The Cornerstone (11 page)

‘Not so fast, you demonic git!’ he shouted and kicked Jacob so hard between the legs, the man’s feet left the floor. The Jacob-thing looked about as surprised as a purple-and-black-smoke-eyed-demon-from-beyond-space can when it gets kicked in the cobblers.

Max stood triumphantly over his vanquished enemy for a moment, before realising that the rest of the evil hoard were starting to creep towards him, snarling like dogs.

He looked down at Mini-Merelie, who was now clinging to his leg. ‘Um… if you’ve got any ideas how to get us out of this, now’s the time, ‘ he said.

Mini-Merelie looked at the ravening hoard and let out another high, piercing scream.

The universe took this as a cue to explode again.

It’d happened so many times by now, Max was starting to find it a tad boring.

- 9 -

Max awoke back in the plush entrance hall to the Library, sat next to Merelie. He gave his rear end a rub, which felt like it had recently made contact with something hard and flagstone shaped.

Merelie was staring at him.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘You kicked my father between the legs,’ she said in disbelief.

‘Technically, I kicked a purple-and-black-smoke-eyed-demon-from-beyond-space in the shape of your father between the legs, I think you’ll find.’

Merelie looked down at The Cornerstone. ‘The dream’s never finished like that before. I usually just scream and wake up as my father’s hands close round my throat.’

‘Glad to provide a bit of variety then.’

Borne came over and put an arm around his mistress.  ‘Are you alright, girl? I told you that wasn’t a good idea.’

‘I’m fine Borne. I’ve been through that so many times now I’m more than used to it.’

‘You’ve had the dream a lot then?’ Max said.

‘At least once a week for ten years. Others like it, too. They always run along the same lines, though. You were in the version I tend to have the most.’

‘Nasty.’

‘Do you understand now?’

‘Yeah, I get what you’re on about. There are things out there in this place between worlds that have noticed you lot monkeying about creating doorways and they want to suck your brains out through your eyeballs. That about cover it?’

‘It’s one way of putting it,’ said Merelie, frowning.

‘Fair enough. I can understand why you’d want help with that and I guess a mega powerful Wordsmith from another dimension would fit the bill.’ Max gave her an incredulous look. ‘Why the hell you’d think it would be me is bonkers, though. There’s no magic in my world – from books or anywhere else.’

‘But there is, boy,’ a cracked and aged voice said from over by the door, ‘you just have to know where to look for it.’

‘You know what?’ said Max, looking over at the new arrival. ‘I’m getting bloody sick of that happening all the time.’

If it were possible to splice a human with a frog and a prune, this person would be the result. Tiny and wrinkled, it looked like he’d been left on a hot wash for half an hour too long.

The little man wore a serviceable plain robe in the dark green that denoted membership of the House of Carvallen. He also wore round-rimmed spectacles and had hair as white as snow, cropped close to his head. His face looked a bit like a new born baby’s. Which in other words meant he looked like Winston Churchill.

He had ‘wiseman’ written all over him.

‘You’re not a fan of dramatic timing then, Mr Bloom?’ said the frog prune as he floated over.

‘You what? How do you know my name?’

‘Timing is the essence of a good story… fictional or otherwise, Max,’ he explained. ‘I’ve read more than enough to know that. As to your second question, let’s just say I’m in the position to know most of what goes on in and around the Chapter House… and who’s involved,’ he said and offered Max a wise smile.

Good grief, this one’s going to be annoying.

Merelie moved closer to the walking wrinkle and took his frail looking hands in hers.

‘Garrowain, it’s so good to see you again.’

‘And you too, child.’ He looked over at Max. ‘You’ve been busy I see.’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure it served much of a purpose.’

‘Purpose only chooses to reveal itself at the right time, child,’ the old man said, so wisely it was nauseating.

‘This is Garrowain, Max,’ Merelie told him. ‘He’s the head custodian of the Carvallen library. He oversees all those who look after the books in our Chapter House. He’s a dear friend and has helped me interpret my dreams. Without him, I’d know nothing of your world and you’d never have seen my message.’

