The Library - The Complete Series (8 page)

C
laire

"So there are no trains or buses in the Library?" I ask as we walk along the aisle. "No cabs or... horses or anything? Llamas? Nothing we can ride? We have to walk the whole way?"

"What were you expecting?" Vanguard asks.

"I don't know," I continue. "Do people just walk everywhere?"

"If you feel the effort is too much," Vanguard replies, "you can always just sit down and die instead."

Sighing, I decide to keep my thoughts to myself. We've been walking since dawn, and the sun is now high in the midday sky. Although I don't want to admit it to either Vanguard or Sharpe, I'm struggling a little, especially given that my ankle is still painful. There's also the matter of my back, which is kept ramrod-straight thanks to the metal pole screwed to my spine; as a result, my shoulders are starting to ache a little. Still, I get the feeling that Vanguard isn't the kind of person who's willing to offer too much sympathy, even though he could probably carry me quite comfortably.

"So is he always like this?" I whisper to Sharpe, as we drop a little way behind Vanguard.

"Pretty much," he replies, "although today he seems especially ratty. I don't know quite what's got into him, but it's probably best to just let him simmer. He should get back to normal pretty soon, although his version of 'normal' isn't much of an improvement."

"But he's not gonna be like this the whole way, is he? I mean, maybe he'll lighten up eventually?"

"I doubt," he replies. "Vanguard's hardly what you'd call a sociable type. It's best to just let him get on with things. He knows what he's doing, and we're a thousand times safer than we'd be if we were wandering around by ourselves."

"Safe from what?" I ask.

"Oh, just..." He smiles. "I'm sure there are places in your world where it's a bad idea to be a lone female, right?"

"I guess."

"Just accept Vanguard's help, and don't worry too much about the fact that he looks like he just swallowed a wasp."

"But if he doesn't like me, why's he bothering to help me?" I ask. "I mean, he doesn't have to take me to the Citadel, so why's he doing it?"

"Well, we were kind of going that way anyway," Sharpe replies, although I'm not entirely convinced that he's telling the truth. It's hard to read the body language of someone who's basically just a ball with legs and arms, but there's something shifty about his countenance. I don't think he's lying to me,
per se
, but I wouldn't mind betting that he's leaving a few facts out. There's definitely some kind of subtext to this journey that I'm not picking up on, but I guess I just need to focus on getting to the Citadel right now.

"I can hear you whispering!" Vanguard calls back to us.
"We're talking about you!" I shout back at him, hoping that perhaps I can win him over with a dash of honesty.

"If you have any questions," he says, glancing over his shoulder and giving me an icy stare, "you might as well ask me directly."

"Well, I was just wondering," I say, hurrying to catch up to him, "what we're gonna do when we get to this Citadel. I mean, if it's just a bunch of ruins, what exactly is going to happen? Are we expecting to find anything that might be useful?"

"I shall greet the Elders," he replies, as if that explains everything.

"You shall?"

"I shall."

"And what am I gonna do?"

He looks over at me, and for a moment I swear there's a faint smile on his lips. "Well," he says after a brief pause, "you're most certainly invited to dinner."

"I am?"

"Oh yes."

"Cool. What's on the menu?"

Again, I see just a hint of a smile. "I'm sure it will be something of interest," he replies eventually.

"I'm a vegetarian," I reply, "so I don't eat meat. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all."

"Okay. Cool." We walk along in silence for a few more minutes, until finally we turn a corner and suddenly I see what appears to be a large fortress clinging to the side of a distant hill. "Is that it?" I ask. "Is that the Citadel?"

"All your questions will be answered when we get there," he replies. "The Citadel was once the home of the Librarian and his Elders. They worked to keep the Library in order, and to maintain peace among the various regions. For thousands of years, the Librarian governed this place with wisdom and kindness, but eventually he was driven away by forces of darkness. Some believe he fled the land, but I am quite certain he remained in place. Once we reach the Library, we will find him, and then we will gather together the Elders, and then finally I shall present to them my plan for reuniting the entire world."

"Sounds pretty ambitious," I reply.

"It is the only way we can bring calm to the chaos," he says. "For too long now, the Library has lain in ruins. You must have seen the smoke that rises as the Great War churns. If someone does not act soon, the entire Library will be consumed by those flames. I have waited long enough, biding my time while I recovered from my wounds. If no-one else will step up and save the land, I am forced to make the journey myself. After all, 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. I bend for no-one. If anybody in this entire world is in a position to bring about peace and prosperity, I believe I am the one who must seize such an opportunity."

