The Writer's Lodge

“S-s-so I made her invisible?”

“Precisely,” Lizebeth answered.

“Cool,” he replied, impressed with himself. He still couldn't get his head around the fact that he was important. Him. The skinny kid with the stutter. The one that always shied away from any sort of attention.

“Oh do please stop patting yourself on the back, there isn't time for that,” said Lizebeth interrupting his thoughts. “Leila's life is still in danger. Or technically, I should say: Leila's life was in danger still. I think. Time travel makes grammar so very confusing,” Lizebeth said removing her spectacles to rub her nose where they previously sat.

“We have to save her! How d-d-do we save her? We need to travel there by the sunstone.”

“Sadly it's not that simple,” said Lizebeth. “A relic is only good for one activation. But not to worry, Bram slipped up – by keeping the sunstone intact he allowed us to work out the exact time and region Leila's trapped in. I think I can reach her with another artifact.”

“How do you get someone out of t-t-the past?” asked Brandon, trying to get his head around everything he'd learnt so far.

“The easiest way is for her to stand on the original relic and destroy the activator, the piece of papyrus. She'll then return to the sunstone in our time - another reason it's so strange Bram left it untouched,” replied Lizebeth, the second part almost to herself.

Brandon waited patiently as her mind drifted off, deep in thought. When she snapped back to reality she seemed almost surprised to see Brandon sitting before her.

“We must be getting you to the library. You'll be safe there while you learn more about... everything,” she said, straight back to business.

“C-c-can you make things invisible, too?” Brandon asked, wanting answers now.

“No, I'm a marvel, not a concealer. We have different abilities. Mind influencing and mind reading are the wrong words to describe what I do, but they'll do until the right words appear. All clear?”

“No. S-s-so much still doesn't make sense,” Brandon confessed.

“Well, there are also trappers, self-explanatory really. And seers, although they're next to useless if you ask me. And finally there are...” she stopped mid-sentence.

The light in the apartment grew darker as the streetlight outside Brandon's window flickered and died. Lizebeth was immediately on her feet.

“We must go, now!” she said, her voice more urgent and alive than he'd heard it before.

“W-what? Why?”

“Shadows,” she said as she grabbed her cardigan sweater and headed for the door as fast as her elderly body would allow. “Come on, hurry. I can feel their minds racing towards us. Someone on The Guild must have... oh dear...”

The frosty, night air assaulted Brandon as he followed Lizebeth outside and down the stairs to the ground level. He would've run back for a jacket but something about the look on Lizebeth's face convinced him otherwise.

“Where's your automobile vehicle?” she asked.

“I c-c-catch the bus,” he replied.

“Then we shall have to walk most briskly.”

She made her way down the middle of the street as Brandon chased after her. She sure was sprightly for someone of her age. Brandon glanced nervously over his shoulder for whatever she was afraid of.

“W-w-what are shadows?”

“No time to explain,” she answered in-between rushed breaths.

“Can you help me make us invisible?” Brandon asked.

“It's no use, they hunt by smell,” she answered. “Now do keep up. Quick. Here. Cut across the park.”

She led Brandon through what was a pretty poor excuse for a park. One slide and a rusty set of swings in a large field of overgrown grass and weeds. Brandon raced along with Lizebeth, starting to wonder if perhaps this was all just the ramblings of a senile old lady. Certainly it was the explanation that made the most sense. One weird dream wouldn't turn him into a hero, after all.

Splash! He looked down at his sneaker, now at the bottom of a puddle. Great. He shook his foot in the air as he walked along trying to get it dry or at least less wet. They were almost at the end of the park when he first heard it. Splish --- Splish. It sounded like footsteps in the wet grass behind them.

He turned in the direction of the noise, straining his eyes to see anything in the darkness.

“H-h-how do you kill shadows?” he asked, a little embarrassed to be buying into her delusion.

“You can't kill them. Best you can do is trap them,” she replied as they stepped out of the park, back onto the footpath.

Splish--splish--splish. The noise was getting closer. Faster.

“A-a-are they deadly?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.

“No,” she said to his surprise. “Not often. They rarely kill. Rather they prefer to suck out your potential. When they're done, you'll wish for death.”

“Oh.”

