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Chapter 3 - Library Cad

The streets of whichever-this-town-was-again were full of admiring faces, and thanks spewed forth like your dinner that time you had food poisoning. Normally, this would be heaven for Goreblaster, who would bathe himself in the praise and worship like, well, definitely not like spew. Much like a poisoning, however, there was a lingering aftertaste in the back of his mouth, an acidic burn that fizzled through his senses and tainted the whole experience.

No matter how loud and jovial the faceless normals of the town were, there was a constant high-pitched chatter of the gnomes behind him. Like catching your bare leg on stinging nettles, the pain was not terrible, but it was uncomfortable and made him regret not wearing trousers on occasion. Not only had the swipe of Pureheart literally cleaved the creature in two, but it did so figuratively as well. Or, I suppose double literally.

Their stubborn, yet dependable, mule had been nowhere to be seen upon exiting the villa they had been extended in courtesy for the good deeds wrought. Although Fernando had a knack for showing up just when needed, the longer route from the more secluded villa into the main town would certainly have met that threshold - at least in the opinion of Goreblaster.

Instead, walking on foot was their last option - Percy would never again agree to carry the barbarian after what happened in the Meatgate incident. He had even tried to shut the gnomes inside the small building, but they had easily escaped. Although they had followed in Goreblaster’s wake for the entirety of the stroll down, none of the townspeople seemed to see or acknowledge the insistent yappers.

It was thus, with conflicted emotions, that they arrived at the town library - a gloomy-looking building with LIBRARY embossed in the grey stone above the wide dark-wooden doors. More like Tree Graveyard, Goreblaster snorted to himself. As much as he was glad to meet his destination, the prospect of entering the maw of this literary tomb was more of a stumbling block than the literal tomb of the fell warrior, Tripp Hazzard.

“You worry too much, Gore. Books can’t hurt you.”

“They have done nothing but!”

“If this is about that time with the mimic, then anything can be a mimic - not just books.” Percy tried to hide a smile that almost encircled his whole head, remembering the details of that adventure.

“I am aware,” Goreblaster rolled his eyes. “There was the Living House and that time in the Hallway of Mirrors That Can’t Eat People. Probably need a catchier name for that.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Annoying adventures, scary books!” The gnomes chanted in tandem from behind - the brief disdain over the mass of pages before them almost allowing the irritating creatures to be forgotten.

Percy pushed open the door to the looming structure, the near-cliche creak of the hinges singing out doom and despair for the barbarian - if the two gnomes weren’t doing so already (they definitely were).

Goreblaster shivered as the stale air washed out of the building, a wave of dust and decades-old librarian musk. He could almost feel the insidious words creep out between their pages and attempt to throttle his brain. Reluctantly he crossed the threshold.

“Boooks, booksbooksbooks!” the Gnomes goaded him in.

The interior was no less depressing, the aged wood and dusty furniture looking like decade-old jerky. Before them, a desk sat, and sitting at this sat desk sat an old man. Or at least what still remained of one on this physical plane. Sunken eyes, dried out, white hair, and skin so thin and grey you could almost mistake him for one of the dusty tomes should he lay on the table and flap his skinny limbs about.

“Goreblaster,” the barbarian introduced himself awkwardly, as the man stared unflinchingly at his presence.

“Who?” The old man barked, not moving his eyes or expression from where had been staring. “Name’s Jimth. What do yer want?”

“He’s here to eat books!”

“No, no - he is too weak and smelly!”

Goreblaster clenched his teeth, his jaw already aching from the amount of action it was getting (something Percy wouldn’t understand - heyooo) and it was becoming harder to tune out the pitched insults.

“Just here to read some… books,” he managed to grind out of his set gnashers, gulping at the prospect of being in amongst all those sheets of arranged letters. Perhaps if he just closed his eyes during the process and didn’t touch anything, he would be safe enough.

“Okay - don’t take too long.”

“Why,” Percy rolled up to the desk and peered over, “Is there a time limit or something happening soon?”

“No, I’m just too old to deal with people for too long. Especially nude ones.”

“Hey, I am wearing something,” Goreblaster shrugged; his loincloth and boots combo were usually enough to pass by most decency laws in their various travels - especially after having saved the day for said lawmakers.

“Terrible boots” and “No fashion sense,” came the chorus from behind him.

Jimth said nothing, and maintained his dead-eyed stare into the far horizon.

“See, this is what books do to you,” the barbarian hissed at Percy as they moved through into the main library chamber. The sight of which was overwhelming. Goreblaster spent a lot of time being whelmed, and this was far beyond.

Rows of shelves stacked with dusty tombs, smiling out at them with leatherbound teeth. Eyeless alcoves with unlit torches for those who dared learn during the twilight. The scant reprieve from the looming stacks of books upon books was tragically right in the centre of them all - a clear section instead filled with tables and chairs. Innocent enough, but with foul purpose, enabling the sickened to sit and meander their lost brains through the imprinted words like lost lambs in the woods stumbling across a picnic of hard drugs.

“Take a seat, Gore; I’ll find the books.”

The barbarian sat, cold sweat running down his face as the two gnomes sat opposite from him.

Henry and Henry too just smiled widely beneath their pointy little hats.