I Hunt Vampires in the Library of Babylon: II - Buch

“Romanà Clef,” said a voice from the darkness. “I knew you liked weak drinks, but never expected that to transfer into your taste for men.”

“Quiet, Hartwing, or I'll tie your ears into a bow,” Romanà replied.

“Here,” said another voice, this one familiar. “Give him this. It might help revive him.”

Kenichi felt cold hands press a mug against his lips. A warm liquid poured into his mouth. I tasted earthy and woody, but not unpleasant. He drank it. His eyes fluttered open. Once again, he had collapsed around a pile of books. On the ceiling was a stained glass window showing a man throwing a golden apple to a woman. The faces before him came into focus. Staring at him were Romanà, the pooka, and Marumi. Romanà helped him sit up.

He took the mug from her and managed a few sips of his own. “Thank you,” he muttered. “It's been one of those days.”

The pooka peered at him. “He doesn't smell right,” he said. He put his arm around Marumi. “It's best you stay back, dear.”

Kenichi watched the lapine arm of the creature wrap around Marumi, and his eyes shot wide. It felt like something broke inside his chest. Sure, if Marumi exists in many different universes, it would only be a matter of time before he came across one where she already had a boyfriend, but a pooka? He clenched his fists.

Marumi picked up the pooka's hand off of her shoulder like it was a dead bird, then dropped it between them. “I'm not your dear, Hartwig,” she said. “And I can handle myself.”

Romanà helped Kenichi stand. His legs felt a little wobbly, but he was bolstered and a bit relieved by the fact that his initial impression of the pooka was wrong. “I think he's just a bit hungry,” she said to Marumi.

Marumi nodded. “I'll get him something to eat.” She went back into the kitchen, leaving Hartwig and Kenichi glaring at each other while Romanà started picking up the books.

The pooka returned to his spot at the bar. He pulled a rectangular packet out of his jacket pocket and from it pulled a stick. To Kenichi, he looked like he was about to start smoking, but instead, started chewing the end of the stick. Kenichi stepped up to the bar and took a seat. He set his mug down on the counter. Romanà sat next to him. “Marumi brews the best Rooibos,” she said, indicating the mug. “It's such a nice thing to drink while reading a book in a comfortable chair while the windows fade to night.”

Kenichi took another sip. The tea that swirled around in his mug was a deep red, almost auburn in color. He wasn't entirely familiar with it, but he still savored the taste. He looked over at Hartwig. The pooka held out the packet. “Willow stick?” he said in a way that indicated he hoped that Kenichi would just fall through the floor (and also not have taken one of his willow sticks prior to doing so). Kenichi declined. The pooka returned to his goblet.

“You'll have to excuse our friend,” Romanà said. “He's currently on the outs with both the Analysts and the Critics, and when that happens, he drowns his sorrows in port.”

Hartwig cleared his throat.

“He also has a thing for Marumi,” said Romanà. “And he's a bit of a jealous type, which scares away any potential suitors, so our poor girl is all alone.”

Marumi set a steaming bowl of miso down on the counter. “I'm not alone,” she said. “I have all of you.” She smiled. “Besides, whenever I feel lonely, all I have to do is look up at the windows. There's something about seeing all of those figures in the stained glass that makes me feel like I'm less alone than it seems.”

“Do you ever feel like you don't really belong here?” Kenichi said, admiring the bowl of miso. Vegetables and plump udon noodles swam through the broth. The smells of both the soup and the tea commingled to make a wonderful aroma.

Marumi looked at Kenichi with a level gaze. “I always feel like I belong here,” she said. She leaned against the shelf behind her, cookbooks surrounding her. “Like I was made for this world.”

Kenichi's stomach growled again, and he took this as an opportunity to start eating.

“Kenichi isn't from around here,” Romanà said.

Marumi nodded. She poured a bottle of sangria for Romanà, who accepted it graciously. “If you don't feel like you belong here,” Marumi said, “you probably have more in common with Hartwig than you think.”

Hartwig rolled his eyes, but Kenichi resented the deeper truth of what Marumi had just said. He tried to roll it off with a chuckle. “This is some good food,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Marumi. “I found the recipe in one of the books in the kitchen. I'm glad you like it.”

“Do you like to read?” Kenichi said.

Marumi let out a laugh, indicating to Kenichi that he might as well have asked a fish if it liked to swim. She caught herself quickly though. “You really aren't from around here.”

