Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (12 page)

‘Right, well
that’s grand, can we get on with it?’ said Dave, who sounded a bit
miffed.

‘He can even…
Take out books,’ said the librarian in a voice that verged on the
incredulous.

Even Dave
looked surprised.

‘Take out
books? Hold hard a bloody minute,’ said Dave, now positively
annoyed, ‘I have begged you in the past to let me take out books or
even just copy passages. But you flatly refused.’

‘Local card Mr
Trellis, local card. If you wish to complain, please do so through
the proper channels.’

Dave glared at
the librarian, who ignored him.

‘Any way, can
we finally get on with it,’ said Dave.

‘Yes of
course,’ said the librarian, business like once more, ‘if you could
step over to this end of the counter Mr Loaf.’

Fergus moved
down the counter to where the librarian pointed.

‘This won’t
take a moment, but it is important that you stand very still.
Please ignore the lights they are just for calibration and
positioning. If you are ready Mr Loaf?’

Fergus
nodded.

‘Very still
now,’ said the librarian, who waved his hand and a glowing green
button appeared, he pressed it, ‘And begin.’

Fergus could
see some flickering lights for a moment; he felt a sharp prick in
his forehead and pressure behind his eyes. Then the pain began.
Huge waves of screaming agony struck Fergus like an axe in the
forehead. It hurt so much he could only whimper and sink to his
knees.

‘Come on lad,
it doesn’t hurt that much,’ said Dave.

‘On the
contrary Mr Trellis the scan required for a full library card is
reported to be extremely painful to humans. Not designed for us
really; not like the local card.’

Fergus fell on
his back and went rigid. He let out a long, piecing yell. Dave
looked down, concern written on his face.

‘Why didn’t you
warn him?’

‘It’s so much
simpler this way. Anyway it will all be over in a moment.’

Suddenly Fergus
relaxed and lay on the ground sweating.

‘Are you
alright lad?’

‘Been better,’
said Fergus, taking deep breaths, ‘Something has happened to my
vision, I can see coloured lines in the air.’

‘That will all
settle down shortly Mr Loaf. It is the Library adjusting your
perception. It will enable you to see things that the Library hides
from mere local card holders.’

‘Oh bloody
marvellous,’ said Dave, ‘Now he gets to see all the hidden places
as well.’

‘Whatever,’
said Fergus, who was past caring. He lay on his back and looked up
at the ceiling. Then there was a dog’s face directly above him. It
looked directly into his eyes. For a moment Fergus though he saw
sympathy in the dog’s expression.

It growled
something.

‘Get on your
feet you big drama queen. Get over it, we’re busy,’ said Dave.

‘What was
that?’ asked Fergus clambering to his feet and holding on to the
edge of the counter.

‘Just
translating for you lad.’

‘Mr Loaf, may I
just say welcome to the library,’ said the librarian and bowed
deeply.

‘Thank you’,
said Fergus. In his present state of mind he was not sure he meant
it, things had become a little weird, all he wanted to do was sit
down and let it all wash over him.

A dog trotted
through the archway. It was strong, powerful, and female. The dog
beside Dave trotted over and together they walked towards a
panelled wall, through which they disappeared.

Fergus saw
yellow lines on the panelled wall. He assumed this was more
‘Library vision’.

‘Dave, I can
see an outline of an doorway on that wall.’

‘Don’t rub it
in, lad, I can see nowt. I don’t get access to the visitor’s
wing.’

‘Oh sorry,’
said Fergus, ‘But you know, I no longer think of all this as
odd.’

‘Well, this
here is the oddest place I know of, so your sense of wonder may yet
return,’ said Dave, ‘Come on, I’ll take you as far as the Junior
reading room.’

Dave nodded
towards the librarian.

‘Good day
Librarian.’

‘Good day to
you Mr Trellis, I hope your search is successful. It would be a
great shame to lose the allotments.’

‘So you
know?’

‘We keep an eye
on things Mr Trellis.’

‘Goodbye,’ said
Fergus.

‘I am sure we
shall see you again soon Mr Loaf, good luck in the library.’

Dave guided
Fergus towards the stairs.

‘So Dave,
what’s all this about Mortimore the Great?’

