The Library - The Complete Series (21 page)

Epilogue

I can hear her. She's downstairs, pacing about in her room. She's worried, and scared, and she's trying to decide what to do. I don't blame her. If I was in her position, I'd be terrified. She's lost in a world that makes no sense to her, and she's learning a great deal about herself. She'll need someone. Someone to talk to, someone who'll listen. That's where I come in. That's why I was left here, all those years ago.

Except.

There's been a change of plan. The Librarian chose me because he thought I could be trusted. He told me as much: he said that I had a fairly simple mind, and that I was the least likely to go crazy or succumb to corruption. Well, that was a nice compliment, but he was a little misguided. The thing is, after he left me in this cell, something happened. As things turned out, I wasn't necessarily alone in here. It took a long time for me to realize that there was something in the darkness with me, but and it took even longer for me to learn its name. Eventually, however, it started talking to me, and I found out that it had a plan of its own. It asked for my help, and eventually I agreed.

All I need now is for her to come up to visit me one more time.

Book 5:

The Last Grandapam

C
laire

Standing by the window, I watch as Natalia makes my bed. Apart from the nurses at the hospital where I had my back surgery, I can't remember the last time someone actually made my bed for me. It kinds of feels wrong somehow, as if I'm some upper-class person who gets her servants to do her bidding. Natalia, though, keeps insisting that it's her duty to look after me, and that there's absolutely no way I could ever, ever be expected to make my own bed. Frankly, she's treating me as if I'm some kind of royalty, which is kind of disturbing. Every time I try to intervene and do something for myself, she acts as if I'm breaking some sacred rule. Right now, I feel as if she'd rather scratch my eyes out than let me lift a finger to look after myself.

"So you don't mind being a servant?" I ask, watching as she tucks down the corners of the bedsheets. She seems to take such pleasure in her work, as if she cares about nothing else in the entire world.

"A servant?" She glances over at me.

"Isn't that what you are?" I continue. "You spend all your time working for other people. I mean, do you ever have a day off? Do you ever do anything for yourself?"

"This is my life," she replies, as if that explains everything.

"So you don't ever relax?"

"I relax by fulfilling my duties and knowing that I have done a good job."

"But you're a slave. Doesn't that ever bother you?"

"I was born to fulfill a certain role in life," she says. "I'm able to do this, day in and day out. I consider myself to be one of the luckiest people in any of the seven lands. All Grandapams seek to find a role to play, and to know their duties. I am one of the most blessed of my kind, for I know every day what I must do and how I must please my master."
"But you have no free will," I point out.

"Of course I have free will. I choose to do the things that make me happy." She carefully fluffs up my pillows. "Isn't everyone born for a purpose, Claire?"

"Maybe," I reply, "but -"

"And what is
your
purpose?"

I stare at her. "I don't know," I say after a moment. "I mean, I haven't worked it out yet."

"And don't you feel lost and scared?"

"I'm still young," I point out. "There's time for me to work it out."

"Then why do you pity me," she continues, "when I am the one who should pity
you
? After all, you're lost in life. You don't have a role. You're just adrift on a sea of possibilities. I, on the other hand, know exactly what I'll be doing every day for the rest of my days. I know what my master wants, and I know how to please him."

"Yeah," I reply, "but that doesn't mean you have to just be happy making beds for the rest of your life. Don't you want to get out there and see the world? What if you die without every really experiencing everything that's on offer? Would you really be willing to spend all your time just making a bunch of beds?"

"I don't
just
make beds," she replies with a smile. "I also cook and clean, and sometimes the Elders have huge feasts, and I have to ensure that everyone is happy. My role is to ensure the smooth running of the Citadel and to make sure that none of my superiors ever experience discomfort. Despite the difficult circumstances that have been forced upon us during the war, I have been able to adapt and to maintain my function. I take great pride in this success."

"And you're
happy
with that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," she says flatly, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

"Yes?"

"Yes." She stares at me. "You surprise me, Claire. I feel as if you think I should be unhappy with my situation."

"You're like a drone," I point out. "No offense, but you just go around doing what you're told."

"It's in my nature to please my master."

"And all Grandapams are like that?"

She nods. "Over the years, we've been bred to be this way." She starts gathering up the plates from my breakfast, which I was forced to eat in my room yet again. "It's so much easier. We don't have to worry about what we should be doing. We don't have to fight or engage in diplomacy. It's a very peaceful life." She pauses, and for the first time there's a hint of darkness in her eyes. "I think we shall be missed when we're gone. Unfortunately, the current age has not been kind to my people. There were thousands of us once, in service all across the land. When the Forbidders came, few could afford to keep their Grandapams. Many of us were driven to our fates earlier than we had expected. In fact, I believe I am the last of my kind."

"You can't be," I reply. "I saw some when I was in the Library."
"You did?" she asks, her expression brightening for a moment. "Did they look happy? Were they engaged in the employment of superiors?"

"Actually, they were..." I pause, realizing that I can't tell her that the Grandapams I met were being eaten by their masters. I feel a sickening sensation in the pit of my stomach as I think back to the way I was tricked into eating some Grandapam meat myself, before I discovered the truth. "It was only one or two of them," I continue eventually, deciding to be polite. "They were with some men who were using them for... various things. I didn't really see what they were doing."

