The Library - The Complete Series (4 page)

As hard as I try, though, I can't seem to find the route back to the wall. Hurrying down aisle after aisle, pushed onward by adrenalin and fear, I start to wonder whether somehow the shelves have been moving to block my way. Eventually I come to a halt at a crossroads that gives me four possible routes. Suddenly, feeling as if I'm being watched, I turn and see a figure nearby, sitting at what appears to be a camp-fire. My first instinct is to run, but slowly the figure looks up at me and, from beneath the shawl that covers most of his face, I see a smile.

V
anguard

"She was right here," Sharpe says as we stand on either side of a shallow grave. "I swear to God, I buried her
right
here. I even put a pipe in her mouth, so she'd be able to breathe. I thought of everything!"

"How deep did you bury her?" I ask, feeling a sense of anger rise through my body. If Thomas J. Sharpe had a neck, I'd have snapped it by now. He had a human; a real, live human, and he let it get away.

"Just enough to cover her," he explains. "I mean, look at me! You don't seriously expect me to dig a proper six-foot pit, do you? I was in a hurry. I was on my way to find you!"

"She can't have got far," I say, glancing around. "If she's human, she won't have a clue where she is, so she'll probably just wander aimlessly. Humans are notoriously poor when it comes to exploring new lands." I pause for a moment, trying to pick up her scent. "Where's the nearest gate into the library?"

"There's only the one we used to come out here," he replies. "Or there's a smaller one, about fifty meters that way." He points to the east. "I don't see why she'd go all the way along there, though."

"Never try to anticipate a human's movements," I reply. "They're not logical. They make strange decisions based on little more than conjecture. For all we know, she might have decided to run into the mountains. I know everything there is to know about humans, and sometimes they still surprise me."

"She was a smart one," he says. "I could see it in her eyes. Usually it's not too hard to persuade them that they're imagining things, but this one could tell I was real. That's why I had to bring her here, and of course my very first thought was to offer her to you as a symbol of my humble appreciation. And as a bargaining tool, naturally."

"We must find her," I say, as my stomach rumbles. It has been almost a month since I ate anything of substance, and a fresh human would be the perfect way to break this enforced fast. Just the thought of human flesh in my mouth is enough to drive me to a rage that I have not felt for some time. One good meal would be enough to give me the strength I need for the journey back to the Citadel.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck," Sharpe says, patting me on the leg. "I've delivered my side of the bargain. I'll be in touch when I need to cash in on your promise of loyalty. Right now, however, I must -"

"You will be coming with me," I tell him.

"Alas, I must get to sorting office. I have books that must be re-shelved."

"You'll get to the sorting office in good time," I reply, "but not until you've helped me find this human. Unless you think I should stoop a little lower than usual and eat the very first thing that crosses my path." I fix him with a determined stare that should let him know beyond all doubt that he has no choice in this matter. "I'm sure Gum would be all too happy to slide a stick through your body and hold you over his fire."

"Of course I'll come with you," he says, flashing me a false smile. "I would be
honored
to accompany such a mighty warrior. Besides, I'm quite certain it will take just a few minutes to track her down. After all, I incapacitated her with expert precision. Her foot is damaged, so she can't move too fast. I would have killed her outright, but I know how greatly a man of your stature values fresh meat."

"I like my meals to scream as they're cooked," I say, leading him toward the east. "When they stop screaming, it means they're ready."

"What about Gum?" Sharpe asks, hurrying along behind me. "Shouldn't we tell him we're going on a hunting expedition?"

"Gum can wait a little while," I reply. "The man is vermin. He'll be more than happy to eat his sausages until I get back to him. If he's lucky, I'll let him chew on some scraps from this human's body." As we reach a small door set into the wall, it's immediately obvious that the human came this way; not only is there a stench of her species all over the area, but the door has been left open, and only an ignorant human would be so careless as to wander into the Library and then leave the entrance in such a state. As soon as Sharpe and I have passed across the threshold, I turn and pull the door shut, making sure to affix a padlock from my belt. "There," I say, feeling my blood start to boil at the thought of a proper hunt. "Now there's no way out for her, unless she manages to find her way to the main gate. Which she won't. Humans are hopeless in almost every respect."