"I guess," I mutter. "I mean, don't get me wrong, but it all sounds kind of complicated. I'm looking for something that might help me get home."

"That is something we can discuss later," he replies.

"I just want to wake up," I tell him.

"Wake up?"

"From this coma. It's fun being trapped in my own mind, but I'd really like to wake up and get on with my real life, you know?"

"I do not follow."

"She thinks we're not real!" Sharpe calls from behind us. "She thinks she's imagining this whole thing! Basically, she thinks we're figments of her imagination! Charming, huh?"

"Seriously?" Vanguard asks. "This is truly what you believe?"

"Well, kind of," I say, feeling a little embarrassed. "I mean, I've kind of gone through all the different possibilities and this is the only one that really leaps out." I wait for him to answer. "You see my point, right?"

"I have been accused of many things in my lifetime," he replies, "but no-one has ever before suggested that I am not real."
"Well, I didn't quite mean it like that..." I start to say.

"I am Vanguard!" he continues, raising his voice. "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. I do not -"

"Yeah, I know," I reply, interrupting him. "You don't bend over for anyone. You kind of keep saying the same thing again and again. It's just that... Well, none of this can be real. Look around. Places like this just don't exist."

Suddenly Vanguard comes to a halt and turns to face me. "I am Vanguard," he says. "I am -"

"I know," I say, interrupting him. "You keep saying that, but -"

"I am a Lord of the -"

"I know!"

"I am a Lord of the -"

"I know!" I say, raising my voice.

"Just let him do it," Sharpe whispers.

I sigh.

"I am a Lord of the House of Lacanth," Vanguard continues, staring at me. "I have slain ten thousand men. I have led armies around the entire circumference of the Library. I bend for no-one. I have lived for many, many hundreds of years. I have seen things that would make your eyes melt. And yet you, a mere human, have the temerity to claim that I could possibly have been dreamed up in... here?" He reaches out and puts the palm of his hand on top of my head. "Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that the head of a human female could contain the might of Vanguard?"

I stare back at him, feeling slightly worried that he might try to squash my head like a watermelon. "It's one of the theories I've been working on," I mutter, my voice sounding a little weak.

He leans closer, until his face is just a few inches from my own, and he tightens the grip of his hand around my scalp. "You need a new theory," he says firmly.

I swallow hard.

Letting go of me, he turns and starts walking again, leaving me feeling a little shaken as I stand next to Sharpe. I guess I should be glad that I'm still alive.

"To be fair," Sharpe says after a moment, "I can kind of see his point. I mean, do you seriously think that we're just figments of your imagination? What's to stop us thinking the same thing about you?"

"What's the alternative?" I ask. "That all of this is real? That I'm actually in a giant library filled with weird creatures like..." I stare at Sharpe for a moment.

"It's okay," he replies, "you can say it."

"Never mind."

"Go on," he says, staring at me. "I know it's what you're thinking."

"You know what I mean," I continue. "You're just not like anything I've seen in my world. You and Vanguard both seem very real, but that's how hallucinations and dreams work. They always seem real at the time. They have to be like that, otherwise they wouldn't be convincing. But at the end of the day, I know that this is all just some kind of fantasy. It's in my head, and I have to escape. The alternative would be to just sit around here and wait for my body to die."

"I guess I can't change your mind," he replies. "Come on, we need to keep up with him."

We start walking again, with Vanguard having already gained quite a march on us. "You know," I say, "there's one thing I haven't asked you yet. What the hell were you doing in my house last night?"

"Oh, nothing," he says. "Like you said, I'm probably just a figment of your imagination, so I probably had no motives whatsoever. I don't know why you're even wasting your breath on this conversation."

"I didn't mean it like that," I reply. "I just -"

"Sorry," he says, interrupting me, "I'd love to chat, but I'm busy."

We keep walking. "Busy?" I ask.

"Too busy to talk."

Sighing, I realize I've offended him. I guess I can understand that; if he were real, he'd probably be pissed off at the way I keep insisting that he's imaginary. But the truth is: I'm right. I have to be. There's simply no way I could have been transported to some completely different world. That's the kind of thing that happens in books and movies, not in real life. Still, I should probably keep my opinions to myself. After all, the last thing I want to do is offend my own subconscious mind. I'm going to need all the help I can get to find my way out of this place. Looking ahead, I focus on the distant Citadel; even from a distance of many miles, I can see that there seems to be some serious damage to the side of the structure, as if some kind of traumatic incident has ripped some of the stonework aside. Overall, it doesn't look like the most welcoming place I've ever seen. I can't help thinking that if that place is our best hope, we're in a lot more trouble than I'd realized.

