Chapter 1: Cauls in the Morning
An excerpt from the book History of the Change by Meriam Summers, Duke of the Barn and First Librarian to King Isaac I of Whybarr, written in the year 245.
“It has been nearly two and a half centuries since The Change. Two blocks west of here, at the Royal Society for Scientific Study, they insist that there is no scientific explanation for The Change as it is described. Underneath the huge red plastic dome at the center of their campus, the scientists postulate possible alternatives to the described transformation. But here, in the King’s Historical Library, none of the librarians much care about what is scientifically possible, their concern lies with what has actually occurred. And The Change has occurred, so we mean to document, preserve and analyze the writings about The Change, with a particular interest in firsthand accounts.
Two blocks south of the library sits the Temple of the Church of Whybarr, where most all agree The Change was the will and work of God, though many a spirited debate breaks out over whether The Change is a curse for the sins of man or a blessing that allowed for man’s continued existence (or perhaps even both). While there are more than a few devout librarians amongst our ranks, their task is not to argue about the will of God, but to record the thoughts and deeds of men. And so, they document what they can of The Change.
In the first half of the Second Millennia AD (sometimes written CE) humankind (sometimes written mankind) seems to have reached a sort of peak. As best as historians can tell, this happened from time to time, but this instance was different. The Ancient Romans had peaked, and the Egyptians before them, along with many empires before and after. However, this time it seemed the peak and subsequent regression were global.
It was not severe or immediate, it didn’t uniformly affect all people or nations, nor was it particularly concerning to the average person on the average day, but, without a doubt, progress slowed, then stopped, then regression began. Pointing to a singular cause is not possible, and we librarians have written entire books containing contributing factors (perhaps What Pooped the Global Party by my friend and colleague Rex Hunter could be named amongst the best.) Despite the complexity of the event, this retreat from a bright and better future nonetheless happened.
This wasn’t The Change, it was merely the worldwide setting when The Change happened. It was, in this part of the world, pre-dawn one spring morning, when without warning, every single human being shrank to roughly a tenth of their original size. Of course, the librarians in Whybarr have no resources to confirm what might have happened on the island of Java, or in Nome, Alaska, but every place any explorer has been to gave us a similar account, and every writing on the subject agrees. All the people of the world suddenly shrank. Nothing else did; homes and hillsides, animals and armchairs, clothes and classrooms all stayed the same size. But people all shrank, and whether it was scientifically possible or doctrinally sound doesn’t change the fact that it had happened.
The period just after The Change is a nearly endless source of ammunition for those pastors inclined to think it was a curse. Millions of people suddenly found themselves behind the wheels of cars they were woefully unqualified to control (and their seatbelts proved very difficult to properly adjust as well.) The same was true for airplanes (the flying machines from before The Change,) and, in all likelihood, ships at sea. Of course, the average home wasn’t a bastion of security either. If your home was fortunate enough not to be struck by an unmanned car or plane; (or ship?) just getting down from a dining room chair was hazardous. Some were smothered by the weight of their own clothing and blankets. What had once been the loving family pet was now a massive carnivorous beast, whose food bowl was dramatically understocked.
Of course, if you managed to avoid all of these dangers, you had to see to filling your own food bowl; that is to say, finding food, water, and adequate shelter. For the most part, the fridge was a lost hope. The fridge (sometimes refrigerator) was a massive closet kept cool by mechanical means not yet understood by science. It kept foods edible for extended periods of time. However, after The Change, it would take a ten-man work crew to open, and a scaffold to get any food out of it. As there weren’t any people watching over the power plants and electric distribution systems, soon there was no power to run the machine, food quickly spoiled and most people considered getting into the fridge a waste of energy. The gigantic box of dried grain “cereal” that was on the top shelf under the cabinet would feed a family for days on end (provided you could keep it away from other hungry creatures), but it was behind a massive door and two stories above ground level. If your luck and skill prevailed and you had something to eat, you still needed water.
Once the power plants went out, public water systems were operating on borrowed time. Most systems were gravity fed, at least partially, and the demand was considerably less than usual, so they lasted a few days more than the power system, but this had a negative effect in some instances. There are documented cases of folks being tricked into thinking that the water would never run out, that it was flowing from an inexplicable source. While this might seem foolish now, it was much more common for people to expect inexplicable outcomes in the years immediately after The Change (except for habitual gamblers, whose expectation of inexplicable outcomes is always heightened.) Rather than stockpile water for later use, some squandered it while the city's systems were working, only to be left high and dry when the tap ran out. Add to these challenges things such as needing to find a warm dry spot in the winter. There was a cornucopia of disasters caused by the unattended workings of the human world (fires from oil refineries, floods from damns, and something called a nuclear meltdown). Also on the list of dangers was a reported uptick in extreme weather, earthquakes, and volcanoes. All of this made surviving the first few months of The Change the accomplishment of a substantially shortened lifetime.
