Books
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A lone figure crept through the shadows.
The caution was largely unwarranted; this was a distant corner of the castle, far from the hustle and bustle of the staff, in fact the last hallway in the western wing. On the off chance someone were around, this particular hallway was still plenty dark enough for a hasty retreat. Only a scant few torches dotted the walls, one at each bend or curve along the twisty passageway, their feeble glow barely reaching the cobblestone floor below. The decor would have better suited a forgotten dungeon.
On the other hand, the figure knew all too well who owned this castle—and what she did to visitors, let alone to trespassers. Best to be careful.
The corridor eventually ended at a pair of wooden double doors, framed on either side by the only healthy-looking torches this side of the kitchen. Despite that, the doors were hardly worth illuminating; besides twin polished metal push plates, they were completely unadorned. Not even a sign to indicate the importance of this room.
The silhouette lurked at the edge of the torches' radius and traced his gaze along the stone archway fitted snugly around the doors. Not the slightest crack of light betrayed the room within, even along the floor; as far as he could tell, beyond here lay only darkness. Perfect; they'd be asleep now.
He stepped into the dim light, revealing himself for the first time, and touched a palm to one panel. The cool steel and the quiet tinkle of his claws against it... brief familiar sensations, and harsh reminders of why he was here. He stood there for a moment with a tortured smile before he looked back at the heavy oaken door and forced himself to straighten again. Bracing against the icy floor, he gave the door a firm shove open.
The first thing he noticed was that the door wasn't as heavy as it looked. It swung wide open, banging against something else wooden behind it.
The second thing was the searing ambient light pouring from behind the door. The infiltrator screeched and shielded his face with both hands—someone cleared his throat—as he tried to adjust from the pitch black he'd been expecting to the near-daylight now melting his eyeballs.
He blinked a few times, stumbling forward into the room. Plush carpet welcomed his cold feet, and the door settled shut behind him with a confident click.
Squinting eyes peeked out from behind parted claws, and the world slowly came back into focus. His arms fell to his sides, and he stared.
There were a lot of books.
Sometimes, Pokémon will tell you they have a lot of work to do, or they had a lot of fun on vacation, or they've had a lot of problems with PK. These Pokémon have never been to Merlot's library, so it's understandable that they don’t grasp what "a lot" means.
Shelves claimed the walls much the same way ivy overtakes an abandoned house. If not for the few gaps where side doors had barely enough room to open, you might argue that the shelves were better at it. Even in the impressive expanse of the library, they managed to cover every inch of available space in a wild pattern: adjacent shelves were often different heights, different widths, made from wood of different thicknesses or painted different colors. Small notes and complicated symbols were pinned to the front edges of a great many shelves, carefully positioned so as to not obscure any spines, and makeshift dividers jutted out in seemingly needless places. And while there were a few traditional rolling ladders, the architect had had some ideas of his own. Multiple styles of rope ladder hung down from high above, three rope-and-pulley systems were installed against the front wall alone, and off in the distance a spiral staircase to nowhere lurked near one wall.
Crammed within this wooden grid were the books. Oh, the books. As the shelves covered every inch of the walls, the books covered every inch of the shelves. Books of about the same height were kept together, just so the next shelf up could sit right atop them without wasting space. Where this wasn't possible, scrolls filled the gaps above the shorter volumes. The interior of the room was lined with long rows of freestanding shelves, as well—but since they couldn't be too tall without toppling, their tops were piled high with the more awkwardly-shaped items, globes and jars and open boxes of papers stacked in perilous arrangements.
Yet the library could hardly be called messy. Every last book stood neatly at the edge of its shelf, and not a one lay sideways on top of others or slumped in a too-wide space. None lay strewn on the floors, and even the tall piles on the cramped collection of tables near the front were squared neatly. As long as you didn't look too closely, the patterns of colors and titles and notes and dividers made for a colorful organic design all the way to the ceiling.
...The ceiling.
The newcomer was staring at it. It wasn't really all that distinctive; just above the very tops of the highest shelves was a layer of soft pale blue with wisps of white cottom floating through it. Right in the center, a bright yellow orb cast warm light down on the whole room.