Vanguard

We're being followed.

I can feel it in my blood, and on the back of my neck. I have not shared my suspicions with Sharpe or the human girl, but I am quite certain: for at least the past two hours, someone or something has been tracking us. Whatever it is, it has kept a discreet distance, never coming closer than fifty meters. Were it not for my enhanced sense of smell, combined with my ability to sense the slightest tremor in the ground, I would be none the wiser. Unfortunately for this secretive shadow, I am constantly on the alert, so I am more than aware of what is happening. The only questions relate to the motive: who is following us, and why, and what is their intent?

At least I can rule out the Forbidders. They spend all their time up on top of the shelves, scuttling along out of sight. Whoever is following us at the moment, it is a creature that moves along the ground. Besides, the Forbidders seem to be a more subtle and careful race, so I doubt they would make their presence known so easily. We are being tracked by an entity that is very good at such pursuit, but still far from expert. For this reason alone, I am convinced that we are in no imminent danger; this is not someone who wishes to attack us, but rather someone who wishes to keep track of our movements and - I imagine - report back to some other force.

"The human is flagging," says Sharpe, hurrying to catch up to me.

"We walk until sunset," I reply, not even bothering to look down at him.

"I don't know if she can manage that," he says. "She's been struggling for a while."
Glancing back, I see that he's right: the human is several meters behind us, and she looks uncharacteristically pale. Humans are renowned for being weak, but I must admit to being a little surprised that she is becoming so ill, so fast. Stopping and turning to her, I sigh as I realize that we might have to pause for a rest. At the same time, I'm starting to think that perhaps there is something more urgently wrong with her. Even for a human, her skin is becoming increasingly pale. The last thing I want is for her meat to become weak and sickly: she must be full-blooded and strong when I slice her open in the banqueting hall.

"Hey," she says weakly as she reaches us. "What's going on? Are we stopping?" She stares at me, swaying slightly, almost as if she might lose consciousness at any moment. "Do you have something I can drink?"

"Water," I say, taking a small flask from my belt and handing it to her. "Drink what you will. There is a river coming up soon, so I can refill the container."

"Thanks." She drinks keenly from the flask, quickly emptying its contents before handing it back to me. "So how much longer are we gonna be walking today?"

"What is wrong with you?" I ask.

"Wrong with me?" She stares at me, looking a little offended. "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just -"

"You have a weakness," I say firmly. "Do not try to hide it, human. You have some form of disability."

"What?"

"Tell me."

She nods reluctantly. "It's my back."

"What about your back?"

"I had an operation," she continues. "A little while ago. I had scoliosis, which meant that I was kind of bending over all the time. I was all curled up. It was getting really bad, and the pain was intense. So they put a metal rod in my back and screwed it to my spine. It solved the problem, but it means I can't bend my back, and it means I can't keep walking for so long without taking a break."

"Why did you not inform me that you were crippled?"

"Watch who you're calling a cripple," she replies.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

She nods again. "It's more than pain. It gets too tight, and the muscles become inflamed. If it gets too bad, the muscles could swell. There's a danger of infection, and then the screws could come out, and then everything would go horribly wrong and..." She pauses for a moment. "Can we just take a few minutes to rest? Even just a short break could make a big difference"

"Of course," I reply, gesturing to a nearby shelf. "However, you should have told me before that you had this problem."

"I didn't think," she says, sitting down. "I kind of thought it wouldn't be a problem here. I thought my subconscious mind would give me my old body back."

"Is there anything else I should know?" I ask, starting to worry that this metal rod might have soured her meat.

"Nope," she says. "That's all that's wrong with me."

"For how long must you rest?" I ask, glancing back along the aisle. There is no sign of our pursuer, though I am quite certain that it will be keeping an eye on us. Even now, it is probably noting the human's weakness, and thinking of ways in which this could be used to its own advantage. If the human is unable to move at a sufficiently rapid pace, our plans will be significantly disrupted; I cannot help but wonder whether it would be more convenient to simply kill her now and accept that the meat will not be optimally fresh by the time we reach the Citadel.

"Maybe an hour?" she says. "How much longer is this walk gonna take, anyway? I mean, what are we looking at here? Hours? Days? Weeks?"

