The Writer's Lodge

Brandon adjusted the brown messenger bag on his shoulder, and pushed the revolving door with a little effort to get it moving. Through to the other side, he was at once buffeted by the dry, musty air libraries seem to order by the canister.

He stepped into the silent space, the muted echo of a chair scraping the polished wooden floor, and a muffled cough from behind aisles of dewey-decimalized tomes reminded him somehow of an old monastery, or perhaps a new monastery built to look like an old one, like, for a movie set, or maybe just so that old people could -

- he was distracting himself. Letting his thoughts run off would only make him more nervous when it came time to do what he had to do. He had to remain focused.

A deep breath did the trick.

Looking then at the near-intelligible scrap of paper in his hand, he saw where he needed to go, and approached awkwardly, running into a table on the way and causing his own, not so muted echo.

A lady sat there at his destination, a stamp in her hand frozen mid-action, her nose scrunched and head tilted up in order to peer at him through small, overly magnified spectacles. She must be at least three-hundred years old … he said to himself inwardly.

"Sixty-three." she replied.

Not so inwardly.

Blushing, Brandon approached the desk, and slid a letter across to her. 

"My n-name is B-B-Brandon." He stuttered. Not out of nerves, mind you, he just had a stutter.

"That's nice." She said, peering around him. "Sixty-three?" She said again.

A young man approached the desk and Brandon suddenly realised she had called sixty-three for a reason other than psychically hearing him. 

After helping the man with a question about some word Brandon hadn't heard before, the lady finally turned to him.

"Mmhmm?"

Managing a smile, he continued where he had left off, as she regarded the letter the same way she had him, "I'm the new staff member."

"I see." She said, placing the letter in the bin by the forefingers and dusting off her hands, then went on "When are you scheduled to begin?"

"I'm … not sure. I wasn't t-told." he replied.

The woman sighed. "Well, you'll begin now then." she said, attempting a warm smile, though unfortunately it simply looked as though she was bearing her teeth.

"G-great!" Brandon said, and realising how silent it had just become, leaned forward and returned to a whisper, "What can I do?"

"God only knows." Was the answer there. "But firstly, allow me to give you 'The Tour'." she went on, a strange sense of importance placed on those last two words, and after a few seconds she managed to lift herself out of her leather seat (on which an imprint remained that spoke of many years of not leaving that chair). Brandon hadn't time to get lost thinking again however, as she was suddenly off at a surprising speed and vanished into one of the uncountable aisles of books. He made haste grabbing his messenger bag to follow her.

"The Regeric Unfeld Private Library is unlike most other libraries firstly in that it is owned, and has been owned, by the same family ever since it was created." the woman explained in a tourguide-ish way, rushing down one aisle, then cutting to the left and into another at breakneck speed. A young girl sitting on a stack of books missed her entirely as her hair was caught in the tailwind and though she glanced up from her volume she was unable to see the cause.

"The building itself was an old castle purchased by Regeric II in 1633" she went on, "and has been kept in its original state since then. It is one of the largest libraries in the world, having over six floors of books in the main section, most of them pertaining to Metaphysics and Phenomenology, among many other more 'specialized' subjects…"

Not only did Brandon have no idea what she was talking about, he also just now realised that working in this library would mean that he had to know what lay in the space between where they now were, and the front desk. Not to mention the … how many other floors was it?

Either way, it was a lot of books.

He followed the woman to the left once more, where it seemed they were now following the room's perimeter. Large, dark stone walls made of granite or some such material towered above them, illuminated by gaudy mini-chandelliers hanging from the somewhere above at regular intervals.

They rushed past another, single corridor which branched off to the right.

"Don't worry about that corridor." She said to him, as if she knew he would stop to take a closer look, "you'll be getting very well acquainted with that later."

That sounded ominous. He thought.

Finally, they arrived at another desk. A large, mahogany or teak bench set in the corner against the wall, which - as Brandon noted - had taken a few minutes to arrive at. It looked more for official use than for library guests, being littered with stacks of papers, stamps and ink-pads, and pens, and lit with a very fine-looking gold lamp upon which hung a delicate green-glass lampshade.

The woman disappeared behind a stack of the papers, and after hearing some drawers open and close and some papers rustling somewhere, she appeared again.

"Here you are." She said, presenting him with a small badge.

