Playing Possum

“How am I going to get back down there?” Crispin wondered aloud. “The librarian looked rather upset.”

We had regrouped at the entrance to the library. This unfortunate incident had cost us time and credibility, right when we needed it the most.

“I’m going to look for answers,” said Olive. “Maybe I can follow the servitors or ask Vampyr what he’s seen.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Mordane,” I said. “He must be wrapped up in this somehow and I don’t want to leave him to his own devices.”

“What will I do?” asked Crispin.

“Just stay here and don’t do anything foolish,” I said, more hoping than believing that this would work.

Olive and I traipsed back downstairs to the library which felt cooler and less inviting than on our previous visits. Mordane glared at us fiercely as soon as we set foot and claw inside the lamplight, but ignored us once he realised Crispin was not with us.

“Find out what you can,” I said to Olive, “and shout if you need me.”

Olive scurried away between the bookshelves and disappeared from sight.

---

“Vampyr? Are you awake?”

Olive stood in front of the shelf where Crispin had met the carnivorous book just a few days prior. Extra restrictions had been put in place since their last visit as Vampyr was now restrained in iron chains and bound to his shelf. All the other shelves nearby had been cleared and their books safely moved elsewhere in the library.

Sssssss. Deep asleep… You’ll have to shake me…

“I’m not going to touch you that easily, Vampyr,” said Olive. “I just wondered if you’d like an egg.”

Vampyr rattled his chains somehow.

Yes! Give me the hard-boiled baby!

“How much do you want that egg?” asked Olive.

Egg, egg, egg.

“If you want the egg, you’ll need to give me some information. I need to know what happened that night when all the servitors came to the library.”

Oh I remember. There were people wandering around. Lots of noises. One face in particular I remember.

“Go on,” said Olive breathlessly.

But first, I demand payment! I’m the smartest book in this library.

“More like the hungriest,” muttered Olive.

You thought I’d tell that easily? Not a chance! Now do as I say and place the egg behind me on the shelf.

“Not before you tell me who you saw,” said Olive.

You first. I have all the information, see? All you have is a pocket full of eggs. You must be so desperate if you have come to Vampyr for aid.

Olive sighed. The book was right and they had no time to spare. Her whiskers twitched as she concentrated and manifested her mage hand to spirit an egg up over the top of the book and onto the shelf behind it. As soon as the egg touched the shelf, Vampyr tipped over backwards and landed with a smack on the mage hand and the egg.

Vampyr screamed with frustration.

No! Not that spectral piece of shit!

“I gave you the egg like you wanted, Vampyr,” said Olive, relieved that she hadn’t tried to hand an egg to the book herself. “Now it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

No, no, it’s not worth it if I don’t get your blood. And obviously I was always going to lie to you.

“Great,” sighed Olive. “At least you’re honest.”

I’m really not.

---

I stood a wingspan from the library desk and stared at the librarian.

He initially stared back but soon found my intimidating gaze was too much to bear and continued with his work. I kept an eye on him though.

Time passed. I watched Mordane.

After a few minutes, he briefly looked up at me. I was still staring at him. Mordane blinked, then returned to his work. I had won that round.

I could have continued this all day, but our silent stare-off was interrupted by a strange noise echoing down the stairs at the library entrance. It sounded like Crispin shouting. Mordane’s eye twitched.

“Speak up, Crispin,” I shouted back to him, not looking away from Mordane.

“I said, ‘Guess I’ll just die!’,” shouted Crispin.

“Alright,” I shouted in reply. “Wait, what?”

Then there was a great clang as if a heavily armoured Mapach had keeled over and hit the ground. I swear I saw Mordane smile. A chill ran through my body and my beak felt dry.

“I’m sorry, I have to check this,” I said and ran towards the stairs.

By the time I reached the top a small crowd of students had formed around Crispin. He was lying flat on his back, arms spread out. His tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth and his eyes lay open and unblinking. One of the students poked him in the side. Crispin just lay there.

“Out of the way,” I said, then repeated myself a bit louder. The students stepped back and whispered amongst themselves.

I knelt beside my friend. Crispin’s chest was still and I frantically checked his neck for a pulse but I couldn’t find one. I tried his wrists but the result was the same. Then I noticed he was cold. Too cold.

“Don’t you die on me now,” I swore and gritted my teeth. I swung my fists down onto his chest, the thumps punctuating my own ragged breaths. “Don’t. You. Die. Not. Now.”

The students had crowded closer but they moved back again as a group of professors arrived. Among them was Dean Windsworth, Glinda Nightseed, and another I didn’t recognise.

“Take a look at the Mapach, Professor Leechwood,” said the Dean gravely. “Listen here, Plume. I think you should step back and let a healer handle this.”

Professor Larry Leechwood was an aged toad with one eye clouded white and a bandoleer of ampoules and tinctures slung diagonally across his chest. I glared at him for interrupting but backed away warily. Professor Nightseed also drew near.

“What do you want with him?” I spat. “He’s not been cold for a full minute and already the necromancy professor is eyeing up his bones?!”

“Plume! Tell us what happened here,” Dean Windsworth commanded. “Was Crispin attacked? What did you see?”

My mind raced. Sure, Crispin had offended most people he had met and anyone with a sense of smell, but not enough for them to want to kill him. Surely no-one in the Avium truly hated him that much… Well, except for…

“This is the librarian’s fault!” I screeched. “Mordane Swiftgale has killed my friend!”

“What?” The Dean was at a loss, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“Just as I thought,” said Glinda, “this Mapach is not dead: he’s playing possum.”

---

Back in the library, Olive wandered down the lesser-used aisles looking for the servitors the librarian had summoned earlier. It seemed that after Mordane dismissed them they had vanished into the void and left no trace of their passing.

Olive idly thumbed the strings of her banjolele and wondered how she was going to explain this to Plume. A rustling above caught her ear and she turned to look.

She was more than halfway through the cookery section and had passed familiar culinary classics such as “Meals from Meadowfen” and “How To Be A Domestic Gallus” and here the dusty unread tomes looked much the same. Except for one.

On the shelf above her and to the left there was a book in the shape of a giant taco. It had a crisp corn outer shell and the pages appeared to be made of tortillas. Olive could see some salad leaves and a blob of salsa poking out the side as well.

“Crispin did mention something about infinite tacos,” Olive mused. “I don’t suppose you can help us, can you?”

There was silence. Olive sighed and began to continue down the aisle when she heard a small high-pitched voice speak suddenly behind her.

¡Hola!

Olive spun round. “What?”

¡Hola!

“You can speak?” Olive cried in amazement, despite this being the second book she had spoken to within the last hour.

Sí.

“How are you?” asked Olive.

Bueno.

“Did you notice anything strange in the library recently?” Olive asked, hoping beyond hope that this book would be more cooperative than Vampyr.

Sí.

“What did you see?”

Muchos esqueletos. Puerta secreta.

“Esque— skeletons! The servitors… and a secret something– what could that be…?”

Olive could barely contain her excitement. The answers she had been looking for had been hidden in the cookery section all along.

A harsh voice cut in from a distant shelf.

It’s like you don’t speak Spanish!

“Shut up, Vampyr!” said Olive as she racked her brain in translation.

Libro malo…

“Secret… door!” Olive exclaimed. “That’s it! That must be where the servitors went that night. Where is this door? Can you show me?”

The taco book looked troubled. Its lettuce leaf looked a bit wilted and the tortilla pages trembled.

Lo intento.

“You’ll try!” said Olive with relief. “Muy bueno.”