There obviously were survivors, and many of them shared a set of common traits. First, they armed themselves immediately. Plastic was melted and molded into shields and breastplates, razorblades (used by the giants before The Change in hair removal rituals) were twisted and folded into swords and meat skewers were cut down into spears. Next, they sought out other survivors. The library has plenty of tales of single individuals that survived by themselves, but that was the exception, not the rule. People would seek out their neighbors, families, and anyone strong enough and smart enough to survive. A willingness to eat almost anything was also noted among those who lived through the change. The world was soon populated by hungry, well-armed people with strong communal bonds. They were also crafty, handy, and as often as not desperate. Many a war ensued.”
In the Kingdom of Whybarr, within the Capital of Cauls, at the intersection of Government Hill Street and Ring Road sat the Royal Historical Library. The building was massive, built from bricks made by the giants, and designed to accommodate the huge books that were written hundreds of years before. It stood four stories tall, took up four city blocks and rumor said it hid a secret basement twice the size of what sat above ground. The three upper floors held books as big houses, and the equipment to move them around.
William Farmer sat on a stool in the upper portion of the library, peaking over the shoulder of a librarian and her helper as they worked on Physics for Scientists and Engineers. At six foot tall and lean, he looked comical sitting on the stool. “Tell me, Aunt Beth, why couldn’t we do this at the Science Society?”
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Another librarian, stooped with age, sat near enough to hear anything Will might say, but not close enough to convey any sense of welcoming to the young man. “You will refer to the Princess by her proper name and title within these walls!” The old man sounded frail and fragile. His robe lacked trim, or decoration, or any color but a dull grey. The silver book-shaped charm hanging from a leather string around his neck provided the only source of distinction in his wardrobe. His gray beard and hair were nearly white, but his eyes and skin were intensely dark. Those eyes still showed a tremendous fierceness.
“Ernest! Willie is my nephew and my guest, he can call Aunt Beth if he likes. Besides, I’ve only been to Jalfine twice, and I doubt I’ll ever return. How can you be princess of a place you never go to?” Aunt Beth made short, concise strokes with her quail quill. Her face held a special beauty but lacked expression as she concentrated on her work. She too wore a book necklace, but in place of the leather string, she wore a silver chain. “And you, young Willie the scientist, remember you are on hostile ground and don’t cause trouble or you will be expelled.” Now a little color came to her cheeks and a hint of a smile appeared. He loved the way she could take a serious matter and defuse it with a little humor; she wouldn’t let anyone expel him; she joked about that. But she spoke the truth when she called the library hostile ground.
“Why do librarians have such a disdain for science students?” Will turned twenty years old last winter, he still looked boyish. He grew up amongst the farms south of the city. In previous years he studied at the schoolhouse in the small town of Pound.
Ernest harrumphed, his shaggy main shaking as he did, “Scientists make things up, we simply write what has happened. They get disagreeable when our facts contradict their supposed discoveries.”
Elizabeth Armstrong, Princesses of Jalfine, forty-six years old, stood a foot taller than the ancient Ernest Books, First Librarian of the Royal Library. Her golden curls faded into silver. “That, Mr. Books, is an oversimplification.” She dabbed her quill in the ink and continued her work. “Willie, when King Ray first brought the Whybarrians to Cauls, he envisioned a city that would be the hub of a great civilization, surrounded by fertile lands, with easy access to water and wild game, defensible and spacious, with a good roof and strong walls. His son, Karl the I came to power ten years after his father founded Caul. His father left detailed instructions and with the help of his father’s ghost, Karl laid out this very spot and dedicated it to the accumulation and storage of knowledge.”
She paused, taking a sip from the steaming cup of lemon water on her desk. “From the beginning, our kingdom has recognized the need to transcribe, write and preserve books. We, librarians, have been part of Whybarr before Whybarr truly existed. Scientists came much later, from the wasted cities at the far reaches of our realm and beyond. They first started their society because merely recording written word is not enough to ensure a thriving populace. It must be applied. Early scientists came to the library to learn. But by the turn of the first century, things had changed. The scientists began to insist that librarians change the texts to reflect what they learned. When the librarians refused, things got…ugly.” She trailed off, not sure how much of the stories needed to be shared.
“What kind of ugly?” Will pressed, leaning forward in his stool, his blonde straight hair bleached almost white by the sun.
“Fights, riots, arson…murder.” The words rolled off Ernest’s dark lips as if he suspected William may have been an accomplice to the crimes from the previous century.
Princess Elizabeth cleared her throat. “The pretender’s fire destroyed all records, but there are rumors of all that and more. Finally, King Raymond the III stepped in, organizing the Scientific Society and naming the librarians as the keepers of knowledge.”
“And that is why you can’t do this at your society, or anywhere else. Royal proclamation says here and only here will books be transcribed.” Ernest nearly stood up straight with the boast.
