(For more detailed Author's Notes and Disclaimer, see Chapter 1 and the end of this chapter.) This story is set in the same universe as my "Chapter of the Duck," although it can stand alone if one understands a few points. It takes place about a year and a half after the battle with the Raven; it is now around late April or early May. Duck once again is human, and is studying ballet at the Academy; Fakir is away on a tour with many of the seniors in the Dance and Music divisions.
Thanks for reading so far, and especially for the reviews! Halfway there.
The owner of the used- and- rare bookshop might have agreed with both Autor's and Duck's feelings later that week. The Bookmen were nervous; no one was supposed to know about them, yet someone had wanted to meet with them, setting an appointment for the following day. The boy Autor had found them, and they had found the tale- spinner, and Princess Tutu had saved him in turn, but aside from those three (and the Prince and Princess) there should have been no one in Goldkrone or out of it who could have suspected their existence, much less found them.
When six of them had gone to the back room to discuss the matter that night before the appointment, a man was seated by the fire, to all appearances an ordinary customer easing the spring chill from his bones.
The stranger had had the effrontery to welcome them as if he were their host, and present them with a proposition that none of them could possibly have resisted. In return he learned everything he had wanted to know, and more. There would be no more delay.
Then the last of the Bookmen rushed in, full of news.
Autor was on his way back to the Academy after having dinner at home, heading for the library. He expected to see Duck there, but he had enough time to go by way of the old Museum. He didn't really like the idea of her keeping tabs on him, but Fakir had sent them both letters. Fakir didn't want Duck involved either, but checking that Autor was safe once or twice a day shouldn't put her at risk. Autor wasn't quite ready to concede that he might need an eye kept on himself, but if he caused Duck any distress Fakir plainly would... make life difficult.
Autor had done this occasionally, touched the rock that touched the roots of the Oak, ever since he had initiated himself as the Tale- spinners had done; and ever since he had gotten the same lack of response.
The rock was cool and rough under his fingers. Once upon a time, he was certain, the Oak had sighed for him to hear; never since had there been a sound. This was a sure way to test himself. If he had no power, the Oak would not respond. Of course, it need not respond if he did.
Tonight that would be reassuring.
He opened his eyes.
The Oak was there, and then a fearsome rush of wind and sunlight assaulted his mind as he was pulled toward it.
Her voice surrounded him, melding with the music that was ever in his mind, singing it back to him; and he began his journey.
All is one; one is everything....
Half an hour of irked patience expended, Duck went looking for Autor. Probably just detained at dinner, reason dictated; he did have a family, after all, and they had a perfect right to their son's company. He was to come straight to the Library, where she'd waited. She backtracked the way he'd probably come, the most direct route. She could see the dark window of his practice room as she passed the Music building; not there, then.
That meant he was on the way from his house, surely. But in the growing gloom, no light showed in the Study, and a casual glance in the ground- floor window showed a bare dinner table when she went around the corner. She summoned her courage and knocked; Autor had gone long since, and he'd have to put up with his mother's teasing about her now.
There were other places to check, and the Oak was placed high on her list; but it wasn't the highest priority.
Once on that rocky lawn, even in the half- light, there was no place to hide; but the Bookmen weren't looking at her. There were all seven-- no, eight? How could that be right? And they surrounded a ninth figure, sitting on the ground.
She couldn't hear what was being said. Three of them, two with axes, the heads resting on the ground, and one more figure with a light, were arguing with a fourth; the others hung back. The fourth man was taller, dressed in an ordinary overcoat. A few words reached her-- "Drosselmeyer," "chance to end...," "no Princess Tutu...," "look, he doesn't even know...."
For almost the first time since the battle with the Raven, Duck wished she could be Princess Tutu. That could be only one person sitting on the ground.
"I doubt you need us now. He is beyond our reach. If he survives this, he knows better than most that he is accountable both to the Prince and to us, and to the other Spinner."
"He seemed not to care about that overmuch. He tried to hide the other Spinner from me."
The leader of the Bookmen could see where that might not be a good idea. It was, however, one he could fully sympathize with. Twice he had tried to deliver to Fakir the justice that his ancestors had given to Drosselmeyer, and had been prevented both times. Ever since, both of these boys had governed themselves to the Bookmen's satisfaction. And then the Prince had returned to Goldkrone, and laid down the law: no more murder in Goldkrone, not for stories, and no arguing that amputating hands with axes needn't kill a person. After all, he'd pointed out, he knew the Bookmen's worst shame, two things just as bad as murder in their way....
There were worse things than having Fakir for a storyteller. The Prince's wrath might be one. They could be dragged into the Story, and instead of dispensing justice they could be made to suffer it, with all the cruelty and agony a fairy- tale could hand them.
This man was another.
"What is wrong with the boy? Why does he not move? Is he ill?"
"No, he isn't ill. This is something to do with the Tale- spinners. No, don't touch him! He may not return if we try to end this now."
"There's no Princess Tutu to call this one out."
"Look," said the younger and dimmer axe- man, fascinated, raising his weapon, "he doesn't even know we're here...."
"Oh, put that down. We know."
Vendetta threw up his hands in frustration.
An axe was raised, and the man in the overcoat threw up his hands. Autor did not move. And Duck ran.
No grand jete from the town wall this time, no gleaming white Princess of Swans with a dignified authority and forceful command; but a hundred or so pounds of frightened redhead, sprinting at many miles an hour and then yelling, taken in the small of the back, can spoil a man's balance. It would not have been a permanent solution, but the odds shifted a little when the impact knocked the axe- man's foot into Autor. There was a loud crack, and the axe- man was flung aside, his lowered axe dropping away. Duck landed in a heap near Autor, his grip on the rock broken.
