Journey to the Library [The Library Saga] Read online

  "Are you ready?" he asks finally, turning to me with a grin on his face. "This is your first visit to the Library, I suppose?" He sighs. "I remember my first visit to the Library. Well, actually..." He pauses again. "I'm not sure that I do, come to think of it. But I'm sure it was wonderful and magical and overwhelming, so I can only give you one piece of advice. Stick with me. Don't leave my immediate vicinity, not even for a second. If you go wandering off, there's no telling what might happen to you. Agreed?"

  I stare at him, trying to work out if he's truly insane.

  "Are we agreed, Thomas?" he asks.

  "Yes," I say cautiously, "but there's one thing I really don't understand. You keep talking about a library, but..." Turning, I look at the vast, empty plain that stretches out before us. "There's no library here, and even if there was, why would we need to go to it? I mean, it's not like my parents have been taken to a library, is it?" I wait for him to reply, but there's a faint smile on his face. "Is it?"

  "Come with me," he says, grabbing the long beam-handles at the side of the cupboard, lifting them up, and starting to walk around the large pile of boulders. "Come on! There's no time for dawdling! I told you to stick with me, and it's no use if you get lost before we even get to the gate!"

  "Gate?" I ask, hurrying after him. "What gate? I don't know what you're talking about. You -"

  As we get around the pile of stones, however, I stop dead in my tracks. I hadn't realized, but we were standing close to the crest of a hill, and now that we're on the other side I can see exactly what Carstairs was talking about. A couple of hundred meters away, there's a long, high stone wall, set into which there's a large archway fitted with a pair of huge wooden doors. In the immediate space in front of the gate, various individuals are milling about, pulling carts and generally going about their business; beyond the gate, there appears to be a vast maze that runs as far as the horizon.

  "That gate," Carstairs says with a grin. "The Library's main eastern gate. Now come on, we need to get going. I'd hate to get caught out here on the plain at night."

  I stand completely still for a moment, marveling at the stunning sight in front of me. My mind feels blank, as if someone took my brain, scrunched it into a ball and tossed it into a bin. Finally, realizing that Carstairs is already getting ahead of me, I run to catch up, making my way down the dusty hillside that leads toward the gate.

  Part Two

  Tables and Chairs

  Alice Never

  "There," says the first creature, taking a step back and admiring his handiwork. "What do you think?"

  "Not bad," the second creature replies, although he doesn't sound entirely convinced. "Not bad at all... Not quite as good as the first one, but still a decent effort. It's got decent form, and most importantly, it's functional. We can put a lot of stuff on it."

  "There's time to fix any problems," the first creature says. "This is just, like, a working draft. We can fiddle with it over time, get it sorted. Maybe sand off a few rough edges here and there, give it a polish, maybe even dye it a different color. A good varnish can really help to bring out the grains in the wood, which I've got to admit, aren't particularly noticeable at the moment."

  Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm. For the past half hour, I've had to remain more or less completely still, on my hands and knees while these bizarre furry creatures arranged a rectangular piece of wood on my back, which they tied in place with a piece of rope around my waist. Although I considered trying to fight back, I eventually decided that my best bet would be to just let them do whatever they want, and then run away as soon as they're not looking. To be honest, I've given up trying to make sense of anything that's happening to me right now. I'm just waiting for a chance to escape, and I'll worry about everything else later.

  "Try this," the first creature says, grabbing a vase of flowers and placing it on the wood that's strapped to my back. "How does that look?"

  Trying not to collapse, I struggle to keep the block of wood level. At any moment, the whole thing could topple over, sending the vase crashing to the ground, and I'm worried that I might end up making these creatures angry. So far, they seem fairly calm and amenable, but I'm convinced that they could turn nasty if I don't perform as expected.

  "Not bad," the second creature mutters.

  "Not bad? Is that your answer to everything?"

  I look down at my hand and repeat the mantra I was taught back at the clinic. If something's right in front of you, and you can touch it and feel it, it's real. Still, it's hard to believe that I'm not hallucinating.