"You really don't like them, do you?" Sharpe replies.

"I like them on my plate," I reply, following the human's scent along the aisle. "A human who can still breathe is, in my opinion, a waste of space. They have weak and simple minds, and they cannot possibly be redeemed. It is no coincidence that they are among the very few species to have been denied access to the Library. Even Golvs are permitted to enter this space, but humans?" I stop and turn to him. "For your sake, we must track this human down quickly. The Forbidders would hardly be well-disposed to your person if they were to discover that you are responsible for letting a human loose into this place."

"Perhaps she went this way?" Sharpe says, pointing to the north.

"And why would she do that?" I ask.

"I have no idea," he continues, "but look at the ground. The soil has recently been disturbed. Something has passed this way, and whatever it was, it took no care to hide its tracks. If we continue along this path, perhaps the stench of death will become less overpowering, and you will be able to detect the human's trail more clearly."

"It's worth a try," I say grudgingly, striking out along the aisle and heading north. I already feel rather humiliated at the thought that I'm having so much trouble finding this pathetic creature. Delicious they might be, but humans are widely known to be dumb, slow creatures; were it to become common knowledge that I, the great Vanguard, spent more than a few minutes tracking a human who was delivered almost directly into my hands, I would be the laughing stock of this part of the Library. If I do not find the girl soon, I shall have to kill both Sharpe and Gum in order to ensure that the story never gets out.

"Here," Sharpe says, stopping and pointing down another aisle. "I can smell her. Can't you smell her?"

I sniff the air for a moment. "No," I say finally, "and neither can you. You're simply clutching at straws. We've already lost her trail."

"I fail to see how that can be the case," he replies. "Surely a man of your talents would be able to track a human from a distance of many miles?"

I do not reply. Instead, I merely turn and try once again to detect the human's scent. It is simply not possible that she could have escaped from me, yet the only odors in the area would seem to come from a few scattered corpses and, a little further away, Gum's sausages as they cook on the camp-fire. It is as if the human has vanished completely.

Claire

"My name is Gum," the man says as we sit next to his camp-fire. "I don't suppose you've heard of me?"

I shake my head. There's something very unusual about this Gum character; it's as if he's carrying the weight of great age in his eyes. Sitting with a black shawl covering much of his body, he seems to have the face of an old man, while his hands appear to be very young. As he slowly turns a small sausage over the flames, he seems strangely calm. It's almost as if he expected to come across me today. Still, if he's a part of my subconscious mind - and that remains the only
possible
explanation for all of this - I suppose it's not that surprising if I've imbued him with a certain level of fatalism. Still, it's weird to think that this character is someone I've created in my coma-induced madness. I guess I've got a pretty warped mind.

"I have other names," he continues, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. It's almost as if he's barely aware that I'm present; I get the feeling that he's talking mostly to himself. "When one is feared throughout a land, one tends to inspire legends, and these legends in turn tend to produce all sorts of names." He pauses for a moment, before glancing up at me. "Then again, perhaps there's a good reason why you have never heard of me. You're not from the Library, are you?"

"No," I reply, trying hard not to smile. "Definitely, definitely
not
from the Library." I pause for a moment. "Though I suppose you could say that the Library might be from me."

"Are you feared in your land?" he asks.

"Oh yeah," I say. "Totally."

"And how have you achieved this greatness?" He narrows his eyes a little, as if he's studying me. "Do you slaughter your enemies in public?"

"Pretty much," I reply, figuring I might as well play along. I never knew that being in a coma could be so much fun. "The usual stuff," I continue. "Gutting them in the town square. My favorite hobby is to tie one of my enemies to a wooden board, pull out his intestines with a hook, and then let little squirrels play with the bits."

Gum lets out a gasp of amazement, as if he's genuinely impressed by my claims. "Do the victims suffer a slow and agonizing death?"

"Totally."

"And do they beg for mercy?" The way he's looking at me, it's almost as if the thought of such cruelty is making him a little over-excited. His voice seems to be trembling, and he's staring wide-eyed at me from under his shawl.

"They scream," I reply. "But do you know what I do?"

"Tell me!" he blurts out, clearly engrossed.

