The room was called the Board Room, but such a simple name did not do justice to either the form or function of the huge cathedral-like chamber in which was conducted the highest level of business at the Final Library. The ceiling was high and vaulted, with dozens of little perches and ledges on which Narrator Fairies could land and observe the proceedings. The walls were made of finest marble, grown into their shape by magic and time rather than a workman’s chisel. The great stained-glass windows let in multi-colored light that painted the room in all the colors of the rainbow, and yet somehow the effect was that of order instead of chaos and eye-strain.
And in the center of the room, made from a single piece of ancient Black Koa wood, a remnant from a bygone era that none living still remembered, was the Table. It was perfectly circular except for the one single space at the very end that ended in a perfectly straight line. That was the Chairman’s seat, where the leader of the entire Library sat and presided over the board meetings.
Umlaut Wordsinger, current Chairman of the Board, sat now in that ceremonial seat and listened to the other members of the board as they presented their daily briefs. If asked, he would be quick to say that he was not the leader of the narrator fairies within the Library, but merely the first among equals.
He would, of course, be wrong in every meaningful sense except the literal. He was old, even by Narrator Fairy standards, and had held the position of Chairman longer than any other fairy in memory. His was the hand that guided the Library according to their founder’s precepts, and his was the will that held them to their tasks. He sat at the head of a board of seven, all tasked in their own way to keeping the Library thrumming and thriving while also carrying out its designated purposes.
And so he sat, and listened, as the daily workings of the Library unfolded before him.
“So as you can see,” said Chairman Glottalstopp, the current chair of the division of Hypothetical Geography, from where he was presenting at the foot of the table, “it has been over a year since any of our number has visited quadrant NC-229.io of the western continent. I’ve contacted our auxiliaries nearby, but they appear to have gotten embroiled in some sort of altercation between the local tribesmen there. Reports are sketchy, but we are clearly being deficient in our updates of that quadrant.”
“The auxiliaries are fighting wars now?” Asked Chairwoman Cadence from Umlaut’s left. “I thought we discouraged that sort of thing?”
“Discouraged, yes,” said Chairman Hedera, frowning. “But not forbidden. After all, was it not the Founder herself who said ‘sometimes you have to break a few heads’? Our auxiliaries are given the freedom to engage in violent campaigns if the need arises.”
“And is there need?” Umlaut asked, speaking for the first time that meeting.
“Unclear, chairman,” said Glottalstopp. “Reports are both sketchy and conflicting.”
“You have a recommendation?”
“Indeed I do. Whether or not the altercations are justified, the base fact is that we are lagging behind our duties for that quadrant. I suggest dispatching a Special Team, perhaps even so much as a full squadron, to the region immediately.”
“A full squadron?” Chairwoman Intonation said, raising a slim eyebrow. “That’s a lot of firepower for such a small quadrant.”
“That hasn’t been updated in a year,” Glottalstopp responded pointedly. “We have no idea what is there now, or what has been keeping our auxiliaries from their appointed duties. Better safe than sorry, no?”
“Send the Deweys,” Umlaut said, cutting through further debate. “Fully equipped. If there is something standing in our way, they will be able to deal with it. And if not, well, it will do them good to get out of the Library for a bit. They’ve been getting restless as of late.”
“Yes, Chairman,” Glottalstopp said, bowing slightly from his expansive waist. “That is all the business I have for today, save for some minor matters that can wait until other pressing concerns have been voiced.”
“That would be me,” said chairwoman Cadence as she rose gracefully to her feet. “I–”
She was cut-off mid-word by a thunderous knock against the great stone doors that led to one of the connecting hallways. Chairwoman Cadence paused, her lips pursing in annoyance, as one of the guards hurried over to the door and opened the square look-see to see what was going on. A soft buzz of conversation started up from the other fairies perched on their ledges. Interruptions were uncommon in the Board Room, especially during regular business hours when most of the Library knew the board was in session and Not To Be Disturbed.
The guard held a whispered conversation through the look-see, then nodded once and turned back, practically scurrying up to the board table. Umlaut frowned as the guard approached him and lent in to whisper.
“Beg pardon, sir,” the fairy said, “but Miss Capslock is outside. Says its of supreme urgency, and if I don’t let her in this instant she’ll see me hung by me wings over the lava pits. I didn’t know we had lava pits, sir.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Umlaut blinked at that. Miss Capslock was the absolute pinnacle of unflappability. She would never have barged in on a board meeting unless it were a matter of some urgency.
Well, that made the next move simple.
“Clear the gallery,” he said to the guard. “And admit Miss Capslock once we are alone.”
“Yessir,” the guard threw a sloppy salute, then turned and started barking orders to his fellows. The room practically exploded into motion as narrator fairies were ushered out of the boardroom, most complaining loudly that they wanted to see what was happening!
Soon the board room was clear of all but a couple ranking guards and the Board itself. At which point nodded at the first guard, who turned and ushered the Iron Lady through the door. The older narrator fairy barely even acknowledged him, merely strode right past him and up to the board table. She had in her hand, Umlaut noticed, a playback device already loaded with a narrator fairy narration cartridge. Just what was this?
