The Library - The Complete Series (2 page)

"You must be," he continues, "because I don't exist. Look at me. Have you ever seen anything like me before?" He waits for me to reply. "Exactly. There's nothing like me in your world, so the only place I could possibly exist is in a dream, and therefore you must be dreaming. Haven't you ever heard of Occam's razor? The simplest explanation is the best explanation."

"I'm not dreaming," I say again.

"Then you're insane," he replies. "Yeah, that's what's going on. You've lost your mind. Look at you. How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"There you go!" he says, sounding rather pleased with himself. "Twenty-one! I bet you're out drinking and taking drugs most nights. No wonder you've lost your fucking mind. You've got a screw loose, darling. If I were you, I'd go back to bed and never, ever tell anyone about me. They'll only lock you away in a padded cell. I'm guessing it wouldn't be the first time, judging by the crazy look in your eyes. No offense."

"I'm not insane," I tell him.

"That's what every insane person says."

"Then what do sane people say?"

"No-one asks them in the first place."

"I'm not dreaming," I insist, "and I'm not insane."

"You must be," he replies, "because there's no way I could possibly be real. Look at me! I'm a ridiculous thing."

I stare at him. The truth is, it truly
is
hard to believe he could exist. I mean, I'm not an idiot, and I know the difference between fact and fantasy. Sure, there are small people in real life, and there are people who have various mutations, but this guy is way, way beyond any of that: he's basically a yellowy-gray ball on stick-thin legs, wearing a helmet, dragging a bag of stolen books through my house in the middle of the night. So far, he seems like a pissed-off cannonball.

"Trust me," he continues after a moment, "this is a need to know situation, and you really don't need to know."

"Then why are you stealing my book?"

"It's not your book."

"My uncle gave it to my father."

"It wasn't his to give," he replies darkly, seeming a little annoyed. He sighs. "Okay, listen, if you really want to know what's going on, I'll explain everything, but you'll have to lean down. I don't want to raise my voice, in case I wake anyone else up, so get down here."

Kneeling on the floor, I lean a little closer.

"Well, the thing is..." He pauses for a moment; when he starts talking again, his voice is muffled and hard to understand.

"I can't hear you," I say.

He continues to speak very, very quietly. I lean closer, but he seems to get even quieter.

"Speak up," I tell him.

"It's difficult to describe," he whispers, "but the gist of it is -" Suddenly he swings the bag of books straight at my head, knocking me into the wall. Before I can react, he grabs my hair, pulls my head back and then slams my forehead into the side of a nearby bookshelf, while stamping hard on my chest. I barely have time to let out a cry of pain before he rolls me over, pauses for a moment to get a good aim, and then kicks me straight in the middle of the forehead. As I start to black out, the last thing I hear is his voice:

"Damn it," he says breathlessly. "Looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way."

V
anguard

"Do you smell something odd?" I ask, looking up from the makeshift grill.

Holding his sausages over the flame, Gum looks at me. "Like what?" he asks, sounding tired. Malnourished and weak, Gum speaks like someone who is close to death. I would be concerned about him, were it not for the fact that he has been like this since I first met him many years ago. Like me, Gum has seen better days and is recuperating in the hope that he might regain some of his former strength. Why else would the pair of us be out here in the hinterlands of the Library, where nary a beast would choose to tread?

"Like something that doesn't belong," I continue, sniffing the air. I'm certain there's something new in the mix; near the edges, the Library usually smells like a farm; after all, the main sewer pipes from the citadel pass through this region, and the damn thing hasn't been properly serviced or repaired for years. Coupled with that, there's the stench of rotting corpses and the more subtle odor of millions of damp, moldy books. After a while, of course, one tends to get used to such stinks. A few minutes ago, however, I began to detect another odor. Something unfamiliar. Something strange. Something... foreign.

"All I smell is my sausage," Gum replies, slowly turning a long, thin, pale sausage in the fire. "Do you think it's ready yet?"

I glance over at the pathetic sausage he's attempting to cook on the end of a burned piece of wood. "That miserable thing will never be ready," I sneer. "You'd be better off eating the stick."

"Miserable?" At that moment, the sausage slips off the stick and drops to the ground, landing next to my feet.

"Pass it back," Gum says, reaching out toward me.

"You know I do not bend," I reply.

"No-one'll see," he says. "Just pass me the sausage."

"I am a Lord of the House of Lacanth," I tell him for the thousandth time. "I have slain ten thousand men. I have led armies around the entire circumference of the Library, and there is one thing that everyone knows about me. I do not bend. Not ever, for any reason. To ask me to lower myself closer to the ground, is to ask me to sully my honor."

"But -"

"I do
not
bend!" I say firmly, kicking the sausage back over to him. "There. Pick it up yourself. For all the good it'll do you."

