Callimpsest is running through the school; through ogre-shaped holes that take him closer to the library; through his dread. Ignoring the books on the floor, he wills himself forward. Though his dread is not of what's ahead: it's of getting there and having to go back.
And there is the doorway. The entrance or the exit. Shadows beyond.
"Oh please. Oh please..."
His eyelids have lowered, as if to protect him from illusion, from demise, from nastiness. A few more steps. He's in.
The smell. It...
He sneezes.
He opens his eyes.
""Oh.
It's back.
"Hello."
The library. His library. It's back.
"Hello! H-"
When he has finished weeping, Callimpsest moves through the library. Touching. Checking. Cherishing. Thanking himself for never finding that plagiaricer before it had done its work, preserving his parchments, his purpose, his paradise.
But there is someone else to thank.
Callimpsest sees a book lying open on the floor.
Aesandre grows frustrated at the slow search. In a fit of impatience, she wastes precious magic turning her greenwarden disguise back into her royal garments. Wincing in pain, she perseveres.
And then she sees it. Within the ruined school, the library restored. The plagiaricer expended. Her access to the spells that could have sustained the summer sorceress' winter charade, lost forever.
She howls as only a thwarted schemer and a dying witch could.
As the nausea of defeat takes hold, her magical vitality falters. Hair goes grey, skin wrinkles, chest tightens. Her eyesight blurs and her head spins, as if the entire palace is collapsing around her. She must go back, while the pool will still take her, while she still has strength to survive the journey. Her mind fogged, she can only think of one day, and a dangerous day at that. One last chance to tread another timepath.
And if that fails, at least Aesandre will know why. She was her own worst enemy.
Drawing herself up, the once queen steps into the pool, falling from her throne room.
He picks up the book. Staring out from the page is an ogre. He looks anguished. Trapped.
"Oh, Grimwold."
Would it be a library without someone paying a fine?
Callimpsest lays a hand on the page and hangs his head.
"I never liked that sketch."
Young Grimwold sees Callimpsest's head jerk up as he walks over from another aisle.
"My mother insisted on having pictures of the family in there, just like she insisted on producing a recipe book. I would ask you to turn the page but Festus is on the next one. And he was in no mood to pose either. Did you sneeze? I remember reading in Homer's Odyssey how pleased Penelope was to hear Telemachus sneeze, because it meant Fate was on her side. Others would say a sneeze is a bad omen. Sorry. Erm, I mean to say: bless you."
"Thank you."
"Erm, I know the library was for the school community, but I was wondering, and please say if it's too soon: may I borrow a book?"
"Yes. You may.
"I must gather the books we dropped. And arrange for protection for the library from the Powers that Be. And supplies to make it habitable. Might you stay here until I return?"
Securing YG's agreement, Callimpsest the librarian hurries back to the entrance. He pauses.
"And if your work at the Crazed Heifer permits, might you consider a role assisting me further here?"
"Oh. Yes. If I can, I will."
YG hears Callimpsest's footsteps receding. He is alone, but he is not lonely.
Where is he? He's in a room. He's not going to fall off anything. There is not too much light and not too little. The library is a calm, beautiful place. YG can see why Callimpsest strove to bring it back. He, the school, the realm, should never have been Robbed of it.
YG finds a copy of The Odyssey. His Greek is rusty but what better place to remedy that? He turns inwards from the end. Odysseus returned to his kingdom with prophecies still to be fulfilled. But he had quested long and he had his homecoming.
Young Grimwold takes in the shelves, the rafters, the quiet that speaks volumes. This was another man's dream. But it has come true, and YG knows that it is his to share. He can grow, can be safe, can be content.
"If I can, I will."
The end.