This was, admittedly, a little disconcerting to see indoors. In the middle of the night.
Someone cleared his throat again.
The stranger whirled around, claws tensing reflexively. In a luxurious high-backed chair, stitched from fine navy velvet that clashed horribly with the bright red carpeting, sat an Eevee. He was slumped down far enough that the heavy book propped open on his waist obscured all but the ears sticking out above it, the tip of his teardrop tail dangling off the far end of a similarly gaudy ottoman. One fuzzy hand gestured from behind the cover, pointing over to... a sign several feet away. In large black letters was scrawled "QUIET PLEASE".
Skive froze momentarily while two opposing instincts argued over whether he should run before the Eevee could call for help, or fight before the Eevee could call for help. But the reclining Pokémon showed no interest in calling anyone; the only motion he made was to shift his outstretched hand back to the edge of the open book cover.
This was a little confusing for Skive, whose job description listed only 'running' and 'fighting'. At a loss, and feeling increasingly conspicuous, he asked outright: "You gonna call Merlot?"
The response reflected all the enthusiasm of a teenager trapped in conversation with his parents. "No."
A few moments passed before Skive realized that that had been the entire answer. It didn't seem to be a lie or a trick, at least; the Eevee remained as still as before.
The Sneasel stood tall as he'd seen his (former...) leader do many times before, putting a brutish snarl in his voice and staring his opponent straight in the eye—or, er, about where his eye probably was. "Yer that librarian, Lexy, aintcha? I need a book."
Lexy traced his right paw up to the top corner of the page. He peeled the sheet delicately from the stack and carried it over to the left, wrist rotating delicately to avoid crinkling the paper where he gripped it. He let it fall, smoothed it out carefully, and replaced his paw on the cover once more before answering. "I bet."
Skive frowned. Talking wasn't his strong point, and these non-answers were making him feel awkward. He really, really didn't like to feel awkward. Back to basics, then.
A dark gray blur closed the gap between the two in the blink of an eye. Two claws tore deep into the velvet between the exposed brown ears, and two more materialized at the librarian's neck, razor edges liberating a few strands of fur. The Slasher member perched on the chair arm, peering down closely. "LOOK, ya damn brat, I've heard of yer little research project. Just spill whatcha know about Deinos. I've got one ta kill, and I'd like it ta hurt."
Lexy pressed the book shut carefully, smoothing the covers together to keep all the pages flat, and placed it gently in his lap. Beneath it, his tail bristled slightly, but his expression didn't change; half-lidded eyes met his captor's gaze without quite focusing, the way you might not focus on a moth fluttering past your field of vision. "The Pokédex is in my private collection, for which you need a library card."
This was still not the expected reaction, and it briefly derailed Skive's intimidation routine. "A wh-- how d'ya get a library card?"
A tiny hint of a smile cracked at the corner of Lexy's mouth. "Prove your dedication to the pursuit of knowledge, and best me in a battle of wits of your choosing." He looked the Sneasel up and down, and the smile faded before it'd really begun. "Maybe ask a more learnéd friend to give it a try."
Skive snarled, splattering droplets of spittle across drooped eyelids. Claws pressed taut against the smaller critter's neck, and two thin red lines formed in the cream-colored fur. "Little smartass, let's see how smart ya are withour yer head, eh?" Lexy's face fell. "Not my chair..."
The Sneasel reared up and snorted a laugh. "About to die and worried about blood on yer chair!" He pulled his arm back and braced for a murderous Slash. "Arrogant little--"
Burning pain exploded along his back. Heat and flame poured from behind him, carving deep black scorch marks into expensive velvet. Skive screamed and toppled backwards off the chair arm—he landed on his burned back, eliciting another scream and sending him clamoring frantically onto all fours. He puffed and heaved, his icy body tensed and aching, his vision blurred by sweat and tears and pain. He blinked a few times, and saw the purple Pokémon floating towards him—a Chandelure that he just hadn't noticed in his awe at the indoor sunlight.