She rushed him through a series of back alleys until, finally, the castle that housed the library came into view, high up on the cliff face. Brandon still couldn't help looking over his shoulder from time to time, not sure if he was imagining a presence behind them. The blackness of the night increased his paranoia, like when you feel something brush up against your leg in the ocean. He turned a corner chasing after Lizebeth and was startled to discover no sign of her.

“Lizebeth?” he called. His voice echoed out. No answer came back. What to do? That was when he sensed something. Movement in his peripheral vision. Scanning left and right all he could see was darkness and shadow. He backed up slowly towards the glow of the one nearby streetlight. Standing directly under it, he watched as the shadows started to grow towards him. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but he thought he could almost see the form of some sort of creatures in among the different hues of black. His imagination placed their size and shape as somewhere between a panther and a bull.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The sound of large, heavy claws on pavement. Slowly inching they way towards him. It wasn't his imagination! He could hear them breathing and see their breath in the cold, dark air. All around him shadows grew closer. One let out a high pitched squeal that sent goosebumps racing across his body. The streetlight that Brandon stood under started to flicker.

“Lizebeth!” he cried out more urgently, as loudly as he could.

A massive, thunderous roar filled the night sky as a gust of wind flew past Brandon's head, causing him to instinctively drop to the ground. From his new position, he watched what he first thought was a small plane race by. As the streetlight returned to full power he got a better look at the... creature? It was around ten, maybe fifteen feet long; its torso covered in a protective metal armor. Fire shot from its mouth and the shadows around Brandon started to fade and retreat. It's a dragon he realised to his own amazement. A battle dragon!

The dragon raced back over Brandon's head and away, up into the clouds. He looked around the alleyway – everything suddenly looked brighter. It must be getting closer to dawn. Perhaps his sanity would return with the rise of the sun. Despite the lighter surroundings, he still couldn't see any sign of Lizebeth so he hurriedly made his way towards the castle, hoping he'd find her in that direction.

It was around the next corner that he found her, hunched over. She appeared to have taken a fall and he rushed to her side as she shakily tried to get back onto her feet. Kneeling down, he put one of her arms over his shoulder and helped her up.

“It w-w-was you, w-wasn't it?” he said, not daring believe it. “Ninian said you were an old battle dragon. I didn't realise he meant literally!”

“Ninian said what!?” she demanded. “Why that old...” She stopped herself, took a couple of deep breaths, then added, “It was just in your mind. I'm a marvel, remember? You only think you saw a battle dragon. Now, let's get inside before the shadows regroup.”

The doors to the Library closed behind them with a satisfyingly heavy thud. Already Brandon felt safer. Being inside the castle also seemed to give Lizebeth a second wind. She now stood freely again on her own two feet.

“I guess the time has come for more answers,” she said as she lead him through the library. “Tell me, what do you know about Atlantis?”

Brandon stopped in his tracks.

“W-what?” he asked. “The legendary island?”

“No, the casino in Reno... Yes, the legendary island.”

“It sunk.”

“It's going to be a long lesson,” sighed Lizebeth as she plucked a book from one of the shelves without looking and continued forward. “I'll start with the basics.”

“Many believe Atlantis to be merely myth – that Plato's dialogues were works of fiction. And it must be said, there is plenty of fiction to be found in there. However, if you look closely you find the seedlings of truth. Atlantis was indeed an advanced civilisation and its own corruption, in part, led to its downfall. Take that much as fact. And that's where The Guild come into play,” Lizebeth said as she led Brandon down the corridor leading to the central tower.

“Since its origin, The Guild has sort to prove the existence of Atlantis. Over the centuries, their knowledge has grown to the point that they now know about deplacement and how it occurs. It is their hope that one day they'll find a relic from the brief era where travel to Atlantis was possible. Or a relic from Atlantis itself. So far they have neither. We here at RUPL are determined to keep it that way.”

She took a key from her pocket and opened the door to the main tower. It was pitch black inside. He heard some rummaging noises, then a lantern came to life beside him, which Lizebeth passed to him as she lit another.

“But a-aren't you part of The Guild?”

“Yes, someone needs to keep an eye on them. They know I have potential, but don't realise the extent of my powers. My marvel abilities have been able to keep them in the dark. There is much they don't know.”