“But this is a book on science!” Will protested.
“Precisely, dear nephew, if this were a book of fairytales, scientists would have no reason to change it, but as this is a book on physics, they might be tempted to remove what the giants wrote here and supplant it with the results of their own experiments and observations. Let’s turn the page now Steve.” She and her helper rose from their seats, as did Will, and together they carefully grasped the ancient paper and clamped it to a rig. It ran in an arc, from one side of the book, up and over, landing on the other and turning the page. “The giants’ knowledge greatly exceeded our own; they built nearly everything we see today, flew through the sky, dove beneath the seas, even left the bounds of this world. We must use what they knew as a foundation for our knowledge, not tear it down and start from scratch.”
Steve, the rotund assistant, finally spoke, “Did they really do all those things? The dean at the university says that’s all fairytales; that it’s impossible for humans to stay beneath water or fly up to the stars. He says the giants lived much like we do, only bigger.”
Ernest took a kinder tone with Steve, as he worked as a helper, a part of the library. “No, my boy, the giants did not live as we do, they had electricity and water in every house, they ended all illness and most injuries, and had machines that did all their work for them. We can’t imagine what their lives must have been like, but we know they did not live like us.”
“It is our job to record what they wrote,” Princesses Elizabeth paused to turn the page in her smaller book. “If they wrote lies, then those lies should be preserved if for no other reason than that they should be exposed. But as to these things being myths, you should go and speak to the men of the explorer’s order. They can tell you of the mysteries of flight and sailing the sea better than those folks at Willie’s society.”
The wheels in Will’s mind turned. Here he found an opportunity he never anticipated, and it would not likely return. “Would you take me there?”
She paused again. “I will, I haven’t been in nearly a month. When would you like to go?” A strange strength rang in her voice, as if she leaned against the wind as she spoke.
“Anytime is fine…now is good.” Will’s hair shined the same shade of blonde as hers in her youth, and though he kept it neatly trimmed, you could see a hint of curl to it.
“Now? Your professor expects you to produce a report over this book and I am expected to transcribe it.” Her voice carried a tone of alarm, but her face betrayed a bit of joy at the idea of playing hooky.
“My professor doesn’t expect much of anything out of me; he’s said himself that Farmers don’t make for good scientists.” As likely as not in Whybarr, a person’s last name denoted their occupation, or at least the occupation of their parents. So, Will’s last name identified him as a country boy, likely not familiar with the workings of the city. And in certain people’s estimation, incapable of attaining higher learning. “Ernest and Steve can take over your work for the rest of the day. I’d love to hear if the explorers have had word from Meriam.” He knew that would do the trick.
“As would I. I think you’re right, Willie, let’s go check on my baby boy. Ernest, Steve, please, would you carry on for me here? I will return after lunch.” They nodded and mumbled their consent and she rose in a flurry of grey as her double-knit dress slapped the desk.
In a few moments, they emerged from the huge brick building onto Ring Road. “Let’s take the Main Street train,” Elizabeth said with a wink.
“Sounds good.” Will had never ridden a city train before. Spring settled over the land but the warm southerly breeze died down that morning. “Is it raining?” Will asked as they walked west along the wall at the base of Government Hill.
Princess Elizabeth stared off into the distance, high up on Water Hill, then said “It is, you can tell by the way Leak Creek is flowing.” She strode down the street like a woman half her age. “This once served as a kind of arena for the giants. Thousands of them would pack the hills that surround us and watch sporting events, musical displays, and theater. How many times have you been to Cauls, Will?”
“A few dozen.” They climbed a few steel steps to the platform and waited for the next car to pull up.
“Yes, to visit us at the holidays and to the wholesale market, but have you ever explored the heart of the city?” She eyed the wares of a sweet seller as a northbound train pulled in.
Passengers poured out and the station crew clambered onto the car to switch the lines and turn the car back south.
Will felt a little self-conscious of his answer, and not sure what to say. “Not really explored, no.” Passengers from every corner of the city passed by, headed to the hill for this business or that.
“Well, Willie, you’re in for a treat.” She pushed forward toward the train, leaving a wake in the crowd for him to follow.
“Clear the way!!” the crew boss shouted after all the folks departed the car. The crew swung the car around so that it faced south. Will stared with a bit of country bumpkin awe in his eyes.
“One giant motor runs the trains for the whole city,” Elizabeth noticed the look on her nephew’s face and explained the system. “The train is suspended by and pulled with fishing lines. The two lines run up and down all the train tracks in town, some places only eight foot up, other places the rope hangs fifty foot in the air. Each car has hooks that let it hang from the line, but they also have a brake. When the brake is engaged, it grabs the line and it’s the line that pulls the train.”
Awe filled Will. As they stepped on the train, the Silver Kangaroo, a thought struck him, “but why two strings?”
“In due time, Willie, in due time.”