46. Caged in a Library

While Michael was dilly-dallying back at his treehouse, trying to decide how he should go about the undesired task of catching the brick caster, Alpin and I had crossed the gate  to Apple Island that there was in my parents’ garden and were having a second breakfast at the cider mills.

When we became the first people, mortal or fay, to be kicked out of the mills because Alpin had finished all the doughnuts, we headed for the Royal Library.

Finally, we saw a signboard. An example of fairy graffiti was over it.The sign seemed to have originally pointed at the way to the library named after the patient Job, but the saint’s name had been crossed out and the word ‘Curmudgeon’ dangled above it. 

“So now the library is dedicated to someone grumpy,” I said. “Is that the sign you saw in your dream, Alpin?”

              

“I would say yes, that is the sign I saw in my dream. Retouched. But it.”

Before we could follow the arrow, everything went dark.

A tall, strong man in a dark red suit that looked like those worn by bell-boys tightly tied up the sack he had cast like a net over both Alpin and me. He carried it with us screaming from inside all the way to the stately stone building that was the Royal Library.

                      

When he undid the knots on the sack, it was to stick us into a cage. Yes, there were bird cages heaped in a corner of the library, just like the one Alpin had seen in his dream. The man left without answering any of our questions.

Through large windows framed in wood painted a pretty apple green, we  soon saw him twirl his moustache before taking up the unfinished task of builiding a red brick wall all around what had to be Job’s Library. For we were in a library indeed. The walls were covered with cabinets full of books of all colours and sizes. Our cages were right next to the windows, for no attempt had been made to hide that we were prisoners. And next to ours, was the cage Alpin had dreamed of, and within it, the little dark green blue-winged book.

For a while, we basked in the golden morning light that entered through the windows. Then a door opened and a little old fairy lady flew in and hovered near the door. She had greying hair with pens and pencils stuck in it to hold up a bun or two or three and wore glasses for the very short-sighed. A badge on her dress identified her as Mildew Finn, royal librarian.

“Tsk, tsk,” she said upon seeing us. And she flew back out before answering any of our cries either. We soon saw her outside, hovering over the man who had kidnapped us and his red brick wall.

“Why are you planting grass on top of the wall?” we heard her ask. The air is very pure there and carries sound wonderfully, so you have to be careful if you don’t wish to be overheard, and she and the man weren’t.

“Look again, you four-eyed fool,” said the man, “or be cut and bleed if you choose to land here.”

It was not grass but glass the man was planting on the top of the wall. Jagged bits of glass that had once been part of dark green bottles.

The little old fairy removed her glasses and wiped them carefully with a colourful silk scarf she then put round her neck. It had been washed more than once and I know you’re not supposed to wash silk, so that explained why it looked clean but crumpled and threadbare. Quite wabi sabi, as the Japanese say.

“Now it’s not just books you have in cages, Curdgie,” she said disapprovingly. “Tsk, tsk! This has got to stop.”

Before the little old fairy could put her glasses back on, a third person appeared on the scene. This was a strange fairy, reminiscent of a snake and a hen at the same time.

The odd fairy began to speak. And her speech was as strange as she was. Alternate hissing and clucking, that is how it sounded.

                        

“Stop your sister before it’s too late! She’s beginning to interfere too much with your job, my love! Leave her to her devices and soon there won’t be a book left in your library!”

In a flash, Curmudgeon cast his sack over the astonished little old fairy and flung it over his shoulder. He took it inside the library and  then emptied it in another of the cages he kept there.

“Curmudgeon Finn! Release us this minute! All of us!” cried the little old fairy lady as soon as she managed to crawl to her feet and find her glasses and see where she was.

“You’re beginning to make too much trouble,” he told her, repeating the chicken-snake fairy’s words. “So you’re staying where you’re at, you worm, you wormbook, you!”

He then stared fixedly at us and said, “They may do it to others. But not to me. No one steals a book from Curmudgeon Finn.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times borrowing a book is not stealing. That’s what these books are here for. To be lent and borrowed. People bring them back once they’ve read them,” protested the caged librarian, clearly exasperated.

“Why? Is it because they don’t like them? What if they do and try to keep them? I’m a good guardian because I never take chances. Not one of those books is leaving those shelves. Nor are you or these little thieves leaving your cages.”

“Which book did you want to read, dears?” said the little fairy lady suddenly turning to us.  “I’m Mildew, the librarian.”

“Read?” hollered Alpin. “I wouldn’t steal one of those crappy things even to sell to buy food with. We were nowhere near a book. We were like a mile from here looking at a sign that shows the way to the library. By the way, what is there to eat here? Is there a cafeteria?”

“Reading the sign!” huffed the man. “Might be the vandals who did the graffiti. Clear intentions. Too near. Too suspicious. I’m good because I don’t take chances. No guardian of treasures is more cautious than I am. They may fool others, but not me.”

“Forgive him, children,” said Mildew to us.  “When I asked Sir Job to hire him to watch the libary, I knew he wasn’t the ideal choice for this job, because he never learned to read or write and doesn’t really understand what a book is, much less a library. But I never thought that would matter and things would get so out of hand. He is my  brother and was out of a job. Not through any fault of his. The owner of the treasure he was paid to guard decided to spend it. Curmudgeon is very good at his job and the gold was all there when the owner claimed it.”

It became clear to me that Curmudgeon Finn was one of those fairies who guard fairy treasures. There are clever ones, but many are only tough and famous for their resilience as well as for less commendable traits.

I don’t know why he hadn’t begun to do it earlier, but at this point Alpin started screaming.

“You can’t leave us here without bread and water, you indecent prison guard! Bread and water is the least captive people have a right to and you haven’t provided even that!”

Curmudgeon opened Alpin’s cage, gagged and bound him and shut it again. Then he left slamming the door behind him, having spoken more in that while than he had in the past three months.

I saw I was going to have to take action, but before I could think what to do, Mildew Finn saved the day.

“These are fairy-proof cages, but nothing is booklearning proof. You’ll both be out of here in no time, if you’re bright. Look, there are some books I want you to read.”

“Better give them to Arley or I might eat them,” mumbled Alpin through the cloth that muffled him.

Mildew gave a whistle and four illustrated books flew from the shelves and landed in my lap. They were on escapism.