“So they're the b-b-b-bad guys?”

Lizebeth looked in him the eye, “No. They're a group of people, Brandon. And like any group of people, in them lies the potential for good and bad deeds,” she answered.

“Now you wait here. I'll be right back,” she said before handing him the book she grabbed earlier. “Why not read a bit of Plato's Timaeus while you wait.”

Brandon did as she said, sitting down by the staircase with the book. Most of it was hard to understand. He squinted as he continued to read by the faint light of the lantern: Now in this island of Atlantis there existed a confederation of kings, of great and marvelous power, which held sway over all the island, and...

“Who are you!? Badge please,” said a voice in the dark, startling him. After his encounter with the shadows, he was really starting to hate the dark.

Brandon swung his lantern across to see the familiar face of Ninian looking back at him expectantly.

“Hey Ninian, it's me. B-B-Brandon. The c-concealer.”

“Oh dear, this is not good. I'm having it. What's it called again?” said Ninian.

“Jamais Vu,” answered Brandon.

“Thats it! You're a bright one! I can tell I'm going to like you.”

Brandon smiled.

“You'll have to lose that ridiculous s-s-stutter though,” Ninian continued. “Now, what's with the book?”

“Lizebeth gave it to me, told me to r-r-read it.”

“Bah, that ol' battle dragon. You learn by doing, not reading. Follow me!”

Brandon hesitated. Lizebeth had been quite specific and she didn't seem the type to tolerate disobedience.

“I should stay here,” he finally said.

“Suit yourself,” Ninian replied. “I was only going to show you the most amazing thing you'll ever see in your entire lifetime. But yes, that book seems fun, too.”

Brandon stayed focused reading, ignoring Ninian as he hobbled over towards him. Then, with a swift, fluid motion Ninian flicked his walking stick up, connecting with Brandon's book, sending it flying out of his hands and into the black void of the library.

“Ninian!” Brandon said in annoyance. “W-w-why'd you do that?”

“A most fortuitous accident it was. Now come. Follow,” he said as he wondered off.

“B-b-but Lizebeth said...”

“Lizebeth said to listen to Ninian! It was in her subtext. Learn to listen, boy!” he said as he hauled himself up the staircase, one slow step at a time.

Lifting himself up, Brandon began to follow him. Hopefully they could make it back before Lizebeth even knew they were gone.

“W-w-where are we going?” Brandon asked.

“Up,” said Ninian as he climbed another step. “I'm seriously doubting your intelligence.”

“S-sorry,” muttered Brandon darkly to himself.

A few minutes later they reached the sixth floor, where Ninian directed Brandon through a door to the right and flicked a switch, flooding the new room with light. Brandon shielded his eyes as they adjusted to the brightness. When they finally did, he was astonished at what he saw. The room stretched back for what seemed like eternity and was filled with relics – hundreds, possibly thousands of them. Everywhere he looked it seemed there were priceless artifacts.

“Welcome to the Relic Room,” said Ninian proudly.

“T-t-this is amazing,” said Brandon lost for words as he studied the room.

There was so much to look at. He walked across to an ancient sword and examined it. On one side he found the words, Take me up and on the other side Cast me away.

“Is t-t-this... no it's impossible,” said Brandon.

“Not impossible,” said Ninian laughing. “It is Caledfwlch – although you may know it as...”

“Excalibur,” whispered Brandon.

“Exactly,” said Ninian laughing.

“B-b-but that's just fiction.”

“Parts of it yes. Parts of it, no,” said Ninian. “Merlin was a marvel with a wonderful sense of humour.”

“Merlin was a reckless liability to our people,” said a stern voice behind them, scaring them both. “By now I've learnt to expect your insubordination Ninian, but I had hoped for better from you, Mr Amery.”

“Lighten up Lizebeth,” said Ninian.

“People are dying! The Guild is closer than ever to learning the nature of our existence and Bram seems to picking us off one by one, so I will most certainly not lighten up.”

She had a way of looking at you that made you fill up with shame and guilt, Brandon noted. He quietly stood there, looking for some way to apologise as she took a deep breath.

“Furthermore, someone sent shadows after Brandon tonight. I think The Guild has a traitor.”

“You're the traitor, remember? You daft old bat!” said Ninian.

