A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

The gazes of both fell to the suit of armor capping the aisle. The hero leaned against it, draping one arm over the knight’s shoulder as he eyed the librarian. “Why?”

“Why? Because I offered to inspire your auth—”

“No, I mean, why do your assistant and your puppy-eyed hanger-on deserve my protection?”

Claire chewed on the inside of her cheek. Truth was a gamble, but then all of this was. Claire hated gambles. “Because I’m not the monster you think I am. And I fervently hope, somewhere under that ridiculous coat, you’re not the childish brat I think you are. Brev is going to be librarian one day. A muse. First of her kind to run a wing of the Library, and she will deserve every bit of it. She’s clever, quick, and has more heart than I do. Maybe she’ll even be able to offer the unwritten that better life you seem to be obsessed with.”

“And the demon?”

“Leto.” Claire emphasized the name. “Leto is human, and may be more than meets the eye.”

“A demonic book is on the loose, the world in peril, and you ask me to guard children.” Hero shook his head. “What priorities. I would have thought you would make me swear on my life to retrieve the codex pages without you.”

Claire’s lips twitched. “I hadn’t thought of that. Can I get you to do both?”

Hero’s snort was a decided answer.

“I’ll stick with protecting Brev and Leto, then.” She took off toward the end of the aisle. “If you aren’t interested in my offer, of course, I could just lock you in with the damsels.”

“Damsels? What are—” Hero had to untangle himself from the armor before sprinting to keep up. “Slow down, damnable woman!”

“What, you thought you were the only book to ever wake up?” Claire stopped in front of a frosted-glass door. She knocked once, then ducked in. “You’re not even the prettiest.”

She shut the door after Hero followed, stopping short just inside the threshold with a confused grunt. She couldn’t blame him. The room was a marked difference from the long book-lined canyons of the Library. It was a cozy sitting room; shelves cluttered the walls and overstuffed chairs dotted the corners, occupied by a cluster of animated figures, mostly women. One pored over a microscope at a far table, sleeves of a thick Victorian dress rolled up and stained with ink. A wartime housewife on the couch balanced a magazine on her knees as she showed off pages to a young boy. Near the fire, a fair-haired princess snuggled contentedly with a pigtailed girl in overalls. A captivating alien of no particular gender played a complex, vertical version of chess in one corner. Their entrance had gotten the room’s attention, and a dozen pairs of eyes roved curiously over Hero before Claire shooed them off. She’d never allowed herself to learn their names—Brevity had always been better at such things—but they all knew her.

“What… what kind of prison is this?” Hero had to drop his voice under the censuring gaze of the pair of ladies nearest them.

“No prison. A sanctuary, perhaps,” Claire said. “Most books wake up as heroes like you—sending out their most empowered, admirable characters into the world. Puffed-up peacocks set on making messes and throwing tantrums to get their way. We send them back to their own stories straightaway.”

Hero opened his mouth to protest, but Claire waved him off. “And why not? Not that it’s my concern, but they’re perfectly happy as masters of their own domain in their stories. But sometimes, it’s not the hero.”

“You called them damsels.”

“Stupid name,” said the girl in pigtails sitting to their right. She met their looks with a wrinkled nose. “We ain’t even all girls.”

“It’s just a category,” Claire said. “Sometimes, a book wakes up as a character that has reason to be dissatisfied with their story. No agency. Flatly written. Just another reward for the hero—”

“Heteronormative bullshit,” the girl added.

It would not be proper to be amused right now. “As she says,” Claire agreed. “They have no interest in living it out—they’re happy their story has gone unwritten. We call them damsels because, most of the time, they’re women. Wonder why that is.”

Hero ignored the look cast at him on behalf of his gender.

Claire continued. “If their authors are dead and gone, it seems unnecessary to send them back and simpler to let them stay, as long as they remain in the Library and entertain themselves. Learn things. Make up their own minds. Some even find families. So the damsel suite was established.” She turned to Hero with a speculative look. “Though I’m sure they might let a pretty hero like you join if you would rather stay behind.”

Hero eyed the gathered damsels, color overtaking his cheeks as he made eye contact with a rogue with a wicked smile. Beside him there was a slender, pale-haired princess who flashed a charming smile and hesitantly waggled her fingers. The combined attention appeared to be too much. Hero looked down and surprised her with a flustered noise. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Claire leaned against the doorknob, indulging in a good modest gloat. Hero’s cheeks were still pink, and she didn’t miss the small interested glances he gave femme and masculine damsels in equal measure. “Frankly, I’d be impressed if you survived five minutes in here. I didn’t figure you for the shy sort, Hero. It is almost endearing.”

“Whatever.” Hero stiffened as a damsel nearby got up and reached past him for a book on a shelf. She winked, which appeared to unnerve him more. He skittered back a step, rubbing a delightfully pink cheek. “Fine. Take me with you. I’ll agree to your little promise.”

“Glad to hear it.” Claire paused to exchange a few words with the damsels. She didn’t bother with the details, but sketched a vague reason for the Library’s temporary shuttering. She guided Hero out the door, closed it with a click, and took off again. “It was a close call last time. Heaven’s not catching us defenseless again.”

After they returned to the front desk, Claire and Brevity left the boys to finish packing. Librarian and muse disappeared into the stacks for several long minutes to conduct the arcane parts of shutting down the Unwritten Wing.

Gradually, the Library took on a different tenor. The light spilling from shaded lamps drifted to a cooler tone, fading from amber to blue before dimming entirely. The shadows deepened. The deer that had frolicked in a nearby pastoral painting cast nervous glances outside the frame and disappeared into the oil-painted woods. The air became hushed and heavy.

Claire’s last act of business was to pat the gargoyle as they slipped out into the corridor. “Hold down the fort, friend,” she murmured. She half turned to look back but abruptly thought better of indulging the guilt that twisted in her stomach. She squared her shoulders and led the party toward the stairs at the far end of the hall. “Hopefully Andras is ready to go.”