“No,” he said. “What if I told you that I knew of a book that you'd enjoy?”

“I'd like to know what it is. I mostly only read cookbooks, but if you have any other suggestions, I'd be interested.”

“Tell you what,” Kenichi said. “I'll bring you a copy of the book I'm thinking of later. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.”

“What makes you so sure?” she said. “You just met me.”

Instead of telling her that knew she'd like it because another Marumi had liked it, he just gave a sly wink. “I'm an excellent judge of character.”

Hartwig rolled his eyes again.

After Kenichi finished the soup and Romanà finished her sangria, she turned to him and said, “I'd better find some place for you to help out. Do you have any specialties?”

“Well,” Kenichi said. “I'm pretty good at playing the guitar. But also, I know my way around Fantasy.”

Romanà raised an eyebrow at that. “You're braver than you look,” she said. “They're always looking for more help down in Speculative Fiction.”

“I'll be glad to help,” Kenichi said. Marumi took the empty bowl and mug away and went back into the kitchen. “By the way, is there a map for this place?”

Romanà shook her head. “There have been attempts at an atlas, but there really hasn't been much need for anything more precise.”

Hartwig laughed. “He must be from Picture Books,” he said.

Romanà glared at him. “If you're in such a helpful mood,” she said, “and would like for me to put in a good word for you to Chandler, then maybe you can help me out.”

Hartwig narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said, flatly.

“Please?” said Romanà. “I'll also put in a good word for you to someone else,” she said, nodding her head toward the kitchen.

Hartwig picked his teeth with the chewed and pointed end of his willow stick. “Fine,” he said. He looked at Kenichi. “You want me to take Captain Falls-a-lot to Speculative Fiction, right?”

“Read me like a book,” Romanà said.

Hartwig finished his drink, setting the pewter goblet down on the counter. “It's a deal,” he said. He pushed himself away from the bar. “Follow me, he said to Kenichi. He walked toward the door, his large feet flopping with every step.

“He might cause you some trouble,” Romanà said, “but he won't hurt you.”

“That's good,” said Kenichi. He started following the pooka.

“Kenichi,” said Romanà. He stopped and turned. “Don't forget your book.” She held up the book with the tired eye on the cover. Kenichi hurried back to take it before chasing after the pooka.

“I'll have to get used to you being a book,” he said to Drowsysword.

“Never odd or even,” said the book.

“What was that?” said Hartwig.

“Nothing,” said Kenichi.

They walked along in silence for a while, the pooka going this way and that. As they journeyed, there were subtle changes in the style of the cases and the lamps. Everything seemed a bit more gothic and ornate. Occasionally, there would be a strange, unsettling figure in one of the rooms perusing the shelf or studying at the table. Nobody seemed to acknowledge their presence beyond looking up from what they were doing, then immediately returning to their task at hand.

“So, you like to play music,” said Hartwig, after walking past a table strewn with books.

“Yes,” said Kenichi.

“What do you play?” Hartwig said.

“Guitar, mostly,” said Kenichi.

“That's a pity,” said the pooka.

“Why's that?” Kenich said.

“My band already has a guitarist,” Hartwig said. “Me.”

“Are you looking for a band member?” Kenichi asked. “Some bands have two guitarists, you know.”

Hartwig made a noncommittal sound.

“What spots are you looking to fill?”

Hartwig shrugged. “Drums, bass, keyboard,” he muttered.

Kenichi stopped. “So you don't have a band?”

The pooka stopped too. “It's got a name and everything, but none of the Analysts can play music, since they only ever experience things by reading, and all of the musical Critics are either already in a band, or, well, don't like my music.”

“So you're stuck in the middle?” said Kenichi.

The pooka started walking again. “Yeah. Too good for some, not good enough for others.”

“If you play me a song, I'll tell you what I think. I'll be honest, but fair.”

The pooka looked back at him. “You'd do that?”

“Of course. I'm always willing to help out a fellow musician. What's your band's name?”

“Murakami Heart Throb,” said the pooka. He tossed the stub of his willow stick into the corner of the room before continuing through the next door.

“Um,” said Kenichi.

“Hah,” said Drowsysword.

“What was that?” said Hartwig.

“Nothing,” said Kenichi.