He didn't have time to look at it however, as she was off again back the way they had come. He rushed after her, and soon they found themselves at the entrance to the little hallway he had seen earlier.

"I'd love to have put you to work in the main area straight away," she said, fumbling in her pockets for something, "it would be helpful to have another hand out here, and it would have been good for you to learn more about the library and its contents, but we have a rather urgent request from an old contributor to the collection, and the book he needs is in here."

Then, finding a set of old iron keys, she led him into the arched entrance and down the hall.

It was immediately quieter, as if by stepping through the portal, the air were much closer, thicker. Darkness enveloped them, and the lights hanging from the rooftop above seemed dimmer and less frequent than out in the main area.

"So." The woman finally said, stopping so suddenly at the end of the hall that Brandon almost ran into her, "You'll be working in here for the next little while." and with that, she put the keys into the wall, and with a loud click and a groan, the wall, which turned out to be a giant wooden door, rocked open and the room beyond was revealed.

She walked in first, and Brandon followed meekly. What he saw astounded him.

A towering, cylindrical space, at the top of which tinted windows in a tented roof allowed yellow light to stream down and light the room. Around the inside walls, level upon level of balconies, the walls themselves obscured entirely by countless thousands of books. This was the central tower.

Stairways led up each level, and ladders rested against the shelves allowing access to those unreachable tomes, while here on the lowest level, a fabulous, polished and coloured marble floor sprawled out ahead of them. A number of oddly placed display cases sat in amongst little piles of unsorted books. In the middle, a large platform stood with another pedestal, though this one was hidden under a large velvet throw.

Inside the display cases were odd-looking devices, instruments, art pieces and other non-categorizable curios. The nearest looked like two stone spheres covered in carvings, fused together and sitting atop a golden stand with ornate curls and twists in it.

"I regret that I don't have time to show you around the room myself," the woman said presently, waking Brandon from his musings, "but I have to get back to the front desk, there's a mountain of paperwork and some patrons seeking help, and my other staff member is sick today. You'll meet her soon I suppose."

She took a piece of paper from her pocket, and held it out to him.

"This is what we're looking for." she said, once again trying to smile but seeming to glare at him, "Find it soon, and you'll be my new favourite employee." and she turned for the door.

He looked down quickly, a single book?

"That shouldn't b-be too hard." He said with a relieved smile.

At that, she stopped and hesitated.

"Oh I almost forgot," she said, turning back and handing him the keys, "I should explain things better. The books in this room aren't ordered."

That thought hit him like a freight train. Not ordered?! exploded into his head.

"We close at five thirty, so make sure you're at the front desk by fife-fifteen to sign out. Lock this door after you too, and make sure you don't open any of the display cases." Before Brandon had a chance to register this she continued, "Also, please don't fall off the balconies, try not to touch too many pages with your hands - there are gloves in the box by the entrance, and most importantly, please don't go wandering through any other rooms in here. I don't know what's lying around but I'm sure it's nothing you want to deal with at this early stage."

Then she was heading for the door once again with an innocent, "Alright?"

"Sure… But s-sorry," Brandon stammered after her, "what's your name?"

"Lizebeth." The woman said over her shoulder, and tapped her name-tag before disappearing through the door once again. "You know where to find me if you need anything." he heard her call back from the hall as the door clanked shut.

Then there was just Brandon and the silence of the room.

It was in fact quite beautiful. The yellow light showed every particle of dust floating about, and it gave the room a rather dreamy feel. But the beauty was offset by the horror of locating the needle of a book in this haystack of literature.

He glanced at the paper in his hand. Scrawled in spidery writing were the words: "Locating the sbfistnpl. By Serafino Seumas." Clearly there was a word he couldn't make out there. The lighting wasn't the best and the handwriting was no better, and try as he might it didn't get clearer. Something looked to have been written underneath and it was getting in the way. 

He'd have to get into the light to see it properly. 

He chuckled nervously at the situation and dug his hands into his pockets while gazing up into the tower. The light was on the third level at the moment. He'd have to climb up there to get a clear look at what was written.

It was then that he felt the badge he had been given between his fingers, and took it from his pocket.

Upon it was written his name in pen: "Brandon Amery" as he expected, but then there was something curious below that. In printed letters, it simply said: "Concealer In Training".