I Hunt Vampires in the Library of Babylon: I - Belle

“Did you hear something?” said the man. He was a bookish man with glasses. His hair was combed to one side and held in place by pomade, and his moustache was well tended and waxed. The sleeves of his white oxford shirt were rolled up to the forearms, red bracers offsetting the white of his shirt.

“Yes,” said the woman with him. Her hair, a deep shade of purple, complemented her complexion, which would best be described as “wisteria.” She had red eyes, and her regular, toothy smile was a bit too pointy for polite company. She wore a simple blouse and a ruffled skirt that went down to her ankles.

The two clandestine lovers on their innocent excursion diverted their rendezvous to investigate the sound. At the base of one of the bookcases lay a pile of books, and beneath the books lay an unconscious man.

“What do you think happened?” asked the woman.

The man examined the area. The individual shelves for the bookcase had collapsed. Some were snapped in half, their ends splintered. The man lowered his glasses. “It looks like he was flung into the case,” he said.

The woman set her hand on the man's shoulder. “Do you think Bucephalus threw him?”

The man laughed. “I wouldn't suspect Bucephalus of hurting a fly. He may look mean, but he's a gentle soul.” He looked up, toward the ceiling, where daylight poured through the stained glass windows. One of them was broken. “More like, he fell through that window, and crashed here.” He pointed at the man.

The woman looked at the window. “I never imagined anything would, or could, come through those windows. It's a shame it was broken.”

The man nodded. He was still looking at the unconscious fellow. “I'll tell Chandler, and he'll have a glazier fix it.”

Still, she looked at the broken window. “Where do you think they lead?” she asked.

“Huh?” said the man.

“The windows,” she said.

He looked up from the pile of books scattered on the floor and at the broken window. The edges of its colorful glass were like the grimace of a feratu; nothing like the toothy smile of Belle. However, where the window was missing was not a source of light, but rather, an empty, inky void. The rest of the windows along the edge of the ceiling were illuminated, depicting scenes Buch had often read about in his studies: Humans being exiled from paradise, heroes denying food offered by the fairfolk, mournful men walking the paths of the dead to reunite with their deceased lovers. This broken one, if his memory had served him, had depicted a goddess having a weaving contest with a mortal.

“It probably leads nowhere,” he said. “Best not to think about it, Belle.” Buch returned his attention to the man under the pile of books. The man groaned. “Well,” said Buch, “that's one more for the Analysts. He's alive.”

Belle crouched down beside Buch. “And if he were dead, then you'd have handed him right over to the Critics?” she said. “No matter what Chandler had to say?”

Buch smiled. “Not all rules are meant to be followed,” he said. He started removing the books. The man's eyes fluttered open. He tried to speak, but Belle shushed him.

“It's okay,” she said to him.

Buch put the fallen books into some semblance of order. He held up one. “This one doesn't belong here,” he said. He looked at the spine. “It must be a book of palindromes,” he said. It had a symbol on its cover, like a tired eye. He handed it to the man. “You must have brought this with you. What part of the Library are you from?”

“Library?” said the man. He took the book. It felt familiar in his hands.

“Can't you see he's disoriented?” Belle said. “I think you should take him to Chandler. He'll know what to do with him.”

Buch looked at Belle. “As much as I'd hate to end our date prematurely,” he said, “you're probably right.” He helped the man to stand. “My name's Buch,” he said. “And this here is Belle, but it would be best if you didn't say anything about seeing her to anybody.”

The man nodded slowly. He looked as if he had been thrown off of a train, so Buch surmised, after having read a few books on the subject. “My name's Kenichi,” said the man. “Where are we?”

Buch looked around at the bookcases that surrounded them. This part of the library was well ordered; or at least it had been prior to Kenichi's arrival. The books he had disrupted still lay in neat stacks on the floor. “We're in Mythology and Folklore,” he said.

Kenichi raised his head and looked around. “We're in a library?” he said.

Both Buch and Belle looked at the newcomer askance. “We're in the Library,” Buch said in the same way one might say, “We're in the Universe.” He looked at Belle. “I'll take him to Chandler. I'll send you a pigeon later.”

Belle nodded. They gave each other a quick kiss before she disappeared into the shadows. When she was gone, Buch asked, “I see you came in through a window. What section do you hail from?”

“Section?” Kenichi said.

“Yes,” said Buch. “I was born and raised in Reference. What about you?”

Kenichi rubbed his head. “I'm not entirely sure how to answer that,” he said. “I'm not from around here.”

“Fascinating,” Buch said. He led Kenichi through a maze of bookcases. Stained glass windows lined the ceilings, each depicting scenes from mythology or folklore. Kenichi recognized a few, especially those meant to look like famous paintings, but most of them were unfamiliar to him.

