They reached the bottom of the stairs, where the green carpeting from above gave way to a jarring white and black pattern of repeating lines and crescents. It stretched to fill the grand hall but was old and damp. It squished softly underfoot. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Marigold thought the dampness odd, but she was more focused on the disturbing possibility of someone being down here with them in the dark, a possibility made much more likely by a sudden shuffling down somewhere in the distance.

“Did you hear that?” Marigold asked.

“Hear what?”

“Listen.”

Another shuffle.

“I heard that one,” Maxwell said. “Where’s it coming from?”

“Nearby,” Marigold whispered.

She moved her flashlight from side to side and scanned the room, looking for any trace of movement. From a door at the end of the hall, something pale and thin shuffled into view. The presence alone would be disturbing, but the appearance made it doubly so. Whatever the thing was, it was staring at them with a smile. Marigold recognized it immediately from pictures she had seen as a child. It was a Scholar. The creature’s build was slight, dominated by a mess of white hair and a long beard. He was elderly and looked almost human, aside from his pallid complexion and black eyes. He wore glasses and a white robe. There was something warm in his demeanor, though it wasn’t enough to compensate for the general ambiance of gothic horror that surrounded him.

“Guests,” the creature said in a reedy voice that carried across the room like wind through a forest. “Could it be guests after all this time?”

“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude,” Marigold said. She had to shout to make herself heard across the hall. “I think we’re lost.”

The Scholar coughed, or maybe it was a laugh. “Lost?” he said. “Imagine that. Well, welcome all the same. And who has found themselves lost down here with me?”

“I’m Marigold, and this is Maxwell.”

The creature drew closer. He barely paid attention to Marigold. His eyes were fixated on Maxwell.

“Are you by any chance human?” he asked.

Maxwell brought his hands to the headscarf covering the bottom of his face.

“Ah. It’s not your face that gives you away, it’s your pores.”

“What?” Maxwell said.

“What?” Marigold said. Maybe she was wrong about the warm demeanor.

“Your pores. Humans have over two million all over their skin. I can see yours working away right now.”

Maxwell took a step back toward Marigold.

“There’s no reason to be nervous. Who am I going to tell about a stray human. I’m all alone in the dark, after all.”

“And who are you?” Marigold asked.

“Me? I’m the Scholar,” he said.

“Yes, well I know that much, but what about a name?”

The Scholar looked off into the distance for a moment as if searching for something then turned back to them. “The Scholar should be fine. Come, come. Bewildered guests deserve whatever humble hospitality I can muster.”

Maxwell looked up at Marigold, wondering if they should follow. Marigold shrugged. The Scholar led them through the aisles of overturned tables and chairs and toward the door from which he had come. There was a faint glimmer of light leaking out from the other side.

“Is it normally this messy? “Marigold asked.

“Yes, the mess . . . Negligence, I’m afraid. We’ve become somewhat lax with no outside visitors.”

“We?”

“Sorry, a mistake from habit. I suppose the burden of responsibility falls solely on me in this case. Who else is there, after all?”

The inside of the Scholar’s office contained the order that was absent from the rest of the Archive. A small tidy bed sat against the back wall. Beside it was a roll-top desk with a row of binders lined up along the back and a leather armchair that was cracked and well-used. The other wall was divided into two sections. One contained a shelf with books far older than any Marigold had seen, and the other contained a simple cupboard and counter. The room was lit by a fireplace in which yet more books were piled and burning away.

“Please take a seat,” The Scholar said.

Maxwell offered the armchair to Marigold. It was too small, but she held her breath and squeezed her spongy frame into place. Maxwell could have taken the chair by the desk but opted to sit at Marigold’s side on the floor, like a dog.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“What can I get you?” The Scholar asked. “Tea, coffee, cocoa?”

Marigold shook her head. “Thank you, but we’re fine.”

“Ooh, cocoa please,” Maxwell said.

Marigold glared at him. Were humans not told to accept food and beverages from dubious strangers? It was almost as if he was oblivious to just how creepy this whole situation was.

“Just a moment, please,” The Scholar said. He turned around and rummaged through his cupboards. “I hope you’re OK with the mess. I’ve had to make do with limited resources.”

“I thought Scholars only consumed information,” Marigold said.

“That’s partially correct. We only receive sustenance from information, but we can consume whatever we like. I enjoy the taste of many substances.”

The Scholar searched for cocoa powder in his cupboard and portioned it out into two red mugs.

“What happened here?” Marigold asked.

“We’ll get to that in a minute. First, I’d like to know more about you. Why are you here?”

Maxwell looked up at Marigold. She ignored his gaze.

“We’re lost,” she said.

“Yes, you said that, but I believe the way was blocked, and unless the long years of isolation have been mere coincidence, you should not be here, should you?

Marigold said nothing.

“Ah, so you’re forcibly lost then, is it?” The Scholar let out a slight chuckle.

“Sorry, that was my fault,” Maxwell said.

“No need to apologize young human. I didn’t lock myself in here.”

