Behind them, the talking door closed itself and they found themselves walking over rich gold and burgundy carpet. Before them lay a library that one would typically associate with the mansion of a murder mystery or perhaps the ancient castle of a villain in an over-the-top spy movie*. The bookshelves were twelve feet high and filled with hardbacks, parchments, leatherbound tomes, and everything in between. To their left, a giant globe towered over them, while to their right was an ancient and leafless tree with a spiral of wooden stairs that led up its trunk to bookshelves mounted to its branches. Up in the rafters, glowing, winged creatures could be seen carrying books this way and that. When Calista looked down, they crossed the edge of the carpet and onto a floor of jade and orange tiles that opened up into endless rows of bookshelves. Here, they stopped at a desk complete with lampshade, pen, and guestbook.
Calista leaned over to read the names that had been signed.
Nooran Earghast, Wizard Extraordinaire
Thuur’alath, Baron of Gorshadd, attendant to the Grand Duke of the Seventh Layer
Yamman
Rebecca L’aelstaadt, Druid of the Windblown Order
“Some of these names are pretty recent,” she said to Narene. “How often does he have guests?”
The little goblin shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been in here the one time.”
Then with a ‘poof!’ a ghost appeared behind the desk. Dressed in a frilled shirt with a tied-back ponytail, he was the cartoonish, legless sort of spirit you might see in a children’s cartoon set in Europe during the 18th century. As he turned to meet them, he folded his hands behind his back and fixed Calista with a friendly smile. “Greetings guests and current residents. Welcome to the library of the esteemed wizard Severin Thorost. If you would please be so kind as to sign our guestbook, it would be greatly appreciated by all of our staff.”
“Uhhh …” Calista paused as she looked down at the guestbook, unsure of whether or not she should leave her name.
The ghost leaned forward, “That is, of course, assuming that you are guests of the great wizard Severin. Are you not?”
Lefty pushed Calista aside and grabbed the pen, “Yes, of course! I’m here on sabbatical myself. Looking forward to doing a bit of studying. Been here a week. Totally legal guest. Severin and I go way back. Wizard’s College, he was top of his class as I remember. Me, not so much … but he’s been a marvelous host, really. Excellent food. Great entertainment. Wonderful service. It’s been because everything else has been so wonderful that it’s taken me this long to make my way up here to this … this library, yes, the library that I’ve been looking forward to visiting for a week now!”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Through gritted teeth, Calista whispered, “Don’t overdo it you cretin.”
However, the ghost librarian smiled broadly as he nodded along to Lefty’s rambling. When the mage finally made his last scribble in the guest book, Calista looked down to see just what names he had left.
Jacob Rothschild
Sylvia Plath
Adolf Hitler
Lefty set the pen back in its holder and before the librarian could read what he had written, asked, “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where we can look up anything on the Duchess of …” he paused, then leaned down to Narene, “What was her name again?”
“Lady Miranda Loveless,” the goblin replied.
“Ah!” the ghost exclaimed. “What sort of information did you have in mind? Were you perhaps looking for a biography, or did you only need something simple like a genealogy?”
“Er … uhm … biographical?” He looked down at Narene who nodded, “Yes, biographical.”
“Certainly, right this way, and before I forget, my name is Benson,” the ghost bowed as he floated out from behind the desk and then down the tiled walkway. As the three of them filed in behind him, the gentlemanly ghost spun around and began floating backward like a tour guide. “The library you see here was founded two hundred and eighty-seven years ago by the Baron Grant De’Armbuss when he returned from the Red Sun Wars with not only a small fortune in treasure but several wagon loads of books, maps, scrolls, and other documents that his men had looted at his behest from the palace of the Sultan of Devinny.”
The ghost turned right with the walkway, floating backward all the while. More towering bookshelves stood to their left along the wall while a series of study desks passed by on their right.
“Baron De’Armbuss and his decedents kept the library on his personal property for over a hundred and twenty years until the barony was peacefully annexed by the neighboring duke. It was then that the library passed into the hands of the Duke of Extuart. However, his stewardship of this trove of knowledge was short-lived as, only a dozen years later, his Duchy was lost in the War of the Nine Wizards, which, as you may know, was fought in its entirety over the course of four hours, and cost the lives of seven hundred twenty-two persons, roughly four hundred fifty livestock, and a pair of very surprised pigeons. Ownership of this library was then transferred to the great wizard Eleven the Black in exchange for an extra cup of tea during the ensuing negotiations.” The ghost cleared his throat as they turned left past a fountain and then through a doorway into the next room where they found themselves walking between two of the towering bookshelves. “Of course, if you are familiar with those negotiations, you are well aware that Eleven played host to the five surviving wizards and exchanged his services for several small properties he thought might hold the key to one of his personal obsessions: The spell for life after death.” Benson stopped briefly at a junction between the shelves and then gestured for them to follow to their left. “This way please …”
“… It was some time before Eleven was able to begin cataloging the library’s contents, but when he did, he discovered two things: First, the library did not hold the secret to convert himself into a lich. Second, what it did have was a series of books that not only recorded but actively tracked the personal histories of all the living members of every noble family on the continent.”
“Wait, what?” Ever since they had left the front desk, Calista had been only half listening, but at this last declaration, she blinked hard and locked eyes with Benson. “What do these books do?”
The ghost took on a factual tone. “They actively record the actions and exploits of every member of every noble house of every nation on the continent. In fact, most of the books we’re walking past are likely being written in and expanded right now, even as we speak.”
“You mean … like … they write themselves?” she asked.
“Yes,” Benson nodded.
*(footnote) The good kind where the men where suits and order expensive drinks and the women wear the kind of outfits that make college guys buy posters.