"The more they beg for mercy, the longer I make them suffer."

He rubs his hands together with glee. "You are indeed a most creative and vicious torturer," he says after a moment. "I must try some of your methods out on the next unfortunate souls who wander across my path. But tell me, if your name is feared throughout your land, surely it is a most powerful moniker. By what name are you known?"

"Claire," I reply, although as soon as the word is out of my mouth, I realize it doesn't sound very impressive. "Claire the Torturer," I continue, correcting myself. "And sometimes Claire the Foul."

"Claire the Torturer," he says, as if he enjoys the feeling of the words rolling across his tongue. "Yes, I can imagine a whole world living in fear of such a creature. Tell me, did you devise the name, or did others come up with it?"

"Others."

"Excellent."

"That's not all," I say, figuring I might as well have some fun in coma-land while I wait to wake up. "Do you want to see my scar?"

"A creature such as yourself must have many scars," he replies. "Hard-won in battles."

"Yeah yeah, " I say casually, "but there's only one that I figure is really worth bragging about. You wanna see, or not?"

"Show me," he hisses.

Smiling, I turn my back on him, before reaching down and lifting up my pajama top to reveal the long, fairly fresh scar that runs from the small of my back all the way up to the base of my neck. "You see that?" I ask.

"Yes," he replies, sounding fascinated. "Tell me, how did you suffer such an injury?"

I pause for a moment as I try to come up with a story. I doubt this guy would be very impressed if I told him it was an operation. "I was in a fierce battle," I say. "Tens of thousands of men were slain. At one point, an ogre seized me and ripped out my spine. He thought he'd got me, but I managed to swing around and slice off his head. Then I sat down and carefully put my spine back in, before sewing the wound up myself without anesthetic."

"Such a divine pattern," he says, and suddenly I realize his voice is much closer. A moment later, I feel his hand touch the skin around my scar; it's weird, but ever since the operation, my back has been unusually tender, and even the softest pressure sends a tingle through my body. Gum's hands feel particularly smooth, but I quickly drop the pajama top back down and turn to him. After all, I've never let anyone else touch my scar before. "So," I say, keen to change the subject. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he says, gazing at me as if he can barely believe that I'm real.

"How come your face is so old," I continue, "but your hands are so young?"

He smiles. "Oh, these aren't my hands." He holds out one of his arms; the sleeve slips back a little, and I see a ring of stitches around the wrist. "I obtained them from one of my victims. I'm afraid I suffered some dreadful injuries, and I am still recovering." As he speaks, I see that there are bandages poking out from under the shawl.

"You've had an operation too, huh?"

"Operation?"

"Cool," I say, trying to hide the fact that I'm a little grossed out. I mean, even though this Gum guy is clearly a product of my imagination, I don't want him to think that I'm a wimp. "So you ripped those hands off someone else and took them for your own, huh? That's the kind of thing I'd like to do some day, maybe when I get old and start developing a load of wrinkles." I smile as I stare at Gum's ancient face; there's something particularly creepy about the way he stares at me, almost as if he's trying to decide what to do with me. It's a good thing this whole encounter is part of my coma-induced fantasies, because otherwise I'd be starting to get a little worried.

"I propose an alliance," he says eventually. "Between us, we could rule the Library from shore to shore and wall to wall. We could spread fear and panic through all the tribes, and..." He pauses for a moment, as if some wondrous idea has entered his mind. "Perhaps we could even end the great war that rages in the far-off lands."

"Great war?" I ask.

"Have you not seen the smoke that rises into the sky?"

"Oh yeah," I reply. "Yeah, I saw that."

"For many years, the two great armies have fought unhindered. It has long been believed that no outsider could ever possibly interfere, but perhaps with your brilliance and my cunning, we could settle their conflict once and for all. The Soldiers of Tea could certainly be open to our influence."

"Soldiers of Tea?" I suddenly remember one of the books I found in the box, and I realize that this coma fantasy must be based on things I encountered in the real world. "I get it," I say quietly.

"You get what?"