"That's your trouble," he replies sourly. "You always think the cup is half empty."

"If the cup is full of manure," I point out, getting to my feet and walking to the end of the aisle, "I would rather it be empty." Taking a deep breath, I realize that the unfamiliar stench is still there. I've been out in this part of the Library long enough to know that nothing ever changes in these parts, aside from the occasional release of bog vapor, yet now there's this unusual odor. There's nothing to see, of course: just rows and rows of bookshelves, lined up as far as the eye can see and stretching to the horizon, but I know I'm right. "It's coming from the south," I continue. "Not far, just a couple of miles away."

"Can't be more than a mile and a half," Gum says, sounding disinterested. "We're that close to the wall."

"Maybe it's on the other side of the wall," I suggest.

He laughs a hoarse, scratchy laugh. "And what, exactly, do you think might have suddenly just arrived on the other side of the wall? There's nothing out that way apart from..." He pauses. "Well, there's nothing out there. Every fool knows that."

"A new arrival would not be unprecedented," I point out. "Things have to come from somewhere. Why couldn't something have turned up in the Outer Lands?"

"All the entrances are sealed."

"Not all of them," I remind him. "The main gates, maybe, but there are plenty of unguarded back-doors."

"You're desperate," he replies. "You want there to be something, so you're ignoring the cold, hard logic of the situation."

"I smell something," I say firmly, glancing back at him. He cuts a pitiful sight, sitting hunched over his little flame, desperately hoping that he might turn his meager little sausage into something edible.

"Well, this is definitely done," Gum says, removing the sausage from its stick and taking a bite. He chews for a moment. "Close enough. I've definitely had worse. You'll have to cook your own, though."

"I'm not hungry," I reply, still trying to determine the nature of the new odor that has begun to reach me. The truth, though, is that I'm not merely hungry: I'm close to starvation. It has been many weeks since I ate something substantial, and even that was just an unusually large rat. "I recognize this odor," I say after a moment. "I can't remember where, but I've smelt this thing before. A long, long time ago. It's something from the past."

"Your hairline?"

I narrow my eyes.

"Just a friendly little joke between friends," he explains, before starting to cough.

"We're not friends," I point out.

"Everyone has to start somewhere," he says, grabbing another sausage from the pile and placing it on the stick, before holding it over the fire. "Look. I'm holding your sausage for you, even though you'll probably have to finish it off yourself. Doesn't that make us friends? Just a little?"

I shake my head.

"You're a hard man to please, Vanguard."

"I'm not yet so desperate that I would have to eat one of those foul things," I reply.

"Why are you so bothered about a smell?" he asks. "I mean, so what if there's something new? New things don't last around here. It'll be dead within hours. The Soldiers of Tea will probably pick it up before it gets too far. They'll take it straight to the Forbidders and then, well, it won't have a chance. It'll be picked apart by nightfall. They'll eat its guts and use its bones to pick their teeth."

"Maybe," I reply, "but we can't count on that. Besides, why would the Soldiers of Tea be in this part of the Library?" Turning, I realize there's something moving nearby, in one of the adjacent aisles. Although one can never be entirely safe in the Library, even out here on the fringes, I'm not too concerned; whatever is approaching, it sounds as if it's small. Besides, despite my malnutrition, I'm certainly a match for even the most monstrous inhabitants of the Library. Just last week, I wrestled three huge ticks to submission. Drawing my sword, I trudge through the mud until I reach the next aisle, and then the next, and finally in the third I come face to face with Thomas J. Sharpe, one of the dirtiest, least trustworthy creatures it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. He's little more than a cannonball on legs.

"Great," he mutters, staring up at me. "Just what I need. How are you doing, Vanguard?"

"What's in the bag?" I ask, looking down at the small cloth sack he's dragging behind himself.

"Nothing much," he replies, pushing past me. "Just some books. You interested?"

"In books?" I smile. "I think books are available in abundance around here."

"True," he says, seeming a little sad. "It's definitely a buyer's market. If only you could eat books. In fact, I was just -" He stops in his tracks and turns to me. "Do I smell sausages?"

"Correct," I say. "Would you be interested in becoming one?"

"You don't want to eat me," he says with a smile. "Think about it. There's not much meat on my bones, and I'm probably just about the chewiest creature you could ever meet, and I'm pretty sure my flesh is toxic. I'm old, Vanguard; it's been at least four, maybe five hundred years since I was launched out of my mother's birth canal. No no no, I really wouldn't recommend eating me." He stares at me, and a smile slowly spreads across his lips as if he's just had an idea. "Then again, perhaps we could strike a bargain? What if I told you that I know of the whereabouts of a much more delicious carcass? Something freshly dead or, perhaps, still clinging to life. Something juicy and succulent, with plenty of meat on its bones."

