Episode 9: Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler, Chapter 6
Simmonds had known what to expect when he reached the clifftop ledge. He had known the gates of Hades were guarded by Cerberos, a great, three-headed dog. He had known this. It was why he was here. It was for this purpose he had brought the third of his Eleusinian tokens.
He just hadn't expected the dog to be so, well, large. Giant didn't quite cover it.
A gale of hot, stale air rushed past him as an inquisitive nostril larger than a cathedral door inspected the miniscule intruder. Face twisting at the all-encompassing smell of dog-breath, Simmonds saw himself reflected, redly, in a hanging droplet of drool larger than his own self. He moved slowly. No need to remind himself not to startle the animal. He doubted he would even need chewing to fit down a throat that broad. One lick and it would all be over! The lyre chimed a gentle chord as it came loose from its wrappings. He didn't need to do anything else. Interference was unnecessary. The rushing air of the beast's breathing drew and plucked the lyre's strings in magical harmony.
Simmonds gripped the gilded wood of the instrument's frame with both hands. Only the holder of the lyre was immune to its soporific effects. He edged round the platform, sliding into the doorway and putting his back to the wall. It was a risk – if that great body fell on him there was no chance of escape – but it was one he felt it necessary to take. If the ledge gave way at the creature's collapse, he would have no way to avoid the flaming pit below. When the crash came, a rumble of falling rock chorused down the cliff, adding an odd note of percussion to the lyre's song. The remains of the ledge reverberated with the snores of the beast, each one drilling through Simmonds' feet like an earthquake.
One hand on the lyre, he climbed the furry mountain before him. Here, at least, he did not lack for handholds. The catch, of course, was on the far side of his quarry and it was some time before, slipping and sliding through the greasy hairs, he found himself, bruised, battered and stinking of unwashed dog, before the truck-wide strap of leather and its tree-like metal buckle pin. Simmonds sighed. This was a task that would definitely take both hands.
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"If you do this, there's no way back, you know," sighed Jenkins, feeling the weight of every one of his long years. He placed his empty cup and saucer down on the tea tray and stifled a groan as he settled back into his armchair.
Ezekiel stared down at the now cold liquid in his own cup. "If I don't, will we win?"
"There's no guarantee…" Charlene began, only to be cut off by the young librarian's head snapping up.
"If I don't," he repeated.
Charlene shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know."
Ezekiel's gaze turned to Jenkins.
Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, Jenkins steepled his fingers and met the young man's burning eyes. "No."
Ezekiel nodded, his decision made. "Then I have to try."
In the silence that followed, the slight clearing of the throat from Jenkins sounded like the slamming of a great door. "There is, perhaps," he began, "another option."
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The room reminded her of her parent's library. Bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall. The room was larger, though. Exquisitely decorated in keeping with the house's origins, it stretched out around her with the welcoming warmth and familiarity of a favourite blanket. In the light of one broad window stood a heavy wooden desk: the kind Ezekiel would want to check for secret drawers. On the desk were papers and scrolls, writing materials, and an empty lectern. Now that she looked, it seemed the whole room was empty, save for its books and furniture. Something, some kind of pillar or statue, stood in the centre of the room, covered from its top to the floor in a silken cloth. Cassandra frowned at it. It felt strange. Closing her eyes gently, she let her synaesthesia take over. Even before her eyes opened again, she could see the power radiating from the silken hangings. Power flooded the room, far more than in Dunvegan or even in the Library itself. It was an old power, ancient and eternal, and it resonated from the draperies before her and from every book that lined the room's walls. It also seemed to resonate from one of the tall-backed, over-stuffed armchairs that faced a dark, richly carved and varnished wooden coffee table and a matching sofa. There was a movement in the shimmering, dancing aura surrounding the chair. Cassandra blinked. Rising from the chair and turning to face them was a wrinkled old man with a beard Charles Darwin would have been jealous of. He seemed the epitome of everything brought to mind by the word 'wizard' and she could not but wonder if there was a reason for that.
The little old man straightened, brushed a hand down his luxuriant beard, and placed the book he had been reading on a small side table by the chair. "Cousin André," the old man creaked, walking over to the trio. "I thought I might be seeing you today. And you also, Librarians. Come take your ease and ask me your questions."
"Well, we only have one request, really," began Stone. He stopped when the old man waved a peremptory hand.
"You have one request, Jacob Stone," muttered Enoch, turning his eyes fully on Cassandra. "Your heart has far more."
"You know us," Cassandra stated, holding the ancient's gaze with growing curiosity and blossoming understanding. "You're old. Really old. Older than the Library."
"Older than myth, some might say," smiled Enoch. "Older, certainly than Judson and his little collection. I am glad that he found someone to pass its keeping on to before his end. You will guard it well, and he will guard you as well as any Librarian might."