‘Blessed be the
sofa.’ muttered Dave.

‘What?

‘Use your full
library card and look him up, why don’t you?’

Dave
Trellis

One
Life, One Woman, One Shed

At the top of
the stairs a long gallery stretched out in both directions. Tall
Georgian windows looked out over London and they walked past
bookshelves and portraits, heading for the junior reading room.

‘My wonder
returns,’ said Fergus, ‘this is magnificent, but how can it be
here? There’s no tall building near the library and certainly none
as big as this.’

‘It’s one of
those engineering as magic things,’ said Dave, ‘Just enjoy it.’

‘We must be 20
floors up,’ said Fergus.

‘Not only that
lad, look at the sun. It’s late afternoon out there.’ Dave grinned
at Fergus’s surprise, ‘This here is one of the seven hidden wonders
of the world.’

‘What are you
talking about; I’ve never heard of them.’

‘They’re not
called the seven blindingly obvious wonders are they? There are the
catacombs of course and the M7, more rightly the Causeway. Then
there’s here and the Workshops, which are supposed to be in
Australia somewhere and the Ship, buggered if I know where that is.
And Avalon.’

‘Avalon? The
last resting place of King Arthur?’

‘Aye lad, you
can get there via the M7, but you wouldn’t like it. Full of twee
boutiques and quaint teashops with names like ‘Ye Rounde Table’ or
‘Ye Knight Inne’. You can explore another day, we’re on a
mission.’

‘Fine by me
Dave, but why then am I going to the Junior Reading room. It
doesn’t sound like I’ll find anything useful there,’ said
Fergus.

‘It has a
selection of books that attract the attention of novice members.
Saves you tromping miles through these here galleries. With what’s
on offer will you be able to concentrate on Druidic texts from the
first century AD? Especially as you can’t read Ogham.’

‘Yeah, I
suppose you’re right. I just feel I’m letting the side down a
bit.’

‘Don’t worry
about that. We’re here for just one book and this time the Library
may let me find it.’

‘Oh right. What
book’s that?’ asked Fergus.

‘Coleridge’s
notebook, the one he made when he explored the catacombs. He went
deeper and further than anyone I know. I’ve been looking for it for
years. It could help us survive in the darker depths. What about
you, what are looking for?’ asked Dave.

‘Who killed
Marylyn Munroe, who shot JFK, what really happened at Tunguska, all
that ‘Area 51’ sort of thing.’

‘Aye well, you
may want to look up why the French abandoned the BEF at Mons and
what really happened during the Cuban Missile Crisis. It may erode
some of the youthful naivety. But anyway, all that sort of stuff
will be in the Junior Reading room, so it’s a good place to start.
Me, I’m heading for the Stacks to look in the very first place I
did all those years ago. I reckon it’ll be sitting there, in the
correct place, where previously was just a suspicious gap. I think
they hid the notebook in the visitor’s wing.’

‘Who hid
it?’

‘The dogs. They
didn’t want some clever human stumbling upon the secrets of the
catacombs and ruining our happy little community. And the Library
let them do it. It’s all politics and power, and the dogs have
serious clout; you don’t get to hang around the galaxy’s leading
political figures without storing up some useful information. Part
of the reason many of them end up here; dead dogs tell no
tales.’

‘Here we are,’
said Dave and opened a large panelled door.

Inside the huge
room, lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, were sofas, tables,
benches and a small kitchen off to one side, fully equipped with
coffee machine, fridge, sink and a microwave.

Dave stood
silently staring into the distance.

‘Are you all
right Dave?’ asked Fergus.

‘I brought
Abbey here on her eighteenth birthday. The dogs arranged it. They
always had a soft spot for her; they let her stroke them and ruffle
their heads, like she had since she was a youngster and thought
they were just normal dogs. She was here for twelve hours solid and
afterwards cried her eyes out for a whole night.’

Dave threw his
arms out.

‘Here is the
true nature of humanity, unadorned by glamour or mealy mouthed
historians. The raw, naked truth. It isn’t pretty lad, but this is
what we are. Learn from it; learn why Machiavelli said ‘put not
your faith in princes’; why Mortimore said ’90% of everything is
crap’ and Ford said ‘history is bunk’. When you’re done, don’t
expect to cry on my shoulder, It may the 21st century, but you’re
still a bloke.’