"In
this
part of the Library?" I ask, wary of being tricked. The last thing I need is for Sharpe to promise something delicious and then deliver a ragged old Loom Person. Despite my emaciated state, I still have a few standards. A man of my noble heritage must never stoop to eat mere garbage that can be found readily on the floor; in fact, a man of my heritage must never stoop or bend at all. I would rather die.

"Let's talk prices," he says, heading along the aisle until he reaches the small campfire where Gum is still cooking a solitary, sad-looking sausage. "My God," Sharpe exclaims, "you two have certainly fallen on hard times. I remember when you had the rule of the citadel. Your feasts were legendary. Now look at you: reduced to cooking a few moldy old sausages on a pathetic little fire. No offense, Vanguard, but even by the standards of the Library, your downfall has been spectacularly rapid. I'm surprised no-one has written a ballad about it yet."

"My legend is not over yet," I reply. "I am merely resting before I return to re-take the citadel."

"With what army?" Sharpe asks, "and with what weapons? Face it, Vanguard. You've got nothing. You talk of honor, but if you had any honor at all, you'd be dead by now." He smiles. "All you've got is sausages. You can't arm an army with sausages."

"They're not even good sausages," Gum says morbidly. "There's no meat in them. And anyway, they're not his. They're mine. I found them."

"What are they made of?" Sharpe asks.

"Hair," he replies. "Split one open, it's just hair. Pretty miserable, really."

"Whose hair?"

He shrugs. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"You spoke of meat," I say, stepping forward. I have no patience for Sharpe's stupidity, and in my current state of hunger, I still might decide to gut him and cook him. If nothing else, I'm sure he'd make a fine broth, while I could use his bones to pick the crud from between my toes.

"Give me a sausage," he says, "and then we can start discussing terms."

"Here," Gum says, handing him a sausage. "It's not ready, but it'll do."

"Thank you, kind sir," Sharpe replies, taking the sausage. "It's good to know that
some
people still have manners.
Perhaps I'll give
you
the location of the meat instead, and Vanguard can starve." He takes a bite, struggling for a moment to get through the hair. "You weren't joking," he says once he's swallowed the first mouthful. "When you said these sausages were full of hair, I assumed you were kidding, but you really
were
telling the truth. This is absolutely the foulest thing I've ever tasted in my life." He shoves the rest of the sausage into his mouth and chews it for a couple of minutes, before finally grimacing as he swallows. "It's pretty clear to me that you two boys would do just about anything for a nice rump of fresh meat. It just so happens that I've got something I think would be right up your respective alleys, and I'm willing to sell at the right price."

"We'll share," I say firmly. The truth is, I have nothing much to offer him. The days when I could hand out gold and silver are long gone; these days, apart from my armor and my sword, I have nothing of value. "Gum will cook the meat, and we shall divide it into thirds."

"Nah," Sharpe says, watching as Gum starts to cook another sausage. "I'm thinking of something more... monetary."

"You can have Gum," I suggest.

Gum glances over at me.

"We both knew this day would come," I tell him.

"I don't want Gum," Sharpe continues. "What the hell would I do with him? Besides, I don't want to take your only friend, Vanguard. Perhaps there's something else you could give me. Something I could actually use." He pauses for a moment. "Give me your loyalty. For one month, starting at a point of my choosing, you will be completely and unquestioningly loyal to me."

"My loyalty?" I say, starting to laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

"Are you aware of my status?" I ask. "I am a Lord of the House of Lacanth. I have slain ten thousand men. I have led armies around the entire circumference of the Library. And you think there is anything in this world that could possibly make me offer you my loyalty for even a fraction of a second?"

He nods. "Two words. Good. Meat. Even the great Vanguard, Lord of the House of Lacanth, has to chow down occasionally."

I stare at him for a moment. As much as it pains me to admit this, I am reaching the point at which I would do almost anything for a good meal. The days of the great banquets are far behind me, at least for now; whereas I once ate the finest foods known to the Library, lately I have been reduced to picking moss-worms from the undersides of the lower shelves. In most circumstances, I would laugh at Sharpe for his insane and rather insulting offer, and probably disembowel him in order to teach him a lesson. Given my current situation, however, I fear I must give him what he wants. I need that meat.

"For one month," he continues. "Starting at some time in the future, of my choosing. Sworn on, by the power of the Forbidders. You know there are some nearby." He looks up at the top of the shelves. "There's always a Forbidder around when you need one. They track us constantly. Why, I'll guarantee that there's one up there right now, listening to our every word."

Glancing up, I see nothing but the top of the shelves. However, Sharpe has a point. It is well known that the Forbidders are ever-present. Any promise I make to Sharpe will be bound, by my honor and by the law of the Forbidders, to be kept. I wish this were not the case, but it is a foolish man who denies the obvious. Since the arrival of the Forbidders many years ago, it has been impossible for any man in this Library to keep a secret.