"I originally estimated five days," I reply, "but if we are slowed by your condition, it could be significantly more. Seven or eight, assuming we stop every few hours."

"And there's no quicker way?" she asks.

"The distance is the distance," I say. "One cannot cheat such things. Even a man of my strength cannot rip the soil open and pull two distant places together."

"So you haven't invented the internal combustion engine here?" she says. "No kind of public transport?"

"We will wait for you to get better," I say. "The situation is not ideal, but the most important thing is that you must reach the Citadel. Once that goal is achieved, you will have no further problems with your back."

"You reckon?"

"I am quite certain."

She smiles. "I hope you're right, but I'm not counting on it." Shifting her weight, she lets out a gasp of pain. "Fuck!" she exclaims. "Sorry, but it's getting pretty bad. I'm worried the screws could get loose."

"You're no use to us if you can't walk," I tell her, trying to hide my annoyance. Even for a human, she is conspicuously frail; I have no idea how such a weak species could have survived so long, but at this rate I'll be surprised if Claire is able to reach the Citadel. Given that we appear to have already attracted some attention during our journey, it's clear that eventually we'll be confronted by a more formidable foe.

"How long are we going to wait?" Sharpe asks, sidling up to me. I can tell from the look in his eyes that he's becoming increasingly concerned.

"One hour," I reply, turning and walk back the way we came.

"Where are you going?" he calls after me.

"To check on something," I reply, walking to the most recent junction. I can find no trace of whoever, or whatever, has been tracking us; nevertheless, there was undoubtedly something. Frankly, I was comfortable with being followed, so long as I was aware of the approximate location of our pursuer; now that I can no longer detect him, I am starting to worry.

"Do we have a problem?" asks Sharpe, who has followed me.

"What are you doing here?" I reply, turning to him. I look back over at Claire, and see that she's still resting on the shelf. She looks so weak and pathetic right now, it's hard to think that she could walk another step. "One of us must stay with her at all times. We cannot leave her alone, not even for a moment."

"We're being followed, aren't we?" he continues.

"You could tell?"

"Sure," he says, "but only from the look on your face. I can read you like a book, Vanguard, and I know when you're distracted. What do you think it is?"

"I wouldn't like to say," I tell him, "but whatever it is, I'm quite certain it has been attracted by the human. There would be little benefit in tracking you or I, whereas a human is another matter entirely. Her scent must have traveled miles by now. It's no wonder she is starting to attract interest."

"So we fight our way to the Citadel?"

"Every step?" I sigh, realizing that this journey is going to be far more difficult than I had anticipated. There will be no end of creatures that wish to gain possession of the human carcass; dead or alive, she will be like a magnet for trouble. As a mighty Lord of the House of Lacanth, I can of course take on and defeat any foe that should try to attack us, but the burden will be great and I am minded to seek some way of hiding her. "We need a shawl," I say eventually, "and a large quantity of herbs and spices."

"You plan to baste her already?" Sharpe asks.

"I plan to disguise her scent," I reply. "It is the only way to ensure that our journey does not degenerate into a series of skirmishes. With her scent hidden, we can at least move freely without the risk of being pursued."

"And where will you obtain these herbs and spices?"

"There must be a market nearby." I take one more look along the aisle, but there is no sign of our pursuer. Most likely, he has gone to inform someone else of our presence, which means we might be in imminent danger. Turning and hurrying back over to the human, I find that she is beginning to fall asleep. For a moment, I am overcome by a desire to let her sleep; within seconds, however, I realize that I am being lulled into a state of weakness. "Wake up!" I say, pushing her shoulder. "We have no time to lose!"

"You said an hour!" she replies, seeming a little groggy.

"We do not have an hour," I tell her. "We are being followed, and soon we shall be attacked. If you value your life, you will accept the need to keep moving."

Sighing, she gets to her feet. "None of this is real anyway," she complains as we start walking again. "I'm really just sitting in a hospital bed, waiting to be revived. My parents are probably sitting next to me, reading newspapers out loud and stuff like that. If only they knew what I'm dreaming about."

"I'm afraid you're not that lucky," I say, pushing past her so that I can lead the way. Her insistence on this being a fantasy is starting to grate; if she truly believes that none of this land is real, and that the likes of Sharpe and I are merely figments of her imagination, then I am not sure how I will ever be able to reason with her. She will simply abandon herself to her fate, and I will have to drag her lifeless carcass as I walk. At least I only have to get her to the Citadel; once we are there, I can begin to carve her up for the cooking pot.