These rooms of the Library were colder and a bit darker. The lights here had carnelian shades, and the general feeling was a bit gloomy. “We're in Critic territory,” he said. “But it's the best way to get to Speculative Fiction.”

“Won't they get mad?”

“Library rules,” said the pooka. “The search for knowledge means we share our books. Something like that. I'm not much of a reader.”

“Don't you have a favorite book?”

The pooka shrugged. “It's stupid,” he said.

“Not if it's your favorite.” Kenichi said.

The pooka mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“I said, The Eternal Blade of Tenrai,” he said. “I know, kid's book.”

“That's not a kid's book,” Kenichi said. “That's my favorite book too!”

The pooka looked at him. “No kidding?”

“Honest,” Kenichi said. “I've read it so many times. I've practically lived it.”

The pooka laughed. “You know,” he said. “One thing I've always wondered…” he trailed off.

“What is it?” Kenichi said.

“Do you think there could have been a way for them to have defeated the dark lord without Oren dying?”

Kenichi laughed. “You have no idea,” he said.

They stepped into the next room which was decidedly less gothic, and lay somewhere between the two aesthetics, and there Buch stood. In his hand was a pigeon. “Oh, hello, Kenichi,” he said. “Hartwig.”

“Buch,” said the pooka. “Sending messages to your girlfriend?” He nodded at the pigeon.

Buch blushed. “I'm not sure what you're talking about, Hartwig,” he said. “I'm just carrying a bird. Nothing unusual about that.” He set it on a table, where after pecking at a few stray seeds scattered on its surface, it flapped off into the air, above the cases.

“I bet Chandler would have a fit if he knew,” Hartwig said. “And Acula too.”

Buch laughed again. “I still have no idea what you're referring to, Hartwig,” he said. He was forcing a smile and talking through gritted teeth.

“We're headed toward Speculative Fiction,” said the pooka. “You want to come with us?”

“Speculative Fiction?” said Buch. “Sure, why not. I'm up for an adventure. I wonder if they've found any new books. I'd really like to update the catalog.”

The three went on. They came to a large room that had a massive staircase leading down. They descended the stairs. The windows above were growing dimmer. “It must be getting on winter,” Buch said. “Night seems to be coming early.”

Hartwig let out a punctuated laugh. “It's been a while since you last visited Speculative Fiction,” he said. “The windows are all darker here. I think it sets a certain mood.”

They went on deeper into the maze of books. Soon, they found a small group of Analysts with headlamps. The room looked like the other book-lined rooms, however a large rock like the wall of a cave lay on one side. One of the Analysts was using a pickaxe on the rock, clearing away small bits of the grey stone and revealing books beneath. The foreman of the operation saw the three enter.

“Welcome to Speculative Fiction,” he said. “We're getting some new releases.”

“Do you need any help?” asked Kenichi.

The foreman looked him up and down. “Not without some training. But if you like, feel free to check the mined shelves and make sure everything is in order. If you see any books that need to be repaired or restored, put them on the cart, and Wiggins will take them to the book hospital.

Kenichi nodded. He gravitated towards one of the shelves and followed the last names until he got to A. He traced back from the last names until he got to Amagami. There was one copy of The Eternal Blade of Tenrai on the shelf. He pulled it out and flipped through it. It was the same edition he had back at home. Or had had. It had the same feel, the same smell, and aside from having a laminated cover and a sticker with AM on the spine, it was practically the same well worn copy.

Buch was behind him. “I always thought that Amagami was a strange last name. Do you suppose it's a pen name?”

Before Kenichi could ponder that question, however, another group entered the room. One was a man dressed in what looked like an unnecessarily formal wet suit followed by a group of pale, shambling creatures with glowing eyes and fangs.

The foreman grunted. “What brings you here, Shalecut?”

The man in the wet suit took a moment to survey the room. “Ah, Mr. Honeypot, we're here to acquire a copy for critique,” he said. He produced a document from his sleeve. “You'll find everything is in order.”

The foreman read over the document. He eyed the creatures accompanying Shalecut. “Why'd you need to bring so many feratus?”

Shalecut took the document back. He rolled it and tucked it back into his sleeve. “One never knows what they might encounter in the lower parts of the Library,” he said. “One must be ready for anything.”

Honeypot grunted. “What book do you need?”

“The Eternal Blade of Tenrai,” he said. “Professor Acula has been particularly interested in it lately.”