The man leading Kenichi went from one room to another, following a path known to him, but ultimately unfamiliar to Kenichi. While they walked, he saw the books. Rows and rows and rows of books lined every shelf, and every case had many shelves. Every room had a table or some chairs, and little green-shaded lamps sat nearby, providing cozy and comfortable illumination to complement the light coming in from the stained glass windows. Each room had an exit in the four cardinal directions, and through each exit, Kenichi could see another room, and another beyond that, spanning as far as his eye could discern.

“Chandler keeps his office in the heart of Reference,” Buch said. Kenichi understood all of the words individually, but did not quite understand them when put together into a sentence. Still, he followed, clutching his familiar book to his chest as they went.

Soon they came upon a closed door. The brass plate on the outside of the door said CHANDLER. Buch knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice from within. Buch opened the door and the two stepped inside. An old man with a white beard sat at an ornate desk, stacks of books surrounded him. In the middle of the desk lay an open book, and he was writing notes in the margins. A woman with black hair and rose-tinted glasses stood beside him. She wore high-waisted trousers and a sports jacket over her blouse. She was reading from a book in her hands, studying both the text and the marginalia.

“Hello, Buch,” said the old man. He noticed Kenichi. “Who is this?”

“I found him in Mythology and Folklore,” Buch said. “He, well, he fell in through a window.”

The woman stopped reading and looked at Kenichi. “How does one fall in through a window?” she said. “Was he defenestrated?"

“I'm not sure,” Buch said. “But it all adds up. He was found in a pile of books, and the window above was broken. I picked up the books, but we'll need a carpenter to fix the shelves, and a glazier to fix the window.”

Chandler looked to the woman. “Do you think it's a Critic plot?”

She studied Kenichi, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “He is quite alive.”

The old man set down his quill. Using a wooden cane, he pushed himself up from the desk and walked around it. At one point, he might have been an imposing figure, but now, wizened and hunched, he looked small and frail. He hobbled over to Kenichi and looked him up and down, even tapping him a few times with his cane. Kenichi's stomach rumbled, but everybody acted as if nothing had happened. Finally, the old man nodded.

“Romanà,” he said. “Please take him to the Lapin Qui Lit and get him something to eat. He looks half starved. Then find a place for him among the Analysts.” He looked at Buch. “Thank you, my boy, for bringing him here to me. Who knows what the Critics might have done to him. Perhaps turned him into a feratu or something.” He grumbled something under his breath.

The woman took Kenichi by the arm. “Please,” she said, “come with me.”

Kenichi walked with her from the office. She led him through even more rooms, the path winding and confusing. “I know you're not from around here,” she said when they were alone.

“No,” Kenichi said. “I don't even know where here is.”

She smiled. “We are in the Library,” she said. She pointed down one of the exits. “Down there are more shelves of books.” Then another, “The same down there.” And another, “And there.” And another, “And there.” Spinning a full circle, she leaned against the table. “It's an endless maze of books in every direction. However, only the areas that have people living in them are as well kempt as the room we're standing in. Some of the more distant rooms are in quite a state of disarray. I've heard that the lower levels are flooded, many of the books beyond repair, and that the upper levels are often too foggy to see anything.” She stood from the table. “Then there are the Critics,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Some call them monsters, and monsters they are. Their leader is a mighty vampire, Professor Acula, and he and his ilk think the best thing is to change the books for the better, for some definition of better. We Analysts, however, all or mostly human, believe the best thing is to learn from the books as written, only adding our own notes into the margins.”

“How do they change the stories?” Kenichi asked, the memories of The Eternal Blade of Tenrai running through his head.

“I'd rather not discuss their methods,” Romanà said. They left their current room, and as they went from room to room, the smell of food grew stronger and stronger. “The Lapin Qui Lit is the best place to eat here,” she said. “However, it's much like the watering holes you read about that are in Africa, where the lions and the gazelles drink side-by-side.” She stepped through into the next room. Kenichi followed her.

The next room looked as if somebody had turned a section of a library into a restaurant with a full kitchen in the room adjacent. A row of shelves were empty between the two rooms, providing a pass-through for the ordered meals. Round tables sat there, and a mix of humans and strange creatures sat, albeit at separate tables. In the back of the room was a bar, and a pooka with long ears and a roguish expression leaned against it, sipping something from a pewter goblet. It was the person behind the bar, however, that got Kenichi's attention. She had brown hair, green eyes, blue gem earrings, and looked up just as he entered.

Whether it was hunger, fatigue, or the sight of a familiar face (or possibly a mix of all three), Kenichi staggered, stumbled, collapsing back against one of the shelves, spilling cookbooks all over the floor.