  "Well, it's a table," the second creature continues. "I mean, as tables go, it's very nice. It's just a bit hard to get very enthusiastic about the whole thing. A table's just a place to put things, isn't it?"

  A table? Did he seriously just refer to me as a table?

  "It's recycled, though," the first creature says. "I think it's pretty clever of us to recycle a human and end up with a decent-looking table. There's lots of people who'd have just chucked the damn thing out, but we used our minds to come up with a better option, and now we've got a table that'll last for quite a while. I think we should give ourselves a pat on the back for this achievement. If more people were as careful about recycling things, the Library wouldn't be in such a mess."

  "But we'd be out of jobs."

  "True, true."

  "Look at it like this," the second creature continues. "If we get this table looking nice, maybe we can even flog it down the Eastern Gate Market. There's people there who'd pay a few gold shavings for something like this. If we get it looking really nice, we could even offload it to a reseller who'd cart it off to one of the swankier markets."

  "So what you're saying," the first creature replies, with a hint of disappointment, "is that you don't like it? You'd rather sell it than have it in our home?"

  "That's not what I'm saying at all -"

  "Sounds like it."

  "Fine, fine," the second creature replies, repositioning the vase of flowers. "I suppose it has a certain degree of kitsch charm, doesn't it? I mean, it's rather pretty, and at least it's level, not like that table we had to kill last month."

  Kill?

  "Exactly," the first creature says defensively. "It's better than the last one. I mean, look at it. I thought we'd done a good job with the previous table, but now it's looking very careworn and, in my humble opinion, not nearly as impressive as it originally seemed. With this table, however, we've really done a bang-up job."

  "We should probably get back to work, though," the second creature says. "There's still plenty of daylight left, and those streets won't clean themselves. Besides, you never know what kind of items people might have thrown out. Don't want any gutter-scuttlers to get to the good stuff first."

  "Fine," the first creature says, turning and shuffling away, each footfall sending a minor tremor through the ground.

  Staying perfectly still, I wait for the second creature to leave, but he seems to be admiring me, as if he's trying to decide whether or not I need 'more work'. After a moment, he takes a step back and holds up his furry hands, making a kind of viewfinder with his fingers. He says something under his breath, but it's too quiet for me to hear, and finally he lets out a big sigh that, a few seconds later, reaches me in the form of a cloud of bad breath.

  "Whatever," he mutters finally, before turning and stomping away.

  Once they're out of earshot and out of view, I wait a few more minutes, just to be safe. My heart's racing and my mind is spinning as I try to work out what's happening, but all I know right now is that I have to get the hell away from here. As soon as I'm sure that the creatures have gone, I double-check my balance and then finally I reach up with one hand and try to untie the rope knot that's fastened around my waist. At the same time, I'm keen to maintain my balance, because I'm worried that the creatures might hear the vase if it falls and smashes.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," whispers a nearby voice.

  Shock
ed, I almost lose my balance, and I hear the vase slipping along the surface of the table before finally I'm able to steady myself.

  "I'm serious," the voice continues. It sounds female, but it's coming from behind me, and I can't exactly turn around and take a look. "They'll know, you know."

  "What?" I ask.

  "They'll know if you try to escape," she continues. "Trust me. I tried once, and it ended... well, it didn't end well. You really can't afford to take any risks."

  I pause for a moment. "Who are you?" I ask eventually.

  "Me? I'm just like you. I'm a table. And if you're smart, you'll leave that knot alone. There's no way out, so you'd better just get used to your new life."

  "New life?" I wait for an answer. "What are you talking about? I can't stay like this!"

  "You've got no choice," the voice replies, keeping her voice low. "Just because the recyclers are gone, don't fall into the trap of thinking we're not being watched. I promise you, one wrong move, and the alarm'll ring from here to the citadel. You really, really don't want to piss the alarm off."

