My favorite venue for exotic research is the Karentine Royal Library, over where all the midtown government buildings cluster, clinging to the petticoats of the Hill. There are lots of books—and no wizards to make them a high-risk objective.
The most interesting books in town are, of course, squirreled away, under lock and key and deadly spell, up the Hill, behind imputed beware-of-the-wizard signs. Only brawn-for-brains barbarians try to reach them. Which supplies the wizards with leather for bookbinding.
The Royal Library is a Crown indulgence. It isn’t supposed to be open to walk-in traffic. I get around that. I have a friend inside.
Linda Lee is a treasure. And cute, too. Especially when she’s mad, which she always seems to be whenever I drop by.
“You’re full of it up to your ears, Garrett,” she snapped. “How did you get in this time? And how come you still have that trash-beak penguin parked on your shoulder?” I’d stopped by the house. Just in case my peripatetic sidekick had chosen not to cover up the fact that we were partners anymore. “You’re one slow learner.” She was no fan of the parrot. And was always very admiring of the way I put words into his beak without moving my lips. Even from another room.
The secret of getting into the library is you slide in through a small side door that has escaped the notice of most of the world. As a rule, though, most of the world would be more interested in getting out of a library than getting in. Books are dangerous.
The library guards are so poorly paid that none of them really gives a rat’s butt who comes or goes. And the most indifferent guards get the side entrance. Young or old, the man on duty will be drunk or asleep. Or drunk and asleep. Or maybe not even there because he’s gotten dry and had to go out looking for a drink.
I still have to go in on tippytoe. The guards have their pride. You don’t make the effort, they are going to yell. You don’t make the effort, they can’t cover themselves with the gargoyle who rules the place.
Today’s steadfast guardian of the priceless tomes was both drunk and snoring and had a huge, smouldering weed banger dangling from his left hand. Which would burn down to bare skin any moment….
“Ye-ow!” echoed through the building.
A screech demanded, “What was that?” That was the head librarian, a wicked old witch with a temper so foul that on her best days she was like a troll with very bad teeth. She began to shift toward the guardroom in a streaking shuffle. She’d lost all sympathy for youth in recent centuries. Her sworn mission was to get in life’s way.
I whispered, “She must’ve been sneaking up on us.”
“You keep those hands to yourself, Garrett.” Which is all that I had done. So far. Sooner or later she would have her way. “I always give in and give you whatever you want when you start that stuff so you just stop it.”
I didn’t argue. We both knew she never did a thing she hadn’t made up her mind to do. But she’s a last-word kind of gal.
“Wouldn’t think of it, darling. According to Morley I’m practically engaged to a pretty ratgirl named Pular Singe, anyway.”
“Is that thug going to be your best man?”
“Uh?”
“I came by your place last night. To see that Dead Man.” They’re pals, sort of, him and her. He’s never explained how he overlooks the fact that she’s a woman. “A neighbor told me Dean and the Dead Man moved out. That they just couldn’t take it anymore. And that you were out whoring around with some trollop in black.”
It took no genius to figure out which neighbor that would be. “You need to pick who you gossip with more carefully, darling.”
“I try. But you just keep coming back.”
“You went to my house.” Me forgetting who the last-word kind of gal was.
“I enjoy those conversations with your partner.” She gripped my arm, looked up. Her eyes were huge pools of mischief. “Sometimes I do just want to sit around and talk. He’s so interesting. He’s seen everything.”
“Now whose hands are—”
“This is different.”
Funny. I was breathing just as hard.
“What do you want, Garrett?”
“Huh?”
“The Dead Man doesn’t get distracted.”
“Uh…He’s dead. Even then you’d probably…Shapeshifters. I need to know about shapeshifters.”
“Why?” Always direct, Linda Lee.
“Shapeshifters murdered some people I know. We caught them and sent them to the Al-Khar but some got away before we could question them. The rest died. I need to find out whatever I can about them.” Pant pant.
“I can’t help much. The information we have here probably wouldn’t be reliable.” Linda Lee cocked her head. The head librarian was just warping into the guardroom, from the sound. Our whispers hadn’t reached her. “What you want you’d probably only find in a specialized library.”
“What’s that?” I had a feeling I didn’t want to know.
“A private library. On the Hill.”
Sorcerers. “I’m psychic.” I didn’t like that answer.
“You don’t know anybody up there?”
“I know people. Met another one today. They ain’t our kind of people.”
“You wouldn’t know anybody in the Call?”
“Uh…Why?”
“You could try to get into the library at their Institute For Racial Purity. Where they research racial issues. They came here trying to hire a librarian. They have a lot of stuff from private sources. They wanted it cataloged and organized so they could use it to support their theories.”
“Linda Lee, you’re a treasure.”
“I know. What made you realize it?”
“I do know somebody in the Call.”
“Aha!” the chief librarian shrieked in the distance. “I’ve caught you, my pretty!” But she crowed too soon. She always declares before she has me in sight. I moved with trained silence and deliberate speed to the end of a stack. I could remain unseen there till the old woman committed to a particular path. Linda Lee would signal me, I’d take a different route and once again the old woman would be scratching her head and wondering what she’d really heard.
It’s unnatural that anyone her age would hear so well.
Linda Lee whispered, “I’ll see what I can find out.” Then she glommed on and kissed me. Linda Lee knows kissing better than she knows books. I didn’t start it but after about four seconds I was plenty read to continue. Weider who? Shapeshifter what? I don’t know no Relway.
The chief librarian cackled.
“I’ve got you for sure this time, my proud beauty! I’ll teach you to tryst with your leman in a holy place!” She stomped and clomped her way closer.
I slipped away from Linda Lee, who winked and made noise heading another direction while I sneaked between stacks on little mouse feet. We’d played this game before. Linda Lee probably more times than me.
“Awk! Shit!” said the Goddamn Parrot, with impeccable timing. “Help!” He started flapping.
I’d kill him for sure this time.
A vise closed on my right shoulder. It turned me. I gaped at the ugly grin of a foul-breathed ogre I hadn’t seen before and whom I hadn’t heard coming. He was twice my size and twice as stupid. I had a notion he wouldn’t ask me to recommend a good book.
In fact, I suspected he was the kind who liked to hit people and watch them bounce. Exhibit number one: He had a gargantuan green fist pulled back three yards, all set to whistle my way.
The old lady had foxed me.
I kicked the ogre hard where a sharp knock will drop any reasonably constructed critter, puking. The ogre just showed me more green teeth and put some moxie into his punch. Only trolls and zombies are less vulnerable there.
I never got a shot at his ears.
Ogres drop like stones if you slap both ears at the same time. So I’m told. Nobody I know ever got close enough to try. The source is always a friend of a friend of a friend, but, “It’s gospel, Garrett. It really happens that way.”
Before the lights went out I had the satisfaction of knowing the old woman would need weeks to pick up all the books that scattered while I was flying through the stacks.
Might be wise not to visit Linda Lee at work for a while.
• • •
If anybody robbed me while I was splashed all over the alley behind the library, they sure overlooked the one thing I wouldn’t mind losing. I came around to find the Goddamn Parrot muttering like one of those psycho guys who stomp around shaking their heads and arguing with ghosts. I hurt everywhere. I had book burns. That ogre had pounded me good after I couldn’t see to make a getaway.
There’d been way too much of this stuff lately. I never recovered from one thumping before I stumbled into the next.
Was I nurturing some kind of death wish?