Max rolled his eyes. He wasn’t much of a book reader, but he’d seen enough movies to know this old codger was revered by everyone and could probably provide a sage and apt quotation for any situation.

‘So let me get this straight, it’s your fault Merelie thinks I’m Captain Magic – and the reason I’m going to get skinned alive by purple monsters?’

‘As I’m sure you’re aware by now, it isn’t about you specifically Mr Bloom,’ Garrowain said, in a level tone. ‘We believe the potential to be a great Wordsmith may exist in many of your race. You were just the one lucky enough to find Merelie’s plea for help.’

‘Lucky?’

‘Indeed! To learn Wordcraft is a great honour. You will be the first from your world to do so and will tap a source of power as yet untouched by your people.’

‘Will I?’

‘Indeed. We will open both your eyes and your mind to the power we believe is within you. You will be able to face any horrors the void can muster.’

‘And what if I can’t? What if I’m about as magical as a drunk squirrel in leg warmers?’

Garrowain’s train of thought was somewhat derailed by this. Merelie – who was getting used to Max’s turn of phrase – answered for him.

‘We don’t believe that’s possible. It simply can’t be. All those books, all that potential power… ‘

‘See, this is the bit I still don’t get.’ Max said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

‘You’re still confused about how we regard your world, Mr Bloom?’ the custodian said, having finally pushed the vision of an inebriated tree-dwelling mammal out of his head.

‘That’s a wild understatement.’

Garrowain narrowed his eyes, assessing the irate teenager. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered and turned on his heels, floating back in the direction of the doorway.

This is the last time I’m blindly following somebody into a strange place.

Max made his way over to the door, into the library proper and whatever awaited him on the other side.

- 10 -

The dreadful mist was back.

It hung high in the large circular room they all now stood in, blanketing the ceiling and defying all laws of precipitation.

The room itself looked much more old fashioned and gothic than the rest of the Chapter House. It was all sweeping buttresses and knobbly stonework.

Several arched doorways were sat at regular intervals in the smooth, grey stone wall and tall metal sconces were placed between them. They were the same as those on the upper floors, containing orbs of light which gave off a pleasant blue glow, illuminating the large chamber and the underside of the disconcerting mist.

The temperature had dropped several degrees and Max was glad he’d elected to wear his hoodie today.

‘It’s so good to be here again,’ said Merelie.

‘You absent yourself for too long these days, my girl,’ Garrowain agreed.

‘Circumstances have been against her, custodian,’ Borne said, defending his mistress.

All three of them were acting like devout parishioners in a church; speaking in hushed tones and moving around in a careful, quiet manner. This was obviously a sacred place to the people of the Carvallen Chapter House.

Max was having none of it.

‘What’s this gaff, then?’ he said in a loud voice.

‘This is the Main Hub of the Carvallen Library, Mr Bloom,’ the custodian replied. ‘From here we can visit any section we desire.’

‘Ah, right. Does that include the one with the invisible book chucking lunatic?’

‘You refer to the Guardian of the Stacks, I assume? That entity only roams the corridors of the Library devoted to supernatural texts. It is the physical embodiment of dark writings, produced by many disturbed individuals.’

‘Ah… nut jobs.’ Max flashed the old man a quick grin.

Garrowain chose to ignore this and walked over to a pedestal in the centre of the room on which – naturally - sat a book.

This one looked properly magical in Max’s opinion. Not boring and ordinary like The Cornerstone.

It was huge, with an ornate silver and green cover, replete with embossed writing, curly filigree and other somewhat unnecessary artistic flourishes. The pages inside looked like they’d been dunked in tea for a fortnight. It even had an ostentatious padlock, keeping the book’s secrets from all but those with the appropriate levels of wisdom and glaring self-righteousness.

Garrowain fished out an elaborate silver key from his robe, twiddled it in the lock and opened the great tome.

‘This another magic book then, Gandalf? What are you gonna do with it, turn me into a banana?’ Max asked.