  Thomas Never

  As the huge gate swings open, the first thing I notice is the crowd of people swarming along the wide central aisle. It's as if someone took an entire market and stuffed it between two sets of bookshelves. With just three or four meters between the shelves, there's not much room to move, and the situation isn't helped by the fact that merchants and beggars are taking up part of the aisle with their wares. Wires have been strung between the shelves, with all sorts of fabric draped above the crowd, along with jewelery and clothing. It's as if every square inch of this place, from the ground all the way up to the tops of the shelves, has been taken up by hawkers and peddlers.

  "Careful," Carstairs mutters as he tries to maneuver his cart through the crowd. "Out of the way!" he shouts, already frustrated by our slow progress.

  "What is this place?" I ask, as I narrowly avoid colliding with a green, scaly-skinned man wearing what appears to be thick armor.

  "This is the Eastern Gate Market," Carstairs replies. "Cheap old place, really, but if you're looking to buy tat at low prices, this is the place to come."

  "But why did they set up a market here?" I ask, as I duck to get under what appears to be a large carpet hanging from a wire above. "There's barely room to breathe!"

  "Where else should they set it up?" he says, sounding genuinely puzzled.

  "I don't know. Maybe in a wider spot? Or outside the Library?"

  "My word," he says with a smile, "you really don't know much about the this place, do you? There are no wider spots. Not really, anyway. Around the citadel maybe, but they won't allow a market there. They're too worried about lowering the tone of the neighborhood."

  Before I can reply, the cart almost topples over, and I instinctively reach out and manage to hold it up while Carstairs pulls it out of a small pothole.

  "Good work," he mutters. "You're already proving yourself useful."

  "What's in this thing, anyway?" I ask, shocked by the weight of the cart. "Apart from scales, of course."

  "Oh, this and that," he replies with a fake smile that instantly makes me a little suspicious. "Things for sale, things to be used in various lines of work. You'll see. Just keep close and hurry up. We haven't got all day, and my first appointment is still a little way from here."

  "Appointment?" I ask. "What appointment? I thought you were going to help me find my family!"

  "I am!" he says. "I just have to drop in and see some people first. A man's got to eat, Thomas, and unless you have a bag of gold coins on your person, one of us needs to rustle up some cash."

  I open my mouth to ask about the appointment, but I'm distracted by the impossible sight of a figure moving past, wearing a long, dark blue robe that opens at the top to reveal the gray head of a cat.

  "What the hell is that?" I ask, prompting the cat to glance at me and sneer before he keeps walking. I stop and turn to watch as he disappears into the crowd.

  "Angel mushrooms?" asks a voice nearby.

  Looking over at a nearby shelf, I see to my surprise that a middle-aged man has wedged himself into the narrow space, and as he stares at me, I realize he has a small selection of gray mushrooms arranged on a piece of cloth. "They're the real deal," he continues with a cautious smile. "Picked 'em myself. I know, I know, it's a dangerous job, but someone's gotta do it. They're fresh, too. I was there only last week."

  Stepping closer, I peer at the mushrooms. To be honest, they're probably the most normal thing I've seen since we walked through the gate, since they just look like small, ordinary mushrooms with small, ordinary stalks.

  "A pound of gold each," the man says. "I know that might seem steep, but there are genuine Angel mushrooms."

  "What does that mean?" I ask cautiously. "What's an angel mushroom?"

  "I picked them in the shadow of the Angel, didn't I?" he relies with a grin. "What's wrong with you? Are you ignorant or something?"

  "What angel?" I ask.

  "What angel?" He laughs. "Sounds like you've eaten too many of the damn things already."

  "Come on!" Carstairs says, grabbing my arm and pulling me along the aisle.

  "What was he talking about?" I ask. "Mushrooms growing in the shadow of an angel?"

  "God knows," Carstairs replies as he continues to pull his cart through the crowd. "Sounds like nonsense to me."

  "But an angel -"

  "There's no angel!" he says, sounding annoyed. "Stop with all the angel talk. There's no angel in the Library. Why the hell would there be an angel, and if there was, what would it matter?"