“Another. Traitor,” Lizebeth said, the tone making it clear that her patience would stretch only so far.

“Nevertheless,” she continued. “We are here now, so we may us well show him. He needed to see it at some point anyway.”

“N-n-needed to see what?” asked Brandon nervously.

“Come, it's easier if you see for yourself,” said Lizebeth simply as she climbed a small staircase about ten feet from the room's entrance. Reaching the top, she undid a latch in the roof and pushed open a trapdoor leading outside. Brandon followed her up the stairs and out into the crisp morning air.

Outside they were on the roof of the castle as the sun began to rise, gently bathing the coast in golden light.

“The thing about Atlantis is: it was actually the smallest of four such islands. While it may have sunk, the others survived, thrived and continued to advance,” Lizebeth told Brandon.

But Brandon wasn't listening to a word she said. Instead he was looking on, awestruck, as he gazed out at a mass of land that rose up out of the ocean leading to a city in the clouds. The city was unlike any city he'd ever seen in his life. Even through it was a great distance away, he could recognise a few distinct features, including what appeared to be a giant sphinx and pyramids carved out of glass or crystal. The island in the sky was way beyond the scope of the word beautiful.

“The city of Persephone,” said Lizebeth with a smile. She glanced across at Brandon, who could only stand there in shock, his mouth wide open. “Oh, do close your mouth before a fly makes its home there.”

“You didn't really think concealers could only conceal people, did you?”

The room where Brandon slept might have been messy if it weren’t so bare. On the desk beside his bed were an armful of books and a few hand-written pages of what looked like letters to friends or family. An old-fashioned lamp, a watch and tall glass of water were the other objects that competed for attention.

A window had been left open and light streaked across his room each time a breeze stirred the curtains. There might have been a streetlight right outside. But Brandon didn’t notice. He tossed and turned in his bed, dreaming. Then, as though spitting sand from his tongue, he pth pth-ed…

A girl – a pretty girl, with tousled brown hair and hazel eyes – trudged through a desert in jeans. She held up a hand to protect her face from a blustery wind full of gritty sand. Night had fallen, and the moon was not particularly bright; the landscape indiscriminately grey-blue. The girl reached into her pocket and used the luminescence of her phone’s backlight to guide her for a few metres before putting it back away.

A soft, rhythmic chanting haunted either her ears or her imagination. She looked back over her shoulder in the direction from which she had come; the faint glow of civilisation. She fell to her knees, looking exhausted and utterly dejected. With as much strength as she could summon she drove her fist into the sand, fighting back tears. She closed her eyes and mouthed: Why?

Behind her, a group of eagle warriors stalked towards her with swift, silent steps. They carried spears or clubs that bore sharp, obsidian-edged blades. The girl was completely unaware. Danger crept closer and closer.

Brandon’s restlessness intensified. ‘No! N-no!’ he shouted out to his apartment, from deep within his subconscious. His eyes darted frantically underneath his eyelids.

A few more paces and they’d be upon her. The nearest of them began to raise their weapons in readiness to strike. She turned at the final second, to see the point of a spear hurtling towards her. She fell to her side just in time. The spear narrowly missed her shoulder, but she wouldn’t have enough time to scramble to her feet and put any distance between herself and the warriors. She lunged for the spear that had missed her – determined to fight, no matter how futile the chance of survival.

Something stilled Brandon. His breathing slowed down considerably. His eyes stopped their frenetic movement, too. It could have been a moment of complete inner-peace, or incredibly intense concentration.

A shiver ran through her as she grasped the spear and span to face her attackers. They’d stopped, frozen in place. They were staring at the spear. One of them pointed at it in alarm. Another shrieked and fell over backwards. The girl was unsure of what was happening but jabbed the spear at one of the muscled men close to her. Visibly panicked he swung his club wildly at the spear and the area around it, as if unable to see her. She looked at her arms and gasped. It was as though they were deflecting light – camouflaging her. She could just make out a flicker of their outline. Her whole body was the same!

Most of the men were staggering back away towards the glowing light on the horizon, but two were speaking softly to each other and creeping closer to the floating spear. She waved it as menacingly as she could in their direction. They paused, then let out a blood-curdling war-cry and kicked up heaps of sand. Some of it landed on her arm, and they could see it just as well as she could. They advanced. She hastily brushed off the sand, ditched the spear, and darted downhill to her left. The warriors watched the footprints she left in the sand but did not take chase.

