Simon Green - The Spy Who Haunted Me

“And your first contact with this dimension was through the Blue Fairy,” I said thoughtfully.

“Yes; he went fishing through the dimensions and happened to catch on to a very small part of me.”

“He opens dimensional doors,” the Matriarch said slowly. “And we brought him here, into the Hall, during the Hungry Gods War. On your recommendation, Edwin.”

“He betrayed my trust,” I said. “But he couldn’t be our traitor.”

“Why not?” said the Armourer. “What do we really know about him? A half elf, product of an elven father and a human mother. We have a pretty good idea of who the father was, but I don’t think anyone ever identified the mother . . . Could she have been a Drood? It would help explain why the Blue Fairy was so desperate to steal a torc from us.”

“I once discovered the Blue Fairy lurking in the old library,” I said. “Maybe he was looking for evidence of his family roots . . .”

“We need to talk with William,” said the Matriarch. “Ethel, establish a communication link, please.”

“Oh, sure! No problem! I love doing stuff like this. You know the material laws of your dimension are really easy to mess with. Basically because they’re not so much laws as local agreements. I could—”

“No, you couldn’t,” I said quickly. “Contrary to anything you may hear us say, we actually do like things the way they are. Just give us a window to the old library, please.”

Ethel sniffed. “You’re so unadventurous. And you never did get around to explaining this sex thing you all do . . .”

“ Later, Ethel. The window, please . . .”

The air shimmered before us, and a pair of heavy plush velvet purple curtains appeared. There was a loud trumpet fanfare from nowhere, followed by a roll of drums, and then the curtains opened dramatically to reveal a view into the old library. Hard to tell where, exactly; one tall stack of dusty old bookshelves looks much like another. The light was a dull golden glow, like a patina of age impressed upon the air itself. William appeared abruptly before us, thrusting his angry face right at us, a bit like one of these three-dimensional images gone feral. With his heavily lined face, fierce eyes, and lengthening gray hair and beard, William looked a lot like one of those Old Testament prophets, the ones who specialised in predicting really bad things happening anytime soon.

“There is absolutely no need to ring an incredibly loud bell at this end when you want to talk to me! I am crazy, not deaf! You know I don’t like loud noises. Or squirrels . . .”

“Report your progress, Librarian,” said the Matriarch, cutting across what promised to be a lengthy diatribe.

William scowled at her. “Say please.”

The Matriarch sighed. “Edwin, would you like to be head of this family again?”

“Just say please to him and get it over with,” I said.

“Oh, very well. Please,” said the Matriarch.

“Didn’t sound like you meant it,” William said cunningly. “Say pretty please.”

“Pretty please!”

“Very good, Matriarch! Now try disestablishmentarianism in Krakatoa east of Java.”

“William . . .” I said.

He pouted. “No one knows how to have fun in this family. All right; progress report.” He sniffed a few times and blinked his eyes just a bit vaguely. “I’m still putting together a list of all the books missing from the old library. Some quite important volumes and documents are not where they should be. Mostly to do with our own family history . . .”

“That’s it?” said the Armourer. “That’s all you’ve done? You’ve had months!”

“Don’t shout! Or I’ll have a mood swing. You know I’m still not properly myself yet.” The Librarian clasped his hands together tightly, perhaps so we wouldn’t see how badly they were shaking. “Being in the old library helps. I feel safe here. Secure.”

“We have prepared a very comfortable room for you in east wing,” said the Matriarch. “It’s got a view. Not much of a view, perhaps, but still . . .”

“No! No . . .” William shook his head jerkily. “I’m not ready to be with other people. Not yet. Had enough of that in the asylum. It’s easier to be me when I’m not . . . distracted. I like it here, among the books. I trust them. You know where you are with books . . .” He stopped and looked around him uncertainly for a moment. “Though sometimes I still see things out of the corners of my eyes . . . Might be real. Might not. I don’t take chances anymore . . . Eddie, good to see you again! Always good to see you. Yes . . . Did you want something?”

“The books that have gone missing from the old library,” I said patiently. “You said they concerned Drood family history.”

“One hundred and twenty-seven items, so far,” the Librarian said instantly. He was immediately more precise and focused, once he was on safe ground again. “Books, folios, even original manuscripts. Some I can only identify from their titles or from gaps left on the shelves. No idea about the actual contents. We really must assemble a proper index, as a matter of urgency. There are some gaps on the shelves I can’t explain at all . . .

“My first thought was that the books might have been taken by the Zero Tolerance faction, to hand over to Truman’s Manifest Destiny group . . . but I am told a thorough search of their abandoned bases has failed to turn up a single volume, so . . . I’ve been working on the assumption that the traitor in our family is responsible. Perhaps he intended to sell them to our enemies. Perhaps they contained clues to his true identity . . .”

He stopped again to look jerkily about him. “This is the old library,” he said slowly. “Long thought lost and destroyed. Not the library I used to run before the Heart destroyed my mind . . . No. This is an old place, older than you think. Older than anyone thinks. Listen to me, Martha. I may not be the man I once was, and I may have trouble with my memory, but I am not crazy. Even if I sometimes play it, just to watch that vein throb in your forehead. I can say I am not crazy with some confidence, because I have been crazy, and I know what it feels like. This . . . is different. There’s something in here, with me. Hiding in the stacks, in the shadows, in the gaps . . . Watching. Waiting. I don’t know what it is or how long it might have been here. Maybe it’s always been here. Sometimes I think it’s a good thing, sometimes not. Maybe there was a good reason why the old library had to be lost . . . And maybe, just maybe, when we reopened the old library, we woke it up again.

“I’m pretty sure there’s something inside the Merlin Glass too. You should be careful, Eddie. Check the reflection for things that shouldn’t be there . . .”

He broke off as his young assistant Librarian, Rafe, appeared beside him in the window. Rafe had been made family Librarian in William’s absence but immediately stood aside on William’s return. Rafe was the first to admit he wasn’t in William’s league. He patted William comfortingly on the shoulder. Rafe had a kind, almost clerical face and a first-class mind when he concentrated.

“There you are,” he said chidingly to William. “I take my eye off you for ten minutes . . . You didn’t take your medication again this morning, did you?”

“Turns my piss blue,” grumbled William. “Never trust anything that turns your piss blue.”

Rafe looked out the window at me. “Is this anything I can help you with? The Librarian really isn’t strong, you know. He should be having his rest period now.”

“I am not a child, Rafe,” said the Librarian. “I do not need a rest period.”

“All right then,” Rafe said patiently. “Why not come and have a nice sit-down, then? I’ve just made a fresh pot of tea.”