Lexy was standing on his chair now, moaning and carefully prodding the smoldering embers along the top. "This was my favorite! Cal, be more careful, jeez."
Caldera's voice came out warm but hollow, tinged by a barely audible echo. "Appreciative as ever. If—when—you’re next in immediate danger of decapitation, I'll be sure to first reflect on the ramifications my intervention may have on the furniture. " A frayed thread was still alight, and Lexy gently pinched it out between two fingers. "I'd be happier if your favorite move caused less, ah, collateral damage." He glanced at his fellow librarian out of the corner of one eye, and grinned. "But thanks, Cal."
The ghostly Pokémon floated a few feet away, purple panels glimmering with the light of the flame at his core. "You know the strategic utility as well as I. And please use my full name; I’m quite aware how witty you consider yourself to be, but I’d rather not be subjected to morphological dissection for the sake of your wordplay obsession. Now, whatever has become of your assailant?"
Skive saw it while the librarians were bantering. Far in the back of the library, framed perfectly between two rows of bookshelves, was an innocuous little door. It was about the Eevee's height, the same mismatched color as the chair he'd sat in; for a kid so sure of his own smarts, he sure hadn't hidden his "private collection" very well.
And so Skive had taken off. He didn't know much, but he knew Sneasels were impressively quick on their feet, and he was no exception. Wind breezed past his face as he raced down the alley between shelves, spines and cross hallways a mere colorful blur as he whizzed by. He couldn't take on a Chandelure, but he could get what he needed and be out of here before they realized what was happening.
The door had no handle, so Skive simply slammed into it at full speed; like the others, it swung open gently and clicked shut behind him. He glanced around frantically, pausing for only a moment to catch his breath. He needed to get the right book and leave, now.
This room was definitely not as well-kept as the main library. Perhaps twice the size of a nice bedroom, it was crammed full of books stacked in tall piles and stuffed haphazardly into a few shelves, loose paper jutting out from many a volume and strewn all about the round table in the center. A wide variety of artifacts leaned in several layers against the left wall: stone tablets, coils of vine, boxes overflowing with bland-looking rocks, glass jars of glittering powder. Four torches in the corners served as the light source, all of them small but burning with bright purple flames, bathing the various white surfaces in an eerie glow.
The only organized thing here was the white bookcase on the opposite wall, wide but not very tall. Skive crept closer to it, and smirked. It was jammed full of thick binders, each sporting a name and a crude drawing of a different Pokémon on the spine. This was definitely it.
He scanned the labels as quickly as he could. They weren't in any apparent order, except for having evolutions kept together, and Skive wasn't the fastest reader. Whoever had drawn the pictures wasn't the greatest artist, either. He could hear his heart pounding frantically in his head and feel it in his scorched back-- and then he saw it. Under a little scribble of what could have been a shaggy dog, DEINO.
Skive grasped the binder and yanked it from its place, knocking the adjacent DURANT and ZWEILOUS onto the floor. He opened it and rifled through a few sheets to check: notes, illustrations, more notes in the margins, arrows and labels and newspaper clippings and pages torn from other books. There'd definitely be something useful in here.
Tucking the binder under one arm, he spun on a heel and burst towards the door at full speed. It felt like he'd been in here for ages, though he knew it had only been seconds. With any luck, the librarians hadn't even noticed his absence. Even if they had, he could more than outrun both of them. The door slammed open as he sped through it and made for the library entrance straight ahead.
He was almost there. A few more sections of shelves, and he'd be free. He reached out a clawed hand...
Something was wrong.
The floor in front of him stretched out longer and longer. The doors seemed to drift casually into the background. But they were still... they were still right there.
He grunted and leaned forward, running as fast as he could. His back throbbed, and his legs strained to push him forwards. He could feel the air rushing past, he could see each long stride if he glanced at the ground, and yet the other side of the room loomed in the distance, inching towards him at a snail's pace. As he stared at the approaching exit, the carpet and the surrounding shelves seemed to twist and curl sideways, skewing his perception further.