After a short time all of the men were gone. She circled back. The spear was gone. She was tired and thirsty and scared for her life. She knew she had to do something about it to survive. So she began the trek back towards the city she’d fled. Hoping to catch a break. Desperate to remain concealed.

Brandon woke suddenly and reached for the glass of water on his desk. The images of the girl in the desert were still vivid in his mind. It was not only the images, either. Her thoughts, her feelings – he’d known them, been connected to them.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his feet hit the floor. There was a strange sensation in his head. It felt like a part of his mind was busy doing something else. But he couldn’t tap into it; it was almost like he needed a key to access that part of his consciousness. Weird.

His watch read 03:05, which was not so weird. Lately he hadn’t been sleeping through the night all that well.

He heard a gentle knock on his door. Back to weird. It was followed by a whisper.

“Brandon it’s Lizebeth, from the RUPL. I know you’re awake.”

He shuffled over to the door. “The w-w-what?”

“The Regeric Unfeld Private Library, you fool!” snapped the whispering voice. “Now do let me in, it’s imperative I speak with you.”

Brandon cringed. What if this was about the book he and Ninian had destroyed?

“Brandon!”

“Er, I’m n-not dressed.” Brandon lied.

Tapping and clicking came from the lock on his door – which was soon opened by a kneeling Lizebeth. She got to her feet and brushed some specks of dust off the front of her long skirt.

“This really is unacceptable.” Lizebeth swept past Brandon and into his apartment.

“Now tell me,” she said as she perched on the edge of his sofa, “how many Lizebeth’s do you know, exactly?”

Brandon laughed nervously. “I uh, don’t—”

“Quiet.” Lizebeth was staring at him intently. She cocked her head slightly and squinted as she seemed to listen for something. “Is that… Are you…? No that’s not possible.” she said to herself, shaking her head dismissively.

“C-can I get you a drink? I have water and—” Brandon rubbed his temple, which suddenly felt strange.

“My word, you are!” Lizebeth exclaimed. “What are you doing, right now, in your mind?”

“I d-don’t kn-know what you mean… I’ve felt odd since I w-woke up from this strange dream, though.”

“Tell me about it, immediately.”

As Brandon described the events of the girl in the desert, Lizebeth could not hide her surprise, despite trying terribly hard to. The hands clasped on her lap tensed and her lips were pursed just a little too tightly.

“That was no ordinary dream, Brandon. And I must say it: you are no ordinary young man.” Lizebeth paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I have a lot to tell you, all at once. I would have preferred to ease you into all of it, but time is not on our side.”

Lizebeth motioned for Brandon to sit and he did so. “Alright then, where to start? The secrets of the Library? The Guild? Parallels? Clement Bram? Why you’re possibly the most important person on the planet at this moment? Hmm, I’ll let you decide.”

Brandon looked lost for words.

“Do stay with me, Brandon. And know this: I will always do my best to help you.” She patted him softly on his knee. “You are, well, quite extraordinarily burdened. I can-- I know something about what you’ll be going through.”

“Thank you…”

Lizebeth gave him a small sad smile.

The wooden stairs creaked and groaned with each step as if they hadn't had the displeasure of being trod upon since the castle's origin. Reaching the third floor, Brandon paused to scan the surroundings. He was taking in one of the display cases when a shadow flew across the room, spooking him. Probably Just a bird flying past the window. Time to get back to work.

He took out the piece of paper and examined it in the lighter area. “Locating the sbfistnpl. By Serafino Seumas.” Huh? It was exactly what he'd first thought. Surely it must be a typo. What on earth was a sbfistnpl? He had no idea. But then he wasn't exactly sure what a concealer was either.

Just great. He could spend his afternoon here in a futile search for the book only to find he'd misread the title and never had a hope of finding it. Or, on the other hand, he could trek back to Lizebeth and she'll think him an idiot for not being able to complete a simple task. Brandon mulled over the dilemma for a few moments. This is why he never liked Choose your own adventure books, he realised glumly. He always found it hard to commit to a course of action.

