The Librarian (Book One: Little Boy Lost) (4 page)

  
The old man limped down the aisle, ignoring the undeniable fact that his appearance had left all of the children disappointed. He climbed the stairs and moved to the center of the stage. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, the old man whipped around and asked:

  
“So? Who believes in magic?”

  
There was no response.
Was that a real question?
Wesley wondered to himself.

  
“No one?” he continued in a raspy voice. “What about time travel? Surely someone in this room believes we can travel through time!”

  
“This dude’s nuts!” Randy joked before Ms. Easton silenced him with a stern look.

  
The old man raised an eyebrow. “Magic, time travel, mental telepathy, eternal life... I can tell you they are all possible, and the books in this library are the proof.”

  
Hope returned, handing the librarian the large book she’d been holding. “How many of you know
The Wizard of Oz
?” he asked, holding the giant tome into the air. Ms. Easton grinned, happy to see so many hands in the air. “Almost all of you.” He gestured to a young girl in the front row. “You must be very old. When were you born?”

  
The girl smiled sheepishly. “I’m twelve.”

  
The librarian stumbled back, acting as if the girl had revealed something so improbable it couldn’t be believed. “Twelve?! Bah! That can’t be. How can you know
The Wizard of Oz
? These stories are more than a hundred years old!”

  
A few smiles began to appear in the sea of confused faces like stars in the dark.

  
“I read it!” the girl shouted, laughing now.

  
“Read it?”

  
“Yeah! In a book?!” She fell perfectly into her part, looking at the old man like he’d recently escaped from a mental institution.

  
“So you haven’t
met
L. Frank Baum?”

  
“No!” This time some of the girl’s classmates chimed in to echo her answer.

  
“Hmmm.” The librarian began to pace, moving back and forth across the stage, fingers stroking the full length of his beard. “So a man died nearly a century before you were born, and yet he was able to fill your mind with ideas and images, take you on adventures. Interesting.”

  
He focused his attention back on the room. “A famous author once told me that writing is magic that hides in plain sight, right under our nose, there for anyone to see.” He raised the heavy book above his head once more. “A hundred years ago, this book helped children take a journey into a land they’d never experienced before. It’s done the same for you. A hundred years from now – a thousand years from now – it will do the same for a million more. Every book in this building has the power to do that. Isn’t
that
a type of magic?”

  
Ms. Easton looked around. Every one of her students was in the palm of his hand. But while his classmates were enjoying the speech, the librarian’s words had swallowed Wesley whole. He listened as a devout follower might absorb a powerful sermon. For years he’d used the reading and writing of stories as an escape from his real-world problems, but he’d never looked at his love for the written word quite like this. He’d always felt like his love of story was something he needed to hide, like a genetic defect the others would spot and mercilessly ridicule. But now, hearing someone speak like this, Wesley was feeling a little more confident. Maybe he didn’t need to hide who he was at all.

  
Hope handed the librarian one of the essays. Kids in the front row tried to get a better look at the winning entry, but it looked like all the rest from where they were sitting.

  
The librarian adjusted his spectacles. “I’ve just finished your essays, and they were exquisite. Each and every one of them. Thanks so much for letting us read them. You did a superb job. Later today Hope will be binding your essays together into a hardcover edition that people can check out right here in our library. You’ll all be published authors by the end of the night.” The announcement earned excited murmurs throughout the auditorium. “It was hard to pick a winner, but there was one essay in particular that stood out from the rest and I’d be honored if its author would take the stage and give it a read so everyone can enjoy it just as much as I have. After all, if I can’t convince you there’s magic in the written word – maybe he can. His essay is called
Running Away With Fiction
.” Wesley let his shoulders slump as any confidence he gained during the librarian’s speech went seeping out of his body like the air out of a balloon. “Come up to claim your prize and read us your powerful work... Mr. Randy Stanford.”

“YOU KNOW HOW much I’m gonna get for this book?” Randy had the large
Oz
book tucked under his arm and was leaning against the brick wall as Caleb drank from a water fountain. “It’s like a hundred years old. I bet I can get a thousand bucks for it online. Easy. Man, we just hit the lottery!”

  
The friends traded spots, Randy grabbing a drink as Caleb wiped the water from his mouth with the tail of his shirt. There were a number of students about. Friends were talking. Some were making quick trips to the restroom before the drive back to school. Others were at the library’s circulation desk, checking out books with the new library cards they’d been issued.

  
Caleb saw Wesley standing with Taylor near the end of the hallway and motioned toward them. Randy grinned, heading their way. “Hey! You guys want to see my new book?”

  
Taylor squared off against the bully. “Whatever, Randy! Everyone knows you cheated.” She used a finger snap to emphasize the statement, her other hand on a cocked hip.

  
Randy’s grin widened. It was just the reaction he was looking for. “You know? I don’t know which is worse. That he’s your boyfriend, or that he’s such a puss
you
have to stand up for
him
.”

  
“He’s not my boyfriend!” she answered hotly.

  
Randy paid little attention, shutting her down with a hand raised just inches from her face as he stepped toward Wesley. “Well, I don’t want something if Wesley thinks it’s his.” Wesley looked away as Randy drew near. “If you think the book’s yours, you should take it.”
 

  
“Why don’t you just leave him alone?!”

  
“Shut up, Taylor!” Randy growled. He inched closer, openly offering the book to Wesley. “C’mon. Take it, Wes. I want you to.”

  
Taylor couldn’t watch. She’d seen this play out so many times. When someone was humiliating Wesley like this it always made her mouth fill up with the taste of an old penny. It was like they were bullying her too.