Still he ran, his calves cramping, his lungs straining for air; the doors were moving slowly, but they were still coming closer, and closer, and he was there, and—
Lexy appeared from the periphery, positioning himself squarely in front of the wooden doors. His tail was visibly frizzed, fur sticking out in all directions. "I believe you have something of mine."
The Sneasel snarled and changed course, aiming to veer around the unimposing Pokémon. Lexy casually stepped in front of him once more, crossing several feet of floor in a single stride. He held out a small hand. "Please return it."
Skive screeched to a halt and scrambled in the other direction. Whatever that Eevee was doing, he knew he was still faster; he could skirt the perimeter, find another exit. The place was huge; surely there'd be more than one way out. It took him a moment to notice Lexy was strolling along next to him, not even jogging yet keeping pace perfectly. Skive snarled and swung wildly with outstretched claws, but hit only a brown blur as Lexy ducked and stuck out a foot.
Skive tripped and went sprawling, clutching his prize close to his chest as he tumbled across the carpet, each roll on his injured back feeling like another fireball hitting him. He climbed to his feet, hurt and panicked... and Caldera loomed in front of him.
The Sneasel held the binder out in front of himself in the first strategic act of his life. "Get back, or ya'll burn this too!"
Only a couple feet behind him, Lexy barked out a laugh. "This is an invaluable collection. You think we wouldn’t fireproof the books when one of the curators is on fire?"
This hadn't occurred to Skive, whose grasp of the elements was tenuous at best. But he made up for it in experience; without a second thought, he flung the binder towards Caldera. The incoming Flame Burst hit it in midair and popped in a bright orange fireball, giving the Sneasel just the moment of confusion he needed; he ducked under the collision, grimacing and biting back tears as the heat seared his back anew, and crouched below the hovering ghost. Shadows clung to his claw even in the bright light, and he leaped upwards with a snarl, grasping the chandelier Pokémon from underneath and punching with all his might.
The Dark-shrouded fist shattered one of the panes of glass, plowing the full force of Faint Attack directly into Caldera's flame. There was a sickly, empty noise, the sound of the wind blowing out a candle amplified many times over, and Caldera crashed to the ground, flames flickering weakly.
The library lay quiet. Skive limped over to the Deino binder, which lay open on the floor. Sure enough, it seemed to be in perfect condition. He looked towards the doors and saw nothing; Lexy had disappeared. A grin spread across the victor's face; another big talker had proved to be a coward.
He jogged for the doors and strolled out of the library with his stolen binder.
It was a few twists back along the corridor that he noticed.
The sound came from the walls. Quiet, distant, but definitely there; if his own footsteps hadn't been silent, he might have missed it.
Sidling cautiously up against the brick, Skive pressed his ear to the wall.
"klink, klink, klink"
What was that? Tinkling metal?
"klink...klank!"
The floor trembled, then shook, then roared. The lone Sneasel dove for the ground and covered his head, bracing for the ceiling to come down as the world shook ever more violently.
And, quite abruptly, it stopped. Everything was still. Not the slightest sound.
Skive looked up, looked around, and saw nothing. He stood cautiously, waited another moment, and still saw nothing. He was about to continue down the hallway when he heard it, in the perfect darkness, just in front of him.
"I didn't call Merlot because I don't need her."
He snarled and swiped at the darkness. "The Eevee kid? After another round? If I can take out yer friend, I can sure get ridda ya just as easy--"
A tiny spot of orange fire appeared, floating in midair. Little more than an ember at first, it grew in intensity, revealing the Eevee standing before him. His expression was the same, but his tail quaked with rage, individual strands of fur pointed out so sharply that they glistened in the strange light. "Do you know how Fire attacks work?"
Fire? What? Skive took a step backwards, but his heel bumped into a wall that hadn't been there moments ago. He was tired, burned, and suddenly markedly less confident.