‘I’ll be fine,’
said Fergus.

‘I hope so lad,
you may think me a cynical old fart, but once you understand how
the world works you’ll realise I am an optimistic, happy-go-lucky
chap, and sensitive too, don’t forget that. There’s a book called
‘The True History of the Last Hundred Years’ I suggest you start
there. Read it and weep.’

‘It doesn’t
sound like a whole lot of laughs Dave.’

‘Oh it is lad,
it is. Once you realise that comedy is just tragedy plus
timing.’

‘I’ll try it,
but I don’t think I’m that naïve.’

‘Well, you’re a
better man than me Fergus Loaf. I must get going; it’s a long walk
to the Stacks. I’ll be back in about six hours. We can get some kip
and be on our way handy in morning.’

‘It would be
nice to get a bite to eat and a couple of beers later.’

‘Don’t worry on
that score lad and you’ll need a few beers after six hours in here.
I’ll see you later. Good luck.’

Fergus looked
around the room. On the table was a well-thumbed pamphlet ‘A Guide
to the Library’. It had a foldout map, which he ripped out and put
in his pocket.

The book Dave
mentioned was in a section labelled ‘Start Here’. He found a
chapter titled “The Assassination of John F Kennedy” and started to
read.

Dave was having
difficulties; he could not go where he wanted. He went down a
staircase and ended up on the same floor. He tried door after door,
walked down long empty corridors and wide sunlight galleries and
ended up back where he started. He needed guidance and there was
one way to get it; rules be damned.

He walked over
to the nearest bookcase and re-arranged the books. Some he turned
some upside down, others he just moved around. Finally Dave took a
book from the shelf and placed it in the middle of the floor. He
hid in a doorway and waited; it wouldn’t be long.

Soon Dave heard
a rattling noise; he peeked out to see a tall cylindrical metal bin
with a domed top, lurch awkwardly down the hall. It had two
mechanical arms with crude pincers on the end and a strange
arrangement of lenses, lights, and grills on top. It moved on
castors that made the rattling sound as it moved over the
floorboards.

The mechanical
bin reached down and tried to pick up the book. After the third
clumsy attempt, the book flipped out of the pincers and landed a
few feet away. The bin rocked, shivered and started making a
banging sound. A small door in the back flew open and a small
figure fell out. It looked like a small, dark haystack made of
coarse hair, out of which stuck a huge nose, two wide hairy feet,
and two big hands. It bounced up and down a few times and gave the
bin a vicious kick. It bounced around some more clutching its
foot.

The creature
was about three foot short, plump with big shoulders and arms. It
reached down, picked up the book, and examined it carefully. It
stroked the book with long, strong fingers and replaced it in the
bookshelf. The creature stepped back and muttered something, then
put its hands to its head and gave a squeak. It hopped forward and
arranged the books correctly. Again it stepped back and examined
the bookshelf. It seemed satisfied.

Dave was glad
the Noggin hadn’t damaged the book; he could do without the
drama.

‘Hello little
fellah,’ said Dave and stepped out of the doorway.

The Noggin
jumped back, squeaked, put its hands to its head, and pulled its
hair.

Dave held out
his notebook right in front of the startled creature.

The Noggin
looked at the note. Written in large letters was:

‘I cannot see
you’.

It stared at
Dave and flapped its hands at him. Dave turned the page.

‘Please take me
to the Stacks’.

The Noggin
shook its head and walked off, dragging the bin after it. Dave
followed, then stepped in front of the Noggin. He held out the
third page out. It said in large letters:

‘Via the
stairs’.

The Noggin
shook its head again and marched off. Dave followed. He knew most
Noggin mannerisms, but the last shake of the head seemed a little
off-hand. They walked down galleries and through rooms, eventually
passing through a door signed ‘Stores’ into a large closet. With a
sinking feeling Dave saw what was on the far wall.

‘No, no, no.
Via the stairs,’ said Dave. He knew the Noggin didn’t speak
English, but Dave was starting to worry.