Castle Perilous

Keep — Upper Levels

Osmirik was near exhaustion, but kept climbing. The smell of books grew ever stronger. He knew the library was on one of these high floors. The smell had led him up here.

He had first noticed his peculiar new power shortly after he had become separated from Melydia, a happenstance he regretted not the slightest. In fact, his intention was to stop her. Only the knowledge available in the castle’s library could help him. At first he had despaired even of finding a way back to the invading army’s staging area, but as he’d wandered blindly, the unmistakable smell of books — must, dust, and old parchment — had come to his nose and would not leave. He had always loved the smell, of course. At one point on the lower levels the odor grew quite strong. He followed his nose into a bedroom with a bookcase holding a few volumes of forgettable lyric poetry.

But now he knew he was on the right track. If a library could have a scent, he was hot on it like a hound with its snout to the trail.

Other smells came, most of them unfamiliar. His olfactory sense had sharpened to an astonishing degree. It was apparent that books were not the only things he could seek out, if he wished to. This newfound talent entailed the ability to sniff one’s way to anything desired. Everything around him had an identifiable smell — this table, that tapestry, here a candle, there a sconce. Everything, anything. It was odd, and somewhat disconcerting, but less so than he would have thought. None of the odors were overpowering or especially bad. Some were quite pleasant. And if he wished, he could ignore them all.

He proceeded down the empty corridor warily, but not inordinately concerned for his safety. He had passed numerous aspects, ignoring them. Strange eyes had regarded him out of shadow; he had walked on. He was possessed of a sense of mission. There was little time, and the situation grew more dangerous by the hour.

Light ahead, coming from a doorway. He looked in. The room was pleasantly furnished, and he considered stopping to rest, but decided against it. He strode on to the next door, which was closed. He put his ear to it first, heard nothing. Then he grasped the handle and pushed.

Music, laughter, noise. He beheld a room full of strangely dressed people, most of them standing in little groups and engaged in animated conversation. The general mood seemed festive. He smelled alcohol. The music was loud, harsh, and discordant. The room’s appointments were odd, and beyond the huge windows a vast and brilliantly lighted city sprawled endlessly. The sight took his breath away.

“Isn’t the masquerade tomorrow night?” The voice belonged to a young man seated by the door.

“Hall costume,” a young woman sitting beside him remarked.

“Hall costume? Jeez, I’ve got a lot to learn about these things.”

They both looked up at him curiously. The young man’s gaze was drawn to the corridor behind him.

“Hey, I thought that was the connecting door to the other suite,” the young man said. “Where’s that —”

Osmirik closed the door and continued down the corridor. But he stopped. Something made him go back and cautiously open the door again.

Nothing but a dark, empty room.

The next door let into another bedroom, and the next was locked. He knew the library was near. The smell of learning was pungent in his nostrils. He ran to the next oaken door.

Here! The door flew open onto a vast room of books. He leaned against the doorjamb, taking deep breaths and casting his eyes about the huge chamber. He straightened up and went in, closing the door behind him.

The silence was deep, yet it was the sort of restful, contemplative silence befitting and peculiar to a library. He saw no one immediately about the main floor, and as he walked through the open stacks, he looked down each aisle, finding no one.

He stopped. How was this place organized? In all his years, even those he had spent at university, he had never seen this many books in one place. It was a hundred times as big as any other library in existence. He had not thought there could be this many books in the world. Obviously the librarians here, if any, had a method of keeping track of what was where. It would almost be a necessity. But what? And where?

He heard footsteps and looked to his left. Someone was walking along the far aisle. He moved down the aisle he was in, paralleling the other’s path. At length he reached the end of the stacks and stopped, looking out over an area occupied by reading tables. He watched the end of the far aisle.

A tall man emerged, wearing a simple brown cloak. He walked past the tables, stopping at one end of a long cabinet with hundreds of small drawers. He searched, then chose a drawer, opened it and riffled through the stacks of pasteboard cards contained therein.

Osmirik had heard of a card catalog, but the only one he knew of was far away in the library of the Imperial University, in Hunra, the capital city of the Eastern Empire. Osmirik had never been there.

He stepped out and approached the stranger.

The man seemed to sense a presence long before he could have heard Osmirik’s careful step. The man turned and smiled. “Greetings,” he said.

Osmirik stopped. “Are you the librarian?”

The man took a moment to consider the matter before saying, “Yes, sir. Can I be of any assistance?”

“You can. I wish to see what you have on the subject of demonology.”

For a brief moment the man fixed him in a penetrating gaze. Then he said, “Of course, sir. This way.”

He led Osmirik into an aisle running between the end of the stacks and a row of carrels. They walked along until they came to a winding stairwell, which they mounted to the first gallery. As they moved along a railed walkway, Osmirik surveyed the expansive floor below, his wonder renewed. The librarian stopped in front of a tier of shelves.

“Now, as far as demonology is concerned, the main titles are here. However, there are more in a special section for oversize folios, located on the first floor. There are not many of those, and I will fetch them for you. As you can see, there is not much overall. It is a subject for which field research can be problematical.”

“I quite understand.”

“There exist many excellent works of a theoretical bent, but I must warn you that they are far from definitive.”

Osmirik regarded him. “Oh? Are you versed in the subject?”

“I would like to believe so. I have for years been engaged in research along those lines.”

“Indeed? I would be grateful for any assistance you could give me.”

“I am at your service, sir.” The man bowed.

“Thank you. Would you fetch those oversize portfolios for me?”

“Certainly, sir.”

The librarian left, and Osmirik scanned the shelves. He was amazed. There were works here he’d only heard of, volumes of surpassing rarity. He chose one, an ancient work on demoniacal taxonomy. He opened it and carefully leafed through.

He’d best get to work. He picked two more books and carried them to a nearby table, sat down and began to study.

Presently he was aware of the librarian at his side.

“Yes?”

“The oversize portfolios, sir.”

“Put them here.”

“Yes, sir. You might also be interested in this work.”

He held out what looked like an ancient scroll. Osmirik took it and read the title. It was written in an unusual form of hieratic Lutonian with which Osmirik was quite familiar, having done his thesis in the history of the Lutonian Empire.

He was astounded, and in an awed murmur said, “The Book of Demons!” This work was not only rare; most eminent scholars were convinced it was no longer extant. Indeed, there were some scholars who claimed the book was merely a legend.

“Where …?”

“Yes, an exceedingly arcane work. I have read it.”

Osmirik was incredulous. “You have?”

“Yes. I hope you will find it useful. I did to some extent.” The librarian looked off. “But it did not tell me exactly what I needed to know.”

“I see,” Osmirik said, his voice barely audible.

The librarian sighed and looked down at him. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Ah … no.” Osmirik managed to smile. “You have been very helpful.”

“Only too happy, sir.”

The librarian turned to go, walked a few paces away, then stopped and turned slowly around. “There is one more thing, sir.”

Osmirik looked up. “Yes?”

The librarian’s features suddenly took on familiar lines. Osmirik realized that he had been avoiding looking at the man’s face, for a reason he could not fathom. Now, with a suppressed gasp of surprise, he recognized the man standing before him.

“Tell Melydia that I wait for her,” Incarnadine said.

Flabbergasted, mouth agape, Osmirik stared at Incarnadine’s back until the tall man strode out of sight.