In the Stacks by Scott Lynch

Author:Scott Lynch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, fantasy, magic, wizards, swords, monsters, libraries, librarians
Publisher: Scott Lynch

*****

Along the aisle they moved, past section after section of books that were, as Master Molnar had promised, completely unharmed by the passage of the unbound grimoire. At the ragged edge of Manticore Northwest it seemed to Laszlo that they began to climb. The sensation was intermittent and elusive, for when he studied the tiled hallways between the closest shelves they appeared relatively flat. Only when he turned around and peered into the gloom behind Master Molnar did the world seem to tilt, and the mist-shrouded sections where the unbound grimoire had attacked them seemed not only distant but lower, so that if he leaned in that direction he might inevitably fall over and roll helplessly back the way they’d come.

A sharp jab to his ribs ended this reflection.

“Sorry,” said Yvette. “But you were staring at nothing with your jaw coming slowly unhinged. I can’t imagine it was for a healthy reason.”

“Up and down seem to be dressing alike, as far as my brain is concerned,” muttered Laszlo.

“It’s the Phoenix stacks,” said Master Molnar. “Each section of the library has a certain flavor to its strangeness, just as every sea-coast has a different scent on its breeze. I would recommend meditative exercises, but they would diminish your awareness of more acute hazards.”

“You’re making me feel very vulnerable, Master Molnar.”

“Good.”

On they went, and the mists gradually receded in their footsteps. The air warmed, and the scents of strange spices hung thicker in the air. The shadows did not recede. If anything, the shelves in this section were set like crooked stones in a mortar of deep velvety darkness that gnawed at Master Molnar’s guide-light, as though sampling its taste and pondering a bigger bite.

Specks of emerald and silver light glimmered and vanished in the shadows. Funeral fireflies, thought Laszlo, cold and joyless.

Astriza, at the fore of their little column, knelt and brought them to a halt with an upraised hand. Something was moving a few dozen paces ahead, a dark translucence that drifted, spinning, across the path between the shelves and then merged with the darkness, before slowly twirling back out into the meager light.

It looked like the ghost of a bookshelf, dancing with an unseen partner.

“Bibliosomnia,” whispered Molnar.

“The books are really dreaming?” said Laszlo. “I thought that was just sort of a striking turn of phrase.”

“Some books are always dreaming,” said Molnar. “Not all the dreams are powerful enough to be seen, though.”

“Is it a danger to us?” said Lev.

“If it’s in here, it’s a danger to us.” Astriza rose and took a cautious step forward. “Follow me slowly. Try not to call attention to yourselves.”

Imitating her movements, they advanced, like chaperoned children, through whatever it was books dreamed of. The sound of rustling pages was around them, like the fluttering of wings in an aviary. The dark ephemeral shape that had danced across their path, Laszlo saw, was indeed a distorted projection of a bookshelf, nor was it alone. Dream-shelves by the dozens rose out of the shadows, spinning in lonely orbits around them, drifting in their stately dances.

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