thomas Never

  "Look at him," says one of the Grandapam guards, staring at us through the bars of the cell door. "Carstairs the Wizard. Why doesn't he use magic to get out of here, huh?"

  "Could it be that he's a liar?" the other guard asks, banging the edge of his sword against one of the metal bars. "Come on, old wizard. Show us some of that magic you're always talking about!"

  We're sitting in a narrow aisle, with bars blocking our exit at either end. So far, Carstairs has been unusually quiet, seemingly content to sit on the ground and stare at the mud while I pace up and down. The sky above us is starting to darken as the midday sun begins its slow decline, and I can't help but think about the fact that every second we spend rotting in this damn place, my parents are getting further and further away. For the first time, I'm starting to contemplate the possibility that I'll never find them.

  "Stop that," Carstairs says suddenly.

  "What?" I ask, turning to him.

  "That walking," he replies. "Pacing up and down. It doesn't help, and it's distracting me."

  "Are you still trying to come up with a plan?" I ask, trying to stay calm even though the words of the Grandapam Marshal keep running through my mind, along with the thought of a thick rope being placed around my neck.

  "It'd be easier if I didn't have to placate you," he mutters. "Don't worry. We've got plenty of time. I've already lodged an appeal, and the bureaucratic mess will last several weeks. They'll be stamping and re-stamping all the paperwork, going through the motions, that sort of thing. One of the good things about Grandapams is that it's rather easy to tie them up in their own wrangles."

  "Several weeks?" I reply, trying - and failing - not to panic. "That's okay, then. I was worried we were going to be dragged out of here at any moment and executed, but I'll be a lot happier if we spend several weeks sitting around in here first and then we're executed." I wait for him to say something, but he seems to be distracted. "Is there any chance that this appeal might work?" I add. "I mean, is there even the slightest possibility that they'll realize they've made a terrible mistake and that they should just let us go?"

  He shakes his head.

  "I need to catch up to my parents," I continue. "They're out there somewhere. We can't sit around here -"

  "I'll think of something," he mutters, glancing over at the guards.

  "What about magic?" I ask.

  He turns to me.

  "You claim to be a wizard, right?" I continue. "You claim to be able to use magic. So go ahead. Do it. Use some kind of spell to get us out of here! There has to be a way for a wizard to get out of jail, right?"

  He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out; it's as if he can't think of an answer. I desperately want to believe that he's just playing some kind of long game, and that he'll spring into action when the moment is right, but I'm rapidly losing faith and judging by the look in his eyes, I think Carstairs is in the same boat.

  "Those guards were mocking you," I tell him, hoping to rile him and get him to act out of anger. "They were saying you're not a real wizard."

  No response.

  "Didn't you hear them?" I ask. "They were ripping into you. They were saying you're a complete phony, that you're not a real wizard. Really mean stuff."

  Again, no response.

  "So why don't you prove them wrong?" I continue, even though I'm pretty sure I know the answer already. "Why don't you do... something? Anything?"

  "It's no good waiting for Carstairs the Wizard to help you," says one of the Grandapam guards. "He's known throughout the Library for his inability to pull off anything more complicated than a basic card trick. I've known millipedes and ticks that were better at the dark arts."

  "I heard he once failed to pull a rabbit from a hat," says the other guard. "Even my offspring can learn to do that by the time of their second year."

  "I heard he stole his gown and cart from a corpse he found near the gate," the first guard adds. "They used to belong to a real wizard, but Carstairs... he's not a real wizard at all. He peeled that gown off the bleached bones of a skeleton he chanced upon in the wilderness. He just likes to dress up and pretend."

  "Is it true?" I ask, desperately hoping that Carstairs might yet prove the Grandapams wrong by performing some daring act of magic. "Is it all an act?"

  "Magic comes in different forms," he says uncertainly.

  "Can any of those forms help us?" I ask. "Can any of those forms break down these bars or force the Grandapams to release us?"

  He pauses. "No," he says eventually. "Not as such."

  "Then what use are they?" I continue, exasperated by his inability to actually do anything. "You said you got us into this mess on purpose, but I don't see how that's going to help! I thought the whole idea was to get into a little trouble, deal with it, and then start getting information from these people?"

  "I didn't expect them to throw the book at us!" he hisses, as if he's starting to lose his temper. "I assumed we'd get fined, or maybe lightly flayed, and then I was going to strike up a conversation with the Marshal and ask about your parents." He sighs. "It's been years since the Grandapams executed anyone. I thought they'd more or less given up on that kind of thing. I suppose I miscalculated a little."

  "Miscalculated?" I reply. "Is that all you've got to say? You miscalculated? You miscalculated? Is that all that happened? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like you make a huge mistake and now we're going to be exec
uted!" I wait for a reply. "That's not a miscalculation," I continue. "I can't die here! I don't even belong here!"

  "But you are here," he replies. "That's the problem."

  "Not by choice," I point out.

  He shrugs.

  Turning, I hurry over to the bars.

  "I'm not with him," I say, hoping that maybe the guards will see that Carstairs and I really don't have very much to do with one another. "I just met him in the Library and asked him for help. He said he'd help me find my parents, so I let him lead me along the aisles, but he never once told me that we were entering anyone's territory without permission." I wait for one of them to say something, but they just seem to be eying me with amusement. "You can't kill me!" I continue, trying not to sound too scared. "I didn't do anything wrong! I was just trying to find my parents!"

  "The forms are signed," one of the guards replies.

  "I didn't sign anything!" I shout.

  "Your form was signed on your behalf. Copies are available for your inspection if you so wish."

  "I didn't give my permission for that!"

  "You're a minor," he replies with a smile. "The Marshal deemed that Carstairs the Wizard should be appointed as your legal representative in all matters before the Council." He pauses. "Poor you, huh?"

  Turning to look over at Carstairs, I feel myself starting to get angrier and angrier. All along, he's acted as if he knows what he's doing, as if he can get us out of any situation. Now, however, it's becoming clear that he's nothing but a charlatan who wanders the Library making grand, excessive claims when all he really has to offer is a series of bluffs and guesses. I'd have had more luck making my way alone; instead, I allowed Carstairs to lead me into this mess, and for all his talk of plans, he's got no idea how to get us out of this place.

  "Just stay calm," he says after a moment, glancing over at me with a look of desperation in his eyes. "I'll think of something, I promise."

  Alice Never

  "You can't be serious!" Nodby says, his urgent, impassioned tones rousing me from sleep.