The Writer's Lodge

Brandon pocketed the badge. No need to wear a name tag in an empty room. He didn't even know what a concealer was. The word brought to mind a cream his mum had given him when he was younger to cover some pimples. The memory of his mum stung him. Rather than dwell on it, he began the trek up the stairs to the third floor.

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.