Lexy matched with a step forwards. Above his open palm rested a sphere of flame, a miniature sun that swirled and convulsed and was looking forward to becoming a supernova. "I don't yet understand them, myself. It’s a funny thing, being able to do something but not knowing how. I don’t like it." He regarded the spinning, burning orb with a genuine appreciation, or... respect? "Our current theory is that we extract flammable gases from the air, then ignite them with a spark of some mental energy. Sheer force of will, if you like."
The orange glow took on a dark red hue, flames licking out the underside of his hand between his fingers. "That's how the library is lit, you see. It's just Sunny Day. We just had to get the air to resemble the upper atmosphere well enough, so the effect would persist indoors for more than a few minutes." He chuckled to himself. "Merlot, she scoffs at it every time she comes by. She says I should get outside more, too. I tell her this is my compromise."
Skive growled and flexed his claws, tired of being ignored like this; as far as he was concerned, being in the Slasher Gang still meant something, and this little punk was the last Pokémon who could take that away. "Listen, you loudmouthed cretin--"
The librarian's demeanor shifted in an instant, bored eyes suddenly quite focused, glaring past the Sneasel's claws and through his eyes and into his very core. "This is a LIBRARY." His paw drew back. "QUIET. PLEASE."
He threw.
The dark little passage exploded in flame.
"I warned you. This was inevitable. Your hokey library card system may sate your appetite for antagonizing the locals, but it’s no substitute for legitimate security."
Lexy grumbled and picked at the Rawst-soaked bandage wrapped around his right hand, burned after his amateur pyrotechnics display. "Hey, first of all, it's not my library card system. It's been in place for ages—"
Caldera's ancillary flames flickered in annoyance, singing the edge of the tape holding his broken pane together. "Oh yes, you're merely continuing on a fine tradition of arbitrary hoop-jumping started by some former steward. I'm well aware. Please enlighten me: precisely how many of your predecessors' cards remain in circulation? I seem to recall the total comes to zero."
The Eevee tilted his head to stare at the artificial sky overhead, contemplating for a moment. "There's still the one. I tracked down all the others."
"Him? Remarkably unlikely. No one has seen him for ages, and it's perfectly reasonable to induce that the card is lost. Don’t conflate romanticism with evidence."
Lexy smirked at the ceiling. "There's no evidence it's gone, either." He sat up, abruptly. "But you're right, I need to lock my door. Something clever, of course. But it can't be vulnerable to theft, or spying." On the armrest next to him lay a thin rectangle of heavy parchment, cut with delicate precision, woven with a scant few threads of various colors and signed with a worn pawprint. He picked up the ancient library card and traced his thumbpad absentmindedly across its surface. "They used the cards for this in the old days, back when they really meant something. It wouldn’t be the same, but I’d still like to bring that back."
The floating ghost went silent for a moment, and his flames swirled in a beautiful dance between blue and red and violet, a sign that he was thinking carefully.
"I believe I have a suggestion."
Sunlight—real, actual sunlight—trickled down through the canopy. It struck a closed dark gray eye, whose owner groaned and swatted at it.
Skive blinked and sat up, very carefully. His back seemed okay. The rest of him also seemed okay. He looked down and patted himself all over to be sure. Everything was attached and functional, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.
This was an unfamiliar area, but still Creeping Forest, at least as far as he could tell. A stream meandered by a short distance away. A small grassy outcropping rose up behind him and ended in a smooth rock wall; but like most who came by here, he missed the thin outline of an archway etched into the stone.
The Sneasel braced against the ground to push himself up, but his claws rustled a sheet of paper. Next to him lay a handful of Rawst berries, piled on top of a note.
- In recognition of your donation to the Pokédex project, please accept this small token of our appreciation.
- If you have any further literary needs, don't hesitate to visit us again!
- Kind regards,
Merlot's Library- LEXY
The note was penned in beautiful ornate cursive written in deep indigo ink, except where "Merlot" had been crossed out several times and "Lexy" had been scribbled in underneath it.
In a binder on a shelf in the back room of the library at the end of the last hallway in the western wing of Castle Draclugia, a fresh pink Sneasel feather was carefully preserved, pressed between two thin translucent sheets of paper with a few notes jotted on top.