I smile. "Nothing. It's just... I'm pretty sure I understand what's going on here, except..." I lean a little closer, peering at Gum and trying to work out how I came up with him. I've read that dreams and hallucinations are always based on something you've seen in real life, although I can't think of anything I ever encountered while I was awake that might be even remotely like this guy. "It's pretty weird," I continue. "For the past week, I've had trouble sleeping, and now suddenly I'm in a coma, which is like the deepest, longest sleep ever. Ironic, huh?"

"Coma?" he asks.

Getting a whiff of his bad breath, I sit back. "Yeah," I reply. "Look, Mr. Gum, I'm going to level with you. I've obviously got into some kind of accident, and I'm in a coma. I hate to be the one who tells you this, but you're just a figment of my imagination. Right now, in the real world, I'm in a hospital bed with a load of wires coming out of me. Sometime soon, I hope, they'll find a way to wake me up, and then all of this fantasy land will cease to exist, including you. I just hope I remember it all."

"I'm a figment of your imagination?" he asks, sounding puzzled.

"Yeah."

He frowns. "So... I'm not real?"

"Afraid not."

"I see." He pauses. "I have lived for over a thousand years. I have fought battles, and I have traveled the length and breadth of the Library. I have ruled entire aisles, and I have been dragged behind carts as a common traitor. And now you, you young thing, come along and tell me that in your very modest opinion, I exist only as an invention in your own mind. How very...
daring
of you."

I stare at him. "Well, yeah... pretty much. I mean, I didn't mean to offend you. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Forget it. It's cool."

"Cool?" He tilts his head a little.

"Maybe I should get going," I say, standing up. "It was nice of you to talk to me, but I'm fairly certain I'll be waking up from my coma soon, so I should probably explore more of my imagination while I've got the chance." I pause for a moment. "I don't suppose you know of any quest-like situations around here, do you? I feel like maybe I need to do something specific in order to wake up."

"In my weakened state," he replies, "I cannot stop you from leaving. But be sure of one thing, Claire the Torturer. When I am strong again, I will throw off these bandages and I will come and find you. Wherever you are in this land, I will track you down. And when I do, I will show you how wrong you have been. Perhaps it will be
your
intestines that are ripped out and left for squirrels to chew."

"Maybe," I reply, "although I'm pretty sure I can't die in my own fantasy world."

"You think yourself immortal?"

"Stands to reason."

He reaches under his shawl and produces a small knife. "Do you think you can feel no pain while you are here?"

"Kind of," I say, "but I'm not in any hurry to check that theory out for sure."

"You don't want to see if you can bleed?" he asks, holding the knife out. "Will you not cut yourself and see?"

I shake my head. "I've never really been into the cutting lifestyle, but thanks for the offer. It's been fun chatting to you, but I really want to get going." I turn and look along the seemingly endless aisle that leads in two different directions away from this little camp-fire. "So if you were me, and you wanted to explore this place, which way would you go?"

"Follow this aisle," he says, pointing to the left, "until you reach one of the main center-aisles that run from wall to wall. The journey will be long and arduous, but eventually you will reach one of the main reading areas. From there, perhaps you will find someone who is willing to show you a new route, but I should warn you. My strength is returning, and one day soon I shall set out after you."

"Then I guess I'll see you again," I reply, taking care to smile at him before I turn and start walking away

"One more thing!" he calls out. "Why do you walk in such a haphazard fashion?"

I stop and look back at him. "I kind of got my ankle hurt on my way here," I explain.

"And yet you persist in your belief that you are in some kind of coma?" He smiles. "I am no expert on such matters, Claire the Torturer, but it strikes me that such pain would not be nearly so intense if you were truly in a fantasy world. Is it not at least possible that you are wrong, and that you have merely been transported to a realm that exists alongside your own?"

I open my mouth to argue with him, but at that moment my ankle starts throbbing a little. I want to tell him that it's quite obvious what's happening, and that the coma explanation is the only one that makes sense. At the same time, the pain is sharp and intense, and I can't help but wonder if he might be right. "Thanks for the chat," I say, before turning and limping away. As I turn the next corner and make my way along the aisle, I glance up at the sky and see that the clouds are darkening, as if rain might be coming. With a rumbling stomach and a dry mouth, I'm starting to wonder how much longer this coma is going to last.