Miss Capslock placed the device on the board table, then turned and eyed the two remaining guards.
“Get out.” she said in her special voice.
The guards got out.
“Miss Capslock,” Umlaut said, raising an eyebrow as the other narrator fairy turned back to the table and took a moment to smooth down her pencil skirt. “I gather you have something of some import to discuss with us?”
The Iron Lady met Umlaut’s gaze and held it. And what Umlaut saw in those iron gray eyes caused his fingers to twitch reflexively to his side, where his reflexes said his old sword should still be hanging.
Without a word, the Iron Lady reached out and pressed a button on the playback device. And Umlaut jerked as his own daughter’s voice came out, crisp and clear and so heart-breakingly close that it was all he could do to stifle the gasp that bubbled up in his chest. But stifle he did. He was Umlaut Wordsinger, and such expulsions were beneath him.
But not others, it seemed.
“That’s Pearl’s voice!” Chairman Glottalstopp blurted, staring at the device. “Is she still sending in her reports? I thought she’d given that up years ago.”
“It seems she has been filing them diligently since she… left,” Miss Capslock said quietly. “Now hush and listen to what she says.”
The board leaned forward in their chairs, near-identical frowns on all their faces. For the first handfull of seconds it sounded like… Well, like a story. Pearl waxing eloquent about how she and her human compatriots had fought a lich, had saved a dungeon, were squared off against monsters, had met some random woman with great power who had told them a story–
“So Apollyon is supposed to be looking for this Failstate thing, because Marie–I mean Diana, I think?–says he wants to change the world with it. I didn’t really understand everything that was going on, but I figured I’d better include that. And it’s a big secret, so that’s why I put the alert on this thing, to make sure it only gets played in the Library and only by the right people, that way the System won’t be able to see it ‘cause it’s super secret and stuff!”
Umlaut felt the blood drain from his face. He risked a glance at his fellow board members, and saw similar expressions of shock in them.
The Failstate.
He didn’t hear the rest of his daughter’s report. The room swam before his eyes, the edges of his vision darkening as he stared at the device on the table. A roaring filled his ears like a bookworm stampede, and he felt his heart freeze in his chest.
The Failstate.
“Thank–” Umlaut had to clear his throat twice before his voice started working properly. “Thank you for bringing this to us, Miss Capslock. Who else knows of this?”
“Just one flibberty-gibbet Assistant,” the Iron Lady said at once. “Garnet Commathief. But she’s not ranked high enough to know the details, so she doesn’t know the significance.”
“Keep it that way,” Chairwoman Cadence said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“What are our options?” Chairwoman Intonation asked. Her voice quavered.
“We need to bring the young mistress Wordsinger in,” Glottalstopp said at once. “That report was utterly lacking in any kind of real information about the Failstate and its current status. Apollyon? One of the Five, working with the Failstate? That is utter rubbish.”
“We need more information,” Councilwoman Intonation agreed at once, her voice firming up. “She needs to come in for a full debrief.”
“That may be difficult.” The voice came from Councilman Tilde, who had not spoken until now. He was the Minister Of Unusual Information. The spymaster of the Library.
“Explain,” Umlaut said.
“Given her proclivities and position, I have taken it upon myself to keep tabs on your wayward daughter,” the other said, flinty eyes fixed right on Umlaut. “My informants were under strict orders not to interfere with her in any way, but to observe all that occurs. It seems that she is currently engaged in a land war with Araxesendenak, the lich king of Xeladre. Her current whereabouts are unknown, due to some form of what appears to be S-tier magical involvement.”
“You lost her? You?” Chairwoman Cadence looked aghast.
“I believe it is extremely likely she will eventually surface again in or near the city of Phyrexes, the capital of the lich king’s domain,” Tilde went on, unfazed.
“What makes you so certain?” Glottalstopp asked.
“She has attached herself to one Samuel J. Tolliver, the current Guardian of the Last Dungeon. Tolliver was recently kidnapped by the lich king and taken to the capital. My informants reported his arrival bare hours ago. Given the amount of loyalty the Guardian enjoys from those under their command, it is likely that some form of rescue attempt will be made. And,” he added, never once looking away from Umlaut, “it is likely your daughter will participate. She is friends with the boy.”
And we all know how Pearl gets about her friends. Umlaut closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.
When he opened them again, his path was clear.
“We must mount an expedition into the lich king’s domain. A full air group, with every warding and stealth option we have available to us. And to them we will attach the Nomenclature. Inform her captain.”
“The Nomenclature?” Cadence jerked in her seat. “Don’t you think that’s overkill, Umlaut?”
“There is no such thing, chairwoman,” Umlaut said, his eyes looking out at something a thousand miles away. “Not anymore. Not if the Failstate is in play. Are we agreed?”
The silence that filled the room was all the assent he needed. He turned back to the two guards, standing stiff and wide-eyed near the door.
“Send for the commander of the 103rd, and the captain of the Loquacious Nomenclature. We will meet in my office in ten minutes.”
And hopefully it will be enough.