  "Sure," I mutter, glancing over my shoulder and watching for a moment as I spot another of those green-skinned reptile men. In fact, it might even be the same one, and we make eye contact for a moment before he turns and hurries away. "Angels are nonsense," I mutter under my breath, "but everything else here is completely sane and normal."

  "Do you want to buy a scarf?" asks an old woman suddenly, stepping in front of me. Encrusted with warts and stinking like a cowshed, she's dragging a large cart behind her, filled with different-colored fabrics. "Perhaps a gift for someone back home?"

  "No," I say, taking a step back and trying not to breathe in.

  "Come on," she continues, rooting around in her cart. "I'll find something you can't resist."

  "I'm fine," I say, really. Turning, I suddenly realize that I've lost sight of Carstairs.

  "What about this?" the old woman says, tapping my shoulder and, in the process, dislodging several of her warts.

  "No!" I shout, pulling away as she unfurls a large, brightly-colored scarf directly in front of me. "I don't -" Before I can finish, however, I realize that the scarf is a color I've never seen before. It'd not red or blue or green or yellow, or any color I even knew existed. It's a totally new color, and although it's bright and warm, I'm not sure how I could ever describe it to someone who'd never seen it before.

  "You're tempted, aren't you?" the old woman says with a grin.

  "What color is that?" I ask, unable to stop staring at the scarf.

  "What color?" she asks, looking a little confused. "Well, it's tarn, isn't it? What color do you think it is?"

  "Tarn?" I reply, reaching out to touch the scarf.

  "You touch, you pay," she says.

  I stop just in time, but I'm still overcome by this completely new color. It's almost as if I can feel part of my brain being rewired by such a strange phenomenon, and I think I might be developing a faint headache. After all, most of us, by the time we're just a couple of hours old, have seen every color we're ever going to see. At the age of fifteen, I'm not sure I ever expected to be ambushed by new colors.

  "So what currencies have you got?" the old woman asks. "I'm very flexible."

  "Thomas!" says Carstairs, suddenly fighting his way through the crowd and grabbing me by the shoulder. "I thought I told you not to wander off!"

  "I just... have you seen this thing?" I ask, pointing at th
e scarf. "That color -"

  "Yes, yes," he says, sounding a little flustered as he steers me away from the old woman and back through the crowd, "it's a very nice shade of tarn, but you don't want to be buying anything from the street merchants around here. I'm afraid everything's over-priced and poorly made. There's a man over there, for example, who's selling dragon teeth that actually came from a crocodile." Stopping for a moment, he crouches down and scoops up some dirt, which he drops into a small gold-laced pouch.

  "Dragon teeth?" I ask, still kind of stunned by the new color I just saw.

  "Real dragon teeth are far too rare to be sold in a place like this," Carstairs says as he stands up and we make our way back to his cart. "I can tell you with absolute certainty that anyone who actually managed to extract such a thing would take it straight to the citadel. They wouldn't try hawking it down here at the Eastern Gate Market. Even if you had a genuine tooth, no-one in their right mind would believe you. Trust me, the only people you get around here are scammers and lunatics."

  "And which are you?" I ask.

  "I'm certainly not the kind of person who sells dragon teeth at the Eastern Gate Market. If I had dragon teeth, I'd take them to the citadel, or maybe to the Northern Gate Market. That's where the really classy merchants operate."

  "You make it sound like dragon teeth are real things," I reply.

  "You'll see," he says with a smile, as he starts pulling his cart along the rickety road, while trying to find a route through the bustling crowd. "Now keep close this time. I'm already late for my appointment, and I have a reputation for always being right on time. How do you expect me to get work if rumors spread that I'm tardy? Punctuality is a real selling point, especially around these parts. Most of my competitors are hopelessly disorganized and completely unreliable." As he pushes past a group of men, he suddenly pulls the cart to the left and starts making his way along another crowded aisle that runs away from the main part of the market.