Hartwig stepped behind Kenichi. “We'd better get out of here,” he said. “If they get that book, then there's no telling when they return it.”

Kenichi nodded. The three slowly made their way to the door through which they had come. One of the feratus looked at them and growled.

“Stop right there,” said Shalecut, not even looking at the three. “What book is it that you have there?”

“Oh, this?” Kenichi said. He looked at the book in his hands. “This is one of my own,” he said, holding up Drowsysword.

“The other book,” said Shalecut, his voice tired with having to not pretend that everybody around him was stupid.

Kenichi found that he was no longer holding the other book. He also found that Hartwig was no longer behind him.

Shalecut swore. “That stupid pooka,” he said.

“Looks like he got away,” said Honeypot.

Shalecut frowned, then with the flick of his wrist, struck Honeypot. The many lay bleeding on the floor. The sight and smell of blood riled up the feratus, their black and midnight eyes wide with excitement.

“We'll just hold these two in captivity until the pooka returns the book.”

Buch wrapped his hand around Kenichi's arm. “I suggest we run,” he whispered.

The two dashed from the room.

Shalecut's frown deepened. The other Analysts huddled in the corner, terrified of the feratus, who were now mostly surrounding the downed Honeypot. Shalecut looked at them. “You mindless beasts,” he said. “Go after them!”

The feratus hissed, but hurried out through the different exits of the room, trying to intercept Kenichi and Buch. Meanwhile, Shalecut pulled a book from a shelf and flipped to a page. He set the book down on the table before diving into the pages, disappearing entirely from the room.

Honeypot groaned. The other Analysts swarmed to him, assessing his injuries.

Meanwhile, Kenichi followed Buch through the winding passages of the Library. “Why do they want that book so badly?” Kenichi asked as they ran.

“The Critics take some books and actually alter them,” Buch said. He went into a particularly dark room. Above the doorway was a plaque that said QUIET ROOM. It had some couches and plush chairs in it, and the lighting was low. However, the room also had a disused quality to it, the furniture looking like it was in need to repair.

After closing the door, Buch leaned against a bookshelf and caught his breath. This room had no other exits.

“We'll be safe here,” he said.

“I wonder why they wanted that book,” Kenichi said.

“Belle was telling me that Professor Acula had gotten word that strange things were happening on the Literary Plane,” Buch said. “It's all Greek to me,” he said. “But she said that somebody was messing with the fabric of metareality.” He laughed. “I'll have to do more research just to keep up with her.” He looked at Kenichi. “I think Acula wanted to book so he could investigate the changes, and if possible, fix whatever was going wrong.” He ran his hands down the spines of the nearby books. “Our entire world is made up of the written word. If it comes untangled, then who knows what might happen?”

“But aren't the Critics the bad guys?” Kenichi asked.

Buch laughed. “To some. But to them, we're the bad guys. Sure, Acula may be a vampire, and Chandler might call him a dark lord, but maybe he's just misunderstood.”

The words “Dark Lord” rang through Kenichi's mind. He clutched his book tightly. Maybe this was his mission here. He needed to stop Acula. “Where does Professor Acula reside?” he asked.

Before Buch could answer, two pale arms burst through the back of the bookshelf and wrapped around Buch. The hissing face of a feratu poked through between the fallen books. One of the books scattered to the floor and popped open to a page in the middle. Shalecut spring from the pages and stood in the room. He looked at the confused face of Kenichi. “The Westphault Lines are easy to navigate, once you understand them,” he said. “Now, where is the pooka?”

“I don't know,” Kenichi said.

Shalecut stepped closer to him. “We have ways of making one talk,” he said, his eyes burning. He flicked his wrist again, but Kenichi caught the blow with Drowsysword. The book took the blow like a champ.

“Run, Kenichi!” said Buch. “Don't worry about me!”

Without a second thought, Kenichi upturned a chair onto Shalecut before running for the door. He popped it open, ran through it, then slammed it closed before running off into the lower levels of the Library.

Soon he was lost and out of breath. He rested his hand on the wall to catch his breath. The wall, however, shifted at his touch. That's when he realized that it wasn't a wall, but the back of a very large and imposing person in a button-down shirt. The figure stepped into the light, and Kenichi saw the bullish face and the two sharp horns. In this labyrinthine Library, he had found a minotaur.