  
Randy was laughing now and turned to make sure Caleb was still with him. He was really on his game and needed an audience. But when Randy looked back at Wesley his laughter came to an abrupt halt. Wesley was looking straight at him, meeting his gaze with confidence and determination.

  
At first, Randy was so thrown he began to back away. There was a darkness in Wesley’s eyes. Randy couldn’t shake the image of dark thunderheads rolling in from the horizon. It was like there was a storm brewing inside Wesley, and Randy was about to get caught in the rain.

  
“Wh-what?” Randy asked. Taylor couldn’t believe it. Randy had rebounded from his initial shock, but he was the one stuttering this time around. “Y-you gonna do something?”
 

  
Wesley’s eyes narrowed. They were fixed on Randy, but his confidence was already beginning to waver. He’d been planning this moment for a long time, rehearsing just what he would say and do when he finally decided to stand up to Randy Stanford. It all started with this one cold look, but he just couldn’t move forward. He kept his eyes fixed on Randy for as long as he could but they eventually softened under Randy’s glare and he had to look away.

  
Once more, Wesley Bates was beaten.

  
“Everything all right here?” a gruff voice asked. They all turned to find the librarian standing beside Caleb. Caleb’s eyes went wide, wondering how the old man had crept up on them without anyone hearing. He silently wondered just how long he’d been standing there.

  
“Oh yeah,” Randy said, the hustler’s charm back in full effect. “I was just showing my friends the book you gave me.”

  
“Ah!” The librarian drew in a long breath. “Take good care of that book, Randy. The book and anything you find within its pages. It’s quite... well, it’s special to me.”

  
“I’m not going to let it out of my sight.” He threw an arm around Taylor. “Trust me.”

  
“Yeah, right!” Taylor said, pulling away from Randy. The librarian didn’t notice her disgust.

  
“Tell me,” the librarian began. “What did you think of the literature displays on the lower level?”

  
“I don’t know,” Randy answered with a shrug. “They’re all right, I guess. The one for
Wizard of Oz
– we’ve been talking about that all day – some of that stuff doesn’t look anything like it did in the movie. I thought the slippers were supposed to be red.”

  
“Bah!” The librarian scoffed. “The movie was brilliant, but if you think that’s all there is to the Land of Oz...” He didn’t finish.

  
“
We
love the displays.” Taylor punctuated her statement with a dirty look in Randy’s direction. “Besides, everyone knows the best stuff from Oz got left out of the movie.”

  
“What about the carvings?” Wesley asked, finally inserting himself into the conversation.

  
“Ah! Those.” The librarian turned to face Wesley. ”Well, there is a carving for each display in the library. Each display has a carving to go with it a vice-versa.”

  
“Your assistant said you collected them from all over the world.” Wesley’s follow-up earned a look of concern from the old man.

  
“That’s right.”

  
“But they all look the same. Same wood and everything. Like they were made by the same person.”

  
“True. But you’ll—“

  
“Plus they all have this weird symbol at the top, and that symbol is all over the place in this library.”

  
“What’s your name, child?” The librarian was getting frustrated. He was growing fond of the boy’s inquisitive nature, but Wesley’s questions were starting to feel more like an interrogation than the curious musings of an interested kid.

  
“Wesley. Wesley Bates.”

  
The old man leaned over, saying something into Wesley’s ear but allowing the others to hear all the same. “You know there are puzzles like that scattered through this whole building, Wesley.”

  
“Whatever,” Randy mumbled. What was going on? He thought
he
was the librarian’s favorite.

  
The librarian straightened, looking over his glasses and down his long nose at Randy. “I’m surprised to hear you weren’t impressed with the displays, Randy.”

  
“I said they were
okay
.”

  
“I noticed your last name is Stanford,” the librarian said. “You aren’t by chance related to Douglas Stan—“

  
“Douglas Stanford? Yeah. That’s my dad.”

  
The boy had answered with pride, ready to tell the world Douglas Stanford was his dad, but the librarian’s eyes grew as round and as wide as saucers.

  
All at once, the old man began ushering the children down the hallway, long arms scooping up two kids on either side of him. “You children should probably get along. I’m sure your teacher is wondering about you by now.”

  
“Wait a minute,” Wesley started.

  
The librarian was already moving back down the corridor. Wesley and Taylor watched him go. Randy and Caleb didn’t really care, already walking away to join the rest of their class.

  
“Thank you so much for coming,” the old man said, his back to Wesley and Taylor. “I hope you’ll visit again soon.”

  
“But, sir. I—“ The librarian was gone.

  
Wesley turned to Taylor beside him. “What was that?” Finding himself increasingly frustrated, Wesley hurried down the corridor after the librarian.

  
“Wes!” Taylor whispered excitedly. He didn’t respond and darted around the corner after the old man. “Dang it!”

  
She took long strides down the hall and found Wesley kneeling behind one of the small trees that were planted in large silver pots all through the building. She fell to one knee beside him. “What are you—“

  
He put a finger to pursed lips, gesturing with both eyes to something happening nearby. Taylor followed his gaze through the leafy tree. The librarian was on the other side, just a few feet away.

  
The tree obstructed much of their view, but Taylor saw the librarian was standing with his eyes fixed on a large oil painting.

  
“What’s he doing?” Taylor whispered.

  
“Shh!”

  
The old man looked down the corridor as if to make sure no one was looking. When he turned his attention back on the painting, Wesley gently pushed one of the tree limbs aside for a better look.

  
At first, the kids thought he was going to remove the painting from the wall. Instead, he pulled it open like a door and revealed a hidden passageway behind the library wall that led into darkness. He gave one last look down the corridor before disappearing into the passage, pulling the painting shut behind him.