Bestial Acts (3 page)

I was grateful for the fact that no-one seemed to notice me in that bookshop. In my mind, it had become an extension of my room. It was a private place where reality didn’t intrude.

I was scared when someone eventually spoke to me. It was one of the clerks. He was wearing the ugly brown and yellow staff uniform. Adult alert! But, really, he must have been only seventeen or eighteen. Twenty at most. Adult enough for me back then.

“You love those books, huh? I’ve been noticing you for a few weeks now.”

I must’ve looked like he was pointing a gun to my head. That’s how I felt.

He chuckled, “Hey, don’t worry, kid. You can read all you want. No-one cares here. The bosses never come into the store. No-one’s gonna bother you.”

He stretched out his hand. “I’m Alan.”

I managed to bring myself to shake his hand. I immediately felt much better. He shook my hand firmly, making me feel like a real person.

I gave him my name, and we started chatting. It didn’t take long for the conversation to become one-sided. I was starved for attention, and here was someone willing to listen to all my outlandish ideas without laughing at me.

I must’ve paused for breath because Alan managed to say something. “Hey, listen, Lucas, have you ever heard of Lost Pages?”

From his shirt pocket, he whipped out a stack of bookmarks, flipped through them, and selected one. “Here. I’ve never heard of this encyclopaedia you’re looking for, but if any store can find it for you it’s this one. You should go sometime. Really.” This was a familiar scene for me. Booksellers were always trying to fob me off on one another, hoping I'd leave. In the same breath he quickly added: “Hey, I gotta get back to work. See ya, Lucas. Okay?”

I could see in his face that I’d kinda freaked him out. I was much more than he’d bargained for. He was too nice a guy to be anything but polite, but, even back then, as socially inept as I was, I could tell he was relieved to be rid of me.

The winged skeleton raised his arm and, trembling, wrapped his fingers around Aydee’s wrist. Despite his wounds, he had a strong grip. The fallen warrior brought Aydee’s hand to rest on the satchel he carried. Then, the skeleton’s hand clattered against the ground. Aydee put the feather across his outstretched fingers.

She flipped open the satchel and found inside a thick leatherbound volume. She took out the heavy book. There were strange characters embossed on its cover and spine. For all she knew they could have been the letters of a foreign language, like Arabic or Japanese, but she suspected their origin was less mundane. Aydee looked through the book, hoping, but doubting, that it might point to a course of action. Was the skeleton dying? How could she help?

Inside, the book was filled with the same sort of symbols as on its cover. It was no help; she couldn’t understand anything. But then she found a bookmark tucked between the endpapers and the front cover. Printed in English, in the same colours as the skeleton’s feathers, it read “Lost Pages”—with a street address and a phone number.

She knew the name of that street. She remembered sitting in the bus with the woman, on the way to the old crone’s house, reading street signs through the window. She could recite the name of all those streets, in order. Getting there would be easy.

She was reluctant to leave the skeleton unguarded. But, she reasoned, no-one else could see him, and, if the darkness—or some other threat—returned, what could she possibly do against it?

As it turned out, I didn’t even have to ask for
The Clarence & Charles Old World Encyclopaedia
. It was right there on the shelves of Lost Pages.

The tables, shelves, and counters were packed with books that I had never seen anywhere before. Illustrated bestiaries in arcane languages. Histories of places I had never heard of. Theological essays on mysterious religions with equally mysterious names.

And the dogs . . . there were dogs all over the place. Big and fat. Little and furry. Cuddly and goofy. Slobbering, with their tongues hanging down to the floor. Sleeping, with their paws stretched up into the air. And they were all friendly. This place was heaven. Everything I wanted was right here.

I sat down on the floor, hidden (or so I thought) from the old man at the desk. I flipped open a volume of the
Clarence & Charles
that I’d never seen before, and, instead of frantically flipping back and forth, incessantly checking cross-references as I usually did with the encyclopaedia, I started reading on the first page. A brown Lab mutt trotted over to me, sniffed my nose, and put her head in my lap.

Aydee’s quest to help the fallen warrior, to find Lost Pages, filled her with a sense of purpose. Never in her life had she felt moved to do or accomplish anything. She’d existed from day to day. Waiting. Waiting for nothing, because nothing ever changed.

She would find the shop. She would help the warrior. She had to. For the first time in her life she felt needed. She could not ignore that.

She ran toward Lost Pages, hugging the big, heavy book to her chest.

I completely lost track of time. I was harrumphed out of my reverie by the old man, who, standing at the front desk, had been sorting through a pile of books when I’d come into the shop. He was round-faced, with a big nose, a mischievous smile, and a thick, grey beard. He was wearing the trademark “old bookseller” cardigan.

He was holding a stool in his hands. He put it down close to me and sat. Several of the dogs came to see what was going on. All of a sudden a bunch of them were sniffing and licking my face.

The old man clapped his hands, and the dogs stopped. “I’m afraid we’re closing up. You’ve been reading that book all day.”

Uh-oh. This time I was really caught, I thought. There was no way I could pay for this book. He was just gonna throw me out. I wouldn’t get away with this again, I was sure. So close. I was so close. I was holding it in my hands!

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll put the book aside for you. You can come back tomorrow and read some more.”

I was halfway back to my parents’ house when I realized that I hadn’t said a word to him. I’d simply handed him back the book and bolted out. I just ran. Ran all the way to my parents’ house and into my bedroom and shut the door.

The shopkeeper looked anxious. He listened carefully to the young girl, all the while petting a large, goofy-looking Saint Bernard. The shopkeeper’s other hand was resting on the skeleton’s book, which Aydee had brought with her.

“You’re very brave. And smart. You did the right thing. I’ll close up, and we’ll go right away.” He shooed out the few browsers who were loitering in the cramped shop and locked the door. “Wait for me here. I have to get something in the back.” When the man walked away, the Saint Bernard came up to Aydee and licked her fingers.

The shopkeeper came back holding an oversize child’s wagon. “We’ll use this to carry him back here.”

The Saint Bernard and two other dogs followed them out. The shopkeeper asked the others—the place was bustling with canines of all sizes and shapes—to stay behind. He dug into his jacket pocket and, before locking up, threw a handful of biscuits inside the shop.

He harnessed the vehicle to the two large dogs. The Saint Bernard’s companion was a powerful-looking blond Labrador. A small, thin, black terrier mutt—barely larger than a cat—jumped on the wagon being pulled by the other two dogs.

Aydee led the group to where she’d left the fallen warrior. He was nowhere in sight. “He was right here. I swear he was! I swear.”

“I believe you.” The shopkeeper knelt by the lamppost the girl had indicated. “Look,” he picked up something off the ground and showed it to Aydee. “Bone splinters—and feathers.”

“But where did he go?” Aydee bent down and carefully picked up one of the sharp feathers. She wanted to keep something to remember him by.

“I don’t know. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do but try. You did your best.”

“Is he—?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Maybe we’ll never know. Maybe he’ll come back to the shop tomorrow to get the book again. Maybe not.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

The shopkeeper began, “I guess I should head—” He stared at the girl’s eyes. He wrinkled his brow and scrutinized her.

“You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”

“I—I. . . . No.” She started to sniffle. The small terrier immediately ran to her. He jumped up into her arms and licked her face.

The man stood there for a few seconds, pondering, while the girl hid her face in the dog’s fur.

“My name’s Lucas.” He exhaled deeply. “I’m really hungry. Come on, let’s have some lunch.”