She recovered first, grabbing Autor's arm and trying to haul him upright. Groggily, he managed to stand, but then they were surrounded.
"You. You're a friend of the tale- spinner."
"And you're the man from the bookshop. Why are you doing this? Don't you ever get anything right?" Duck's temper exploded. "Wasn't it enough that you people let The Prince and the Raven loose all those years ago? You let the Story loose on the whole town when you killed Drosselmeyer, and then I had to stop you killing Fakir, and now him! What's he done to you?"
Whatever she'd said, some of the Bookmen were edging away now, two of them muttering about great- granddad, not us.
The head Bookman was thinking very quickly. He suddenly had a tightrope to walk between the stranger and this girl, and he had just found out something entirely unexpected about her.
"He has been accepted by the Oak. He also is a Spinner. Do you want two of them in Goldkrone? It's bad enough that we must let one live-- he who nearly brought the Raven down upon us all!"
"We saved you, Fakir and the Prince and I! And then you tried to kill Fakir while he was doing it! What do you think the Prince will say?"
"There is no prince here," said the man in the overcoat. "Perhaps there will be no one to tell him."
"What do you mean, 'you' saved us?" said one of the Bookmen, slow on the uptake.
"I don't suppose you can show them," groaned Autor.
"Not anymore," said Duck, "Tutu was part of the Prince's heart, remember? I haven't been able to change myself since the battle."
"He still calls you Tutu!"
"Not often," said Duck. 'Tutu' must be the magic word, she thought; only the tall man hadn't backed away. It had to be Vendetta, his disguise compromised now, and he had noticed the sudden lack of support.
"And you Bookmen are afraid? Of them?" he asked, incredulous. "Afraid of these children? I have read Drosselmeyer's story. Princess Tutu is not to be feared, and this–" his voice turned contemptuous– "This is no Princess!"
He had said the wrong thing. The Bookmen were not moving, but now their attention was on Vendetta, and they were growing unfriendly. Unfortunately, thought Duck, it still didn't mean that she could drag Autor away through them.
Something prickled in the back of her mind. She hoped the sensation meant what she thought it might. If she couldn't escape, she could still talk, as Tutu had done....
"You. Mr. Vendetta." She didn't feel like wasting good manners on him, but Tutu had never been rude. "You've been following Autor for days now. What is it you want?"
"It is not for anyone's ears but the Spinner's."
"I think," she said, looking around the circle of cloaked men, "that perhaps you should tell us. I don't think anyone will help you until you do."
She had seen a dim movement beyond the circle, and the gleam of metal, but she did not let her eyes linger. There was only one man who could be out there. There was a long pause.
"I will tell some. You know of Drosselmeyer and his Story, and of the Spinners."
"Yes. You want someone to write you a story."
"Correct," said Vendetta. He seemed to have regained his aplomb. "A most ambitious one, a challenge to a young Spinner– or even two.
"I wish, not to hurt or kill a man, but to stop him from hurting others, from using them. This is the greatest revenge that can be taken upon him. For this service I have much to pay. If I cannot contact the Spinner who already works here, I will employ this one, who– it seems– has just found that he has the gift."
"It's not like you think," said Autor woozily, still leaning heavily on Duck.
"Nonetheless it is the gift," said Vendetta, annoyed.
It's still wrong, thought Duck. He's just making it sound good. What's the right thing to ask?
"This man you want to stop–" Duck paused; would he answer a direct question? "–How does he use people? What does he do?"
Vendetta regarded her, but with his face in shadow she couldn't begin to read his expression. "He also is a tale- spinner. You have all experienced such a one, a storyteller who disregards all but his own desire for amusement. I can never reach him to do as these Bookmen do, to stop his body and destroy his stories. I wish only to stop the effects of his work, and heal the scars he has made over time. For that, only another Spinner's effort will suffice."
"Who is he?" The shop owner's gravelly voice startled Duck.
"That must remain between the Spinner and myself," said Vendetta smoothly. "It would hardly be fair to his family to spread his name about."
Why didn't you tell Autor this before? It's not that big a secret! thought Duck. Her instincts were still clamoring that this was wrong, all wrong.
"It's your own family that's been hurt, isn't it?" she asked softly. "This storyteller is one of your family. That's how you know there's talent here. The power runs in your family." There was a long pause before the answer came.
"Yes."
Autor chose that moment to go limp, and Duck decided to make a fuss.
"Duck? Is that you?" Bless Charon for waiting, she thought. "Is Autor with you? It's getting late."
The Bookmen and Vendetta melted away, and let them go.
As they helped Autor along, Charon paused to pick up his own axe and crossbow from the ground. They didn't stop until they reached the blacksmith's kitchen.
----------------
Author's Note: No specific music for any of this chapter, either, although the anime used Ivanov's Caucasian Sketches, opus 10, "In a Village"(sic) for the Bookmen.
To reiterate a point I made in "Chapter of the Duck": I contend that Princess Tutu, including most of her feelings for Mytho, were all part of the heart shard that Duck bore; this is what she refers to when Autor asks if she can change.
I fear that Terry Pratchett's "Guards! Guards!" has spoiled me a bit for secret societies in black robes. (I recommend reading it, of course.) And one should never think of the Bookmen and Jawas at the same time. Really. But in all seriousness, I think the anime made the Bookmen scarier than I could manage in a piece like this.
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all related characters and elements are the property, copyright and trademark of HAL– GANSIS/TUTU and Ikukoh Itoh and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.