Only one thing to do. Brandon closed his eyes, swung around and pointed at the shelf. Opening his eyes, he followed the tip of his finger to one particular book.

“Please be locating the sbf..., please be locating the w-w-w-weird word,” he said to himself. Strange. He didn't normally stutter so badly when he was alone. It gave him the creepy feeling he was being watched.

The book he'd pointed to was heavy and covered in what he assumed was leather, although disturbingly it felt more like skin. All in all, it seemed as old as the library itself. The cover told him he was holding The Chronicles of Karael. Curious, he flipped open the book.

The pages seemed fraile, almost tissue paper thin. He flicked through the book until he came to a stop on a sketch of a half-goblin, half-spider like creature biting into someone's neck. According to the caption below it, the creature was a Grypling and liked to feast on skin. Ew, back to skin again. Think of something different he told himself. That's when what Lizebeth had said earlier came back to him, “... try not to touch too many pages with your hands - there are gloves in the box by the entrance.”

Brandon slammed the book shut, releasing a cloud of dust that in turn triggered a coughing fit. Annoyed at the unhelpful book and its unhelpful dust, he shoved the tome back onto the shelf. He turned back for the stairs when he heard it. Thunk. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk-thunk!

A look over his shoulder confirmed Brandon's worst fears. One by one books were falling off the shelf in domino-like fashion. The book avalanche slowly worked its way around the length of the circular room with Brandon powerless to stop it. The sound echoed so loud that he worried Lizebeth would hear it from the front room.

I'm going to be fired when the dust, literally, settles he thought as dust blanketed the room like heavy fog.

“Heh heh heh.”

Was that laughter? An animal? One day in the library and he was already going nutty, Brandon decided.

Slowly he began the frustrating task of putting all the books back on the shelf, each time checking for any sign of the word sbfistnpl. He found countless books on Egyptian deities, Aztec symbols and various other oddities but after what must've been at least an hour or two he'd restocked the shelf with not even a hint of sbfistnpl.

It was darker now. The sound of a distant storm rattled the tinted glass above. At this rate it'd be twilight by 5pm. Boy did he miss home. Well, his real home, where it was still summer.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, pricked his finger on the badge needle and thundered down the stairs, his mood threatening to become as dark as the outside weather.

On the ground floor he discovered the incident above had caused a couple of books to fall down onto the large platform in the centre of the room. At least he could throw them wherever he liked - it's not like there was any order to worry about.

Stepping up onto the platform, his attention was drawn to the velvet throw which covered what he assumed was a tall-ish pedestal. What was it hiding? Brandon now had to know.

Picking up a corner of the throw he began to pull. It was heavier than it looked. The velvet gradually fell away and Brandon barely managed to conceal a squeal as he found himself staring face-to-face with a short, ancient-looking man. The man was sitting next to a large pedestal, which held an object covered by a small red cloth.

“W-w-who are you?” Brandon stammered.

“Who am I? Who are you!?” replied the old man as he got to his feet and put on his reading classes. “Badge please?”

Brandon took out his badge nervously and handed it to the man.

“How long have you been under t-there?”

“Concealer, eh? Well this is not good. Not good,” said the man, ignoring Brandon's question. “I suppose I'll do my best. You'll have to lose that stutter though.”

“I'll have to w-w-w-what?”

The old man picked up one of the dusty books from the floor and clipped Brandon a couple of times across the arm with it.

“Stop stuttering!”

Brandon rubbed his arm as the old man paced backwards and forwards. He had tufts of grey hair around his ears but that was all that was left. Whatever age he was, it was clearly a very high number. The arthritis in his hands made them resemble a bunch of onion bulbs, but his eyes twinkled with a rare vitality, lighting up his face.

“Why don't I remember this? Oh dear, I'm having it. What is it called? The opposite of Deja vu. You! You're giving it to me!”

“I don't know what y-you're talking about.”

“But I didn't know that you didn't know. Exactly my point! You know?”

Brandon looked at the quirky old man. He appeared harmless enough, but he sure was confusing.

“Jamais vu! That's what this is!” he said, waving his walking stick in the air. “I had Presque vu, too,” he added chuckling to himself.

“W-what are you talking about?” asked Brandon, still throughly puzzled.