“No, you didn’t, so are you going to tell us what happened exactly?” Marigold asked.

The Scholar's face turned scornful for a moment, but he remembered himself and smiled again. His attention turned to Maxwell. “You know you’re quite fascinating.”

“I am?”

“You are. Are you aware your left arm is 2 cm longer than your right?”

“I wasn’t.”

“And one of your eyebrows is significantly thicker than the other.”

Maxwell brought his hand to his right eyebrow.

“Not important, of course, but such asymmetries are more typical of Frontend creatures. It’s curious to see them up close.”

The kettle whistled, and the Scholar turned around to fill the two mugs. He stirred them with a spoon and gave one to Maxwell, keeping the other for himself. Marigold was gobsmacked. Was Maxwell really going to drink this?

He was. He was drinking it. No wonder humans had such a pitiful life expectancy.

“You were going to tell us what happened down here,” Marigold said.

“Yes, yes, of course, but one last question: how did a human find itself wandering around the Backend?”

Rather than answer, Maxwell continued to drink his cocoa and looked back over at Marigold.

“Maxwell wandered away from the processing facility. I’m helping get him back.”

“I see,” the Scholar said, before taking a long sip of his own drink. For a moment it seemed as if he might accept this explanation, but after using an eerily slender finger to wipe away a brown stain from his upper mouth, he spoke again. “Unless the Backend has changed considerably during my confinement, you’re heading the wrong way.”

“Yes, well, it has to be done in secret,” Marigold said.

“You’re going down to go up, you mean?”

“Something like that.”

The Scholar savored another sip of his hot cocoa. This was growing insufferable.

“Are you going to tell us what happened or not?” Marigold asked.

“I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m obfuscating. You know of the war, yes? Well, we lost, got locked up here, and died off one by one. Not the happiest story.”

“That’s it?”

The Scholar laughed. “Well, of course, there’s more to it than that. I just didn’t want to bore you. If you’re so intent on learning, why don’t I share my story with you directly?” The Scholar set his mug down on the counter. He reached out with both arms.

“No, nope. We're not doing that. Not today,” Marigold said.

“What?” Maxwell asked, looking over to Marigold.

“He wants to dilate our minds. You place your hands in his and clear your mind, and you become receptive to memories.”

“Wow, really? Like actual psychic powers?”

“Not really, but that's not the point. The point is we would also be helpless while he was doing it. You kind of go into a trance while it’s happening.”

“I only mean to share some memories,” the Scholar said. “As your friend here is aware young human, it’s completely safe and routine here. Plenty of creatures can do it, but none so well as a Scholar. Our minds are sharper than most.”

“Why don’t you just explain in words,” Marigold said.

“I’m afraid I’m weaker than I look. As you said, my metabolism is based on information, and I have neither consumed nor expelled any in quite some time. I only thought that perhaps I could explain my situation and regain a little vitality.”

“That’s what you were really hoping for, wasn’t it?” Marigold said.

“I confess it was a motive, but not the only one. I only mean to help you."

“Right, well, thanks for your hospitality, but I think we’ll head out,” Marigold said.

“Come now. There’s no need to act like that. I’m simply offering to tell you what happened. You must know the procedure is not dangerous.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t want anyone in my mind, least of all an ancient stranger who hasn’t eaten in centuries.”

“Yes, well, I suspect you need my help if you’re to continue down from here.”

“What do you mean?” Marigold says.

“Do you know how to descend from the Archive? Do you where the mechanism is or how it works?”

“Do you? Why would you be trapped down here if you knew how to go down?”

“Ah, well that’s an explanation I’m more than happy to provide,” he said, holding out his hands once more. “Besides you want to know what happened, don’t you? I can sense your curiosity.”

“Not that badly.”

“I’ll do it,” Maxwell said.

Both the Scholar and Marigold turned to look at him.

“If it’s not dangerous, I’d like to know a bit more about this place. It would be nice not to be confused, for once.”

Maxwell looked up at Marigold. He clearly wanted her to tell him it was OK. She was reluctant, but the Scholar was right about her curiosity. Seeing a Scholar in the flesh was miraculous. They were supposed to be extinct, not sitting in front of her sipping cocoa.

“Do you understand what you’re agreeing to?” she asked.

“No, but that’s not very different from anything I’ve agreed to in the last day,” Maxwell replied.

“I won’t stop you, but I’m not joining. I’ll sit here with you until it's done. That way, at least one of us will be awake in case anything funny happens.”

“Why all this suspicion?” the Scholar said suspiciously. “Am I the one that has trespassed on your home?”

“It’s OK,” Maxwell said. “Really, let me do this.” He reached out with both hands.

Hopefully, this didn’t backfire on them. Marigold wasn’t about to let him muck around with her mind, but for whatever reason, Maxwell was determined, and she had seen the practice done before. As far as she knew it was harmless. The Scholar would be in a trance too, and as long as Marigold stayed conscious and by Maxwell’s side, no harm should come of it. That didn’t mean she was about to let her guard down though. Marigold was not sure she liked the Scholar, and she certainly did not trust him.