"I'm sorry?" Cassie blinked.
"Don't be, child," chuckled Enoch, turning back to his chair. "Simply come and ask your questions. I know they are many, but we have time for the uppermost few."
"We just came for…" Jacob began, his eyes following Cassandra as she picked her way round to the sofa.
"The feather is safe and awaiting you," sighed Enoch, shooing Jacob round to sit by his beloved. "You have the time, I tell you. Be at peace."
"I'll just wait in the hall," murmured André, backing out of the room.
"I thank you, André," nodded Enoch. "It was well done to bring them so swiftly here."
The doors fell shut behind André with a hushed whisper that brought silence to the room. Enoch returned to his seat and sat down, opposite Cassandra and Jacob.
"Ask," he commanded. Cassandra opened her mouth and paused when the old man raised a finger. "Not that one: we do not have time to bother with questions you already know the answer to."
"Can we win?"
"It is possible."
"How?"
"It hangs on the heart of another, child. Not yours. Your destiny lies beyond this struggle."
Cassandra frowned. "I thought…"
"You will take the feather. You will play your part. You will play it well. This is not what you are here to ask me. Ask."
Cassie blinked at the sudden vehemence in the old man's voice. Jacob's hand folded over hers and she looked round to see his calm blue eyes meet hers. He nodded. She turned back to Enoch. "Why do I have these powers? Am I just some strange experiment of my parents'? Did they build me to use like some piece of lab equipment? Like some weapon?"
Enoch nodded like the sage he was. "This is what truly troubles your heart. Let it trouble you no further. Your parent did have a hand in 'building' you, as you say, but your power is yours alone. They did not count on it and do not know of it. It is of the light, and not the darkness. Do not fear it. Use it. Learn its strengths as you learn your own. It will serve you well. Only, remember this: you are powerful, not omnipotent. You can do much, save many, but you cannot save all. None alive can do that. Not even I."
Pushing himself up, out of his chair, Enoch walked over to the great wooden desk and retrieved a long, enamelled box from a drawer. He returned to the waiting pair and leant down, placing the box in Cassandra's outstretched hands.
"Can we…" Jacob began, but was once again cut off by the old man.
"Only those who share the fate of the Phoenix may look upon it without harm," murmured Enoch, raising Cassandra to her feet. "You will catch a glimpse of its radiance when your heart opens the box, but only she may touch it without burning."
"Because I died," stated Cassie, her eyes moving from the box to Enoch. "That's right isn't it? That's what you meant by sharing the fate of the Phoenix? I died and came back, just like it."
Enoch nodded and led her round to the door. "I know there is more you wish to ask me, child. More about yourself, myself, the Library. These questions can wait. You know what you need to."
Cassandra paused as they reached the door and turned, the scent of summer drifting round her. "Thank you."
Jacob drew her arm through his and looked down at the ancient old man before them. "Any advice for me?"
Enoch chuckled and shook his head. "Of all the questions you could have asked, Jacob Stone, you chose the one to which you already know the answer beyond any doubt."
Jacob raised an eyebrow. "I did?"
"You must do in this endeavour as you would in any other," sighed Enoch. "You are a man of learning and intelligence. You must trust your own counsel. You must follow your heart."
Jacob raised a finger and took a breath. He stopped, mouth closing on unspoken words. New words replaced them. "What the…How?"
André looked back at them over the shoulder of his drivers' seat. "Oh, that happens sometimes. I don't know how he does it. Where to now, ma belle dame?"
Cassandra looked from the box in her hand, to Jacob's resigned face, to the surroundings of André's cab, then to André himself. "I don't suppose you happen to have a cousin with a good diner, do you? I'm starving."
"Well, now, ain't it just the thing, but I do indeed, pretty lady, I do indeed."
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Flynn and Eve paraded triumphantly through the back door, hand in hand and Gungnir held aloft. They stopped short at the sight of the silent and still room before them.
"Interesting," mused Flynn, glancing askew at the corners of the room.
"They can't all be out," reasoned Eve, gesturing in the direction of the neat assortment of artefacts on the central desk. "Jenkins was supposed to stay here and get everything ready. He, at least, would have the sense to call if something came up."
"True," murmured Flynn. "We should check his lab. You go look there. I'll check the Library."
"Not a chance!" Eve retorted, tightening her grip on her husband's hand to keep him by her side. "If anything has gone wrong, we face it together. Come on!"
"I assure you, Colonel Carsen, nothing has gone wrong," floated down from above like the benediction of some beneficent deity. Flynn and Eve looked up to see the regal form of Jenkins smiling down upon them. "Mister Jones will be down shortly. He and Charlene are in the reading room, finalising our plans. I must say, she is one of the shrewdest women of my acquaintance. Easily the right choice for her role in this endeavour."