“Presque vu – it's when something is on the tip of your tongue. You're in a library, boy. Good God, do try reading something. You might learn.”

The old man handed Brandon his badge back as he looked around the room.

“Still this is exciting! Almost certainly bad, yes, but exciting! Look at this,” he said holding out his arm. “Goosebumps! Can you believe it!? And at my age! Why, I thought myself long past the goosebump age. So, how do you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Jamais vu. Is it some new concealer ability? But no, impossible, your badge says you're still in training...”

“I'm s-s-sorry but I don't know what you mean,” Brandon said.

“Fine, we'll do this the slow way - take this conversation on the scenic route, so to speak. I'm a seer – I often see things before they happen. As you can imagine, I'm used to deja vu, but today I've got jamais vu. I feel like I should recognise you and this situation but I don't.”

The old man looked up at him expectantly as Brandon searched for a way to get out of the increasingly bizarre conversation.

“Look, L-L-Lizebeth told me I need to lock up when I leave, so you can't stay in here.”

“Lizebeth,” the man snorted. “That ol' battle dragon. I can do what I please. What! I! Please!” he said thumping the ground with his walking stick to emphasise the words. “ Tell you what. I'll help you find the book and you'll let me stay.”

Brandon figured it was a bad idea, but it wasn't like he really had anything to lose.

“Sure, whatever.”

“Good. Good. Now collect me that Orb of Thoth over there,” said the old man.

“Orb of T-t-thoth?”

The old man sighed.

“That shinny ball in the display case.”

Brandon walked over to the glass container and carefully removed an aqua and ruby speckled orb around the size of a apple. The old man eagerly grabbed it off him.

“What's y-your name?” Brandon finally asked.

“I am Ninian. Who are you?”

“Brandon – remember? I showed you my badge.”

“Oh dear, I must be having jamais vu,” Ninian said as he removed an old, drawstring pouch. “Now what's the name of the book you need to find?”

“L-L-L-Locating...”

“Your verbal non-fluency is most annoying,” Ninian interrupted.

“Locating the... I can't p-p-pronounce it,” Brandon continued on. “S-b-f-i-s-t-n-p-l.”

“It's pronounced bin. The s, f, t, p and l are silent letters. Fascinating word, yes?”

Ninian removed some black sand from his pouch and sprinkled it over the orb. Brandon watched on intrigued as the old man spoke some words in a language he didn't recognise. All of a sudden, a thin ray of sunlight shone through the tinted glass above, lighting up a single book on the fourth floor of the tower.

“H-h-how'd you do...?” Brandon said as he watched the book glow lightly. He couldn't believe his eyes. This day just got weirder and weirder.

“I think you've found your book,” Ninian laughed happily.

The book burned brighter. Then burned for real, exploding into flame. Ninian gulped.

“Ah, yes, that does tend to happen from time to time... Well, don't just stand there like a stunned statue frozen in ice, put it out!”

The ray of light vanished as Brandon bounded back up the creaky staircases as fast as he could, only pausing to catch a quick breath on the third floor. When he got to the book, he once again found himself wishing he'd put on the gloves. Gingerly he flicked it off the shelf before stomping out the flames. When the fire was out, he looked down to discover only the charred and tattered carcas of a book remained. How would he explain this?

He trudged back down the stairs, thinking his first day couldn't possibly have gone any worse. Oh well, maybe Ninian could explain to Lizebeth what had happened. Whatever that was. That was when he noticed he was alone again. Looking down from the second floor balcony, there was no sign of his strange new acquaintance.

“Don't worry, I'd love to take the blame,” Brandon muttered to himself. He was starting to really dislike this place.

“One day you'll be replaced by a single Kindle,” he taunted the library and its books.

Begrudgingly he made his way down the last two flights of stairs. By now it was almost completely dark - he'd soon have to lock up and return to the front desk.

He was shuffling to the door, when he couldn't resist taking out his frustration on one of the wheeled ladders, gently shoving it. It squeaked loudly, crying out for grease as it slid away before coming to an abrupt, bumpy stop. Huh? A tiny glint of light caught his eye where the ladder had come to rest. Next to the wheel was where he found it: a torn, beaten-up badge, not totally dissimilar to his own.

In the half-light he could just make out the writing: Stella Ravenwood. Trapper, First Class.