"I've long suspected that there might be a few still dotted about," she says, resuming her usual smile, "but the fact remains, we're a species that has no place in the modern world. There are no longer Elders who need large groups of Grandapams to see to their every need. We're dying out, and I'm most certainly the last Grandapam in the Citadel. When I'm dead, the age of my people will be over." She pauses for a moment. "The Grandapams you met out in the Library are dead, Claire. I could sense their presence until a few nights ago, which was when I suddenly realized that they were gone. Whatever happened to them, I hope they met honorable deaths. I'm the last of my species now. I'm the last Grandapam, and it falls to me to ensure that our extinction takes place in a manner that lends honor and valor to our memory."

"And that doesn't bother you?" I ask. "You don't care that you're the last of your kind?"

"It pleases me that I have been able to live a good life," she replies, "and I hope that the Elders will very much enjoy the feast where they carve up my flesh. I hope that my rarity makes them appreciate me as a particular delicacy."

"When they what?"

"It is the final duty of every Grandapam to provide a hearty meal for his or her superiors," she says. "For our people, the ideal life is to work for the same master for many years, and eventually to surrender our body so that our master can enjoy a true feast. I'm told that our meat tastes rather good when it has been properly seasoned. The key, I believe, is to avoid using too much pepper, and to marinade us first in a little wine." With that, she turns and heads toward the door.

"Wait!" I call out, hurrying after her. "I think I misunderstood. It sounded like you're expecting people to
eat
you!"

"Of course they'll eat me," she says, maintaining her creepy grin. "That is how a Grandapam's years of service are brought to an end. We give up our lives for our superiors, and finally we give up our bodies. The meat from my bones will provide a healthy meal for my master. I shall die knowing that I have served my fullest purpose, and that my body will be picked clean by my master and his guests. He will honor his closest allies by inviting them to share my meat."
"You can't be serious," I reply, almost expecting her to suddenly admit that she's joking. Then again, she doesn't seem to have much of a sense of humor. Still, the thought of anyone giving themselves up to be eaten is, frankly, more than I can believe. I mean, it's one thing to allow yourself to be treated as a servant, but it's something else entirely to hop willingly onto the hot-plate. "You're totally happy for people to eat you?"

"Happy is the wrong word," she says, "but I am looking forward to the day when I reach my point of maximum usefulness to my superiors. Considering the shortages of food with which we are currently suffering, I feel that this day is drawing closer and closer. When it comes, I shall offer myself freely and without fear, and as the blade cuts into my body, I shall know that I'm being consumed in a manner that will benefit my superiors." She stares at me. "I can see that you don't understand my beliefs, Claire. However, we all must be consumed. It's simply the way that life works. In one way or another, every body is eventually broken down and absorbed into others."

"Still," I reply, "there's no need to embrace the whole thing quite so freely, is there? Doesn't it bother you that your whole life is spent serving others? Don't you want to branch out and actually
live
for once?"

"Such a strange sentiment, coming from one who was once a book." She pauses. "Before you were in human form, Claire, you sat on a shelf and you waited for people to come and open your cover and seek knowledge from your pages. Do you not remember what it was like to serve your readers in this way?"

"No," I say cautiously, "and I don't think that's the same thing at all. For one thing, being a book isn't the same as being a meal. It's not like people eat books. For another, I'm still not even sure I
was
a book. It's kind of a hard thing to get my head around."

"Such things are always difficult at first," she says, "but it takes time to adapt to one's role in life. Many people go through their entire existence without ever truly understand what they should be doing. They rush from one attempt to another, all the while feeling lost in a maelstrom of indecision and doubt. In most cases, they choose to cling to some absurd idea of freedom, as if any being can truly be said to be free. The reality is that we all have superiors and inferiors, and we should make sure that we recognize our place in the natural order."

"And there's no way you'd ever rebel or break free?" I ask. "When the time comes to jump onto the serving platter, you'll do it?"

"With gladness in my heart," she replies. "Some of our people even refuse to be slaughtered before the cooking commences. It's considered a mark of a strong Grandapam to remain conscious for as long as possible throughout the roasting process. I'm not sure whether I shall be so brave, but as the last of my people, I should probably do my best." She pauses for a moment. "Perhaps this is hard for you to understand, Claire, but it is the way my people have lived for centuries." She smiles, before turning and making her way out of the room and along the corridor. "I'll return soon with your lunch!" she calls back to me, as if we've just had the most ordinary conversation in the world.

Once she's gone, I find it hard to stop thinking about her insane willingness to give up her life and her body to others. I know that the Library operates by a different set of rules, and I know that I shouldn't be surprised if the whole place feels alien to me. At the same time, it's hard to believe that anyone could be so happy about the prospect of dying so that they can make someone else's life a little more comfortable. I can't help thinking that if I'm still here when Natalia eventually reaches the moment when she's supposed to surrender her body to the feast, I'm going to do everything in my power to get her to reconsider. Then again, do I have the right to interfere?

After a few minutes, I make my way carefully along the corridor and down the stairs, until I reach the door that leads into the kitchen. I can hear someone singing in the distance, and eventually I see Natalia over on the far side of the large room, busying herself with some pots and pans. As hard as it might be to believe, she seems genuinely happy with her life. Singing to herself, she seems engrossed in her work, and I realize that I'll probably never understand how her mind works. Turning and heading back to my room, I remind myself that it's probably not my place to start interfering and telling people how to live their lives. After all, I've got enough to deal with, now that there are people who believe I'm the reincarnation of an old book. The problem is, with Vanguard busy and Sharpe having fled, and with Natalia busy with her work, there's no-one I can talk to about the situation. Then again, as I reach the door to my room, I realize that there might be one other person who can help.