"You're being cryptic again, Jenkins," said Eve, watching the old man descend the stairs. "Annoying and cryptic. I don't like it."
"I promise, Colonel: all is well – at least, as well as can be expected – and I will explain everything once we are all assembled," Jenkins assured her, raising placating hands and side-stepping around the couple towards the door to the main Library and the other rooms of it and the annex. "There are just two more things to collect and I know exactly where they are. Do take a seat: I believe Miss Cillian and Mister Stone are due any moment."
Any moment turned out to be just over five minutes away, but Cassandra and Jacob still found themselves comfortably seated and awaiting explanations before Jenkins returned. Even then, however, the Caretaker refused explanation until Ezekiel and Charlene arrived. Cassandra and Flynn were busily exchanging questions and answers regarding the health of André and his ever expanding family when the long awaited appearance occurred. Charlene descended first, like some ancient herald, fixing Flynn with a glare and opening her mouth to speak.
"In my defence, there were no receipts to keep this time!" Flynn cut in, raising a peremptory finger.
Charlene's lip curled. "I was gonna say 'don't interrupt', but guess what?"
"He interrupted," grinned Eve.
Ezekiel slipped down the stairs, step by step, shoulders hunched and hands in pockets like a schoolboy en route to the headteacher's office. He reached Charlene's side and stopped.
"What's wrong?" Eve demanded, her brow furrowing immediately at the sight of him.
Charlene sighed and muttered a sentence sotto voce. "Yep, they're a match!"
Ezekiel chuckled nervously, the sight of which did nothing to allay Eve's worry. "Here's the thing," he began, making an intricate study of the floor. "We think we've worked out why the Library picked me and it wasn't because I'm a World Class Thief. Well, it was, but it wasn't just that. And whatever happens after this battle, I probably won't be coming back with you. At least not to stay." He raised a hand at the immediate volley of dismayed interjections that rained down upon him. "Just, just listen. You all know how I feel about Seonaidh." The room quieted. "If we, I, get through this, that's where I'm going: to her. To Dunvegan. I'll still be a Librarian. I'll still do the job, just, well, from there. I'll marry her, if she'll have me. I thought I couldn't. At least, not yet. I thought, we thought," Ezekiel waved an explicatory hand between himself and Jenkins. "We thought it might cause problems. You know: with any kids we might have. And we might not be having kids immediately, but we'd have to at some point. The MacLeod bloodline and all that. It has to go on. But we didn't know how her magic, fairy magic, would react with Library magic. Our kids, see, they might have both. And we thought that might be bad. Really bad. But then I found out some stuff, stuff about me, and it turns out maybe, definitely, the two can co-exist in the same person. Without harming them, like. In fact, they already do."
"Jones, get to the point already!" Eve sighed, the tired ridges in her brow unmoving.
Flynn raised her hand and kissed it. "I think he just did, my love."
Eve looked at her husband, then at Ezekiel, then back at Flynn. Like the sun on a cloudy day, realization dawned. "Wait, what? You mean…"
"Ezekiel has fairy blood," gasped Cassandra. "That's why that mimi said he was one of them, back when Jenkins was carrying him out of the mimi dimension." She turned to Ezekiel. "It wasn't because they had stolen you, you hadn't been there a full day yet. It was because you had fairy blood like them."
Ezekiel nodded, still without looking up.
"How'd that happen?" Stone cut in. "You get a transfusion from an elf or something?"
"We believe one or other of Mister Jones' unknown parents was from one or other of the fairy realms," sighed Jenkins, folding his arms. "That is hardly the priority here, though, Mister Stone."
"No, this has to have something to do with how we fight ragnarok, right Jenkins?" Eve deduced. "That's why you mentioned our 'plans' earlier. What's changed? Good or bad?"
"Fairy blood is one of the ingredients needed for my apotheosis," shrugged Ezekiel. "We've worked something out for Charlene. You've got all yours. With the genie's lamp for a power source, and my blood for the focus, we only needed one more thing for the effect. We've worked out what, and it's something we've had in the Library for a while."
All eyes turned to the table behind them, scanning the individual piles. There were six pairs of items and the lamp, the power source for all their planned changes. On its own, notable by its isolation, was one of the items Jenkins had latterly brought to the room.
Flynn tipped his head on one side and, in a manner that suggested to all – especially his wife – that he already knew the answer and was just asking for the benefit of those with slower whirling minds than his own, directed his enquiry to the man who brought the item. "Jenkins, why is Loki's spear on the table?"
It was not Jenkins who answered him. "I'm Ezekiel Jones, World Class Thief, and I'm gonna steal a god."