Garrowain picked up a long quill from the pedestal and paused to look at him. ‘Mr Bloom, I can assure you the rise you are attempting to get out of me with your rather coarse behaviour will not manifest. I take no pleasure in the situation we find ourselves in, nor in what must be done to resolve it. Therefore, directing your anger at me is pointless. You should learn a little trust.’

‘If you say so, Yoda. But if you don’t mind, when it comes to trusting what people say around here, I’ll keep my options open, alright?’

Merelie touched him on the arm. ‘He’s telling the truth, Max. Garrowain wouldn’t lie.’

‘Your caution does you credit, young man,’ the old man said and turned back to the great book on the pedestal.

He opened it to a page about halfway through. Max peeked over his shoulder.

Several entries had been made in a variety of hands:

Information on the fermentation of alcohol from summer fruits.

The story by Mecledies about the formation of House Wellhome.

The Siren and the Sailor by Halbroke.

The nomad settlements and geography of the Northern Carvallen plains, circa Year of Writing 1,958.

Below the last entry, Garrowain wrote:

Earth: its discovery, people, and relationship with our own world.

As the custodian completed the ‘d’ of world, the letters flashed in the same silver light that came from The Cornerstone.

For the first time in a while, the million strong choir returned to the stage and gave a great performance of their hit
Aaahhhh
. To accompany them, there was a loud grinding noise coming from somewhere beyond the stone walls.

Merelie, Borne and Garrowain seemed to take this in their stride, so Max guessed it was meant to happen and that the ceiling wasn’t about to fall on his head.

 ‘What’s going on now?’ he asked Merelie.

‘The Library is finding the right section,’ she shouted over the din. ‘Garrowain wrote what he wishes to view in the Codex and the Library will bring it to us.’

‘The library takes
you
to the book you want?’

‘Yes, of course! That’s how libraries work.’

Max started to ask another question, but stopped himself. ‘This is more weird magical stuff I’m never going to understand, isn’t it?’

Merelie smiled.

The choir abruptly stopped its caterwauling and the grinding subsided. The door directly opposite the pedestal flashed silver along its edges.

‘The centre door today, it seems,’ Garrowain said and walked over to it.

Merelie and Borne followed with Max in tow, a look of deep distrust on his face. The old man pressed a hand to the door, muttered softly under his breath and it swung open.

It led onto a long corridor of bookshelves, much like the one Max had materialised in yesterday. The only difference he could spot was that here the books looked more colourful and a tad friendlier.

‘Follow me,’ said Garrowain, ‘it won’t be far along.’

The little man strode away with the assurance of someone who has done so a thousand times before. Merelie and Borne followed with similar confidence.

Max
crept
across the threshold, eyeing the doorway and poised to run like a scalded cat the second he spotted tentacles.

As he forced himself to speed up to catch the others, he was surprised to see books he could actually read. Not only could he read them, he’d seen a lot of them before.

‘Er… where did these come from?’ he said to Garrowain, as they walked past the entire Wilt saga by Tom Sharpe. ‘These books are from my world.’ He glanced over at the complete works of Barbara Cartland. ‘Why are they in your library?’

Garrowain stopped just opposite Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venus. ‘We can’t understand a society without reading its words.’

‘It’s a weird selection,’ Max critiqued, wondering if the Haynes Manual for the Austin Montego was in here anywhere.

‘Your world is a new find and we are a relatively young House, Mr Bloom. We are still learning and discovering which texts to embrace. There’s been so much written by your people over the centuries.’

‘You’re not going to learn much from that one, chief,’ Max said, pointing at a copy of Paris Hilton’s biography.

Garrowain gave him another one of those insufferable smiles and continued his way along the corridor.

There were many books here, in many languages. Max supposed there was probably a sample from every country on Earth.

As they progressed, he noticed the books becoming incomprehensible again. They were evidently leaving the part of the library where books from Earth were stored and moving into a section Max guessed was full of books
about
Earth, written by the people of this world.

There were a lot of them. Earth looked to be quite a popular place.

He mentioned this to Merelie.

‘It is,’ she said. ‘It’s a recent discovery, fascinating to read and write about.’