‘Ah,’ I said. ‘How impressive.’
I tried to sound sincere. I had trouble. It’s just so hard to compliment someone for being a bad dancer.
Folsom smiled happily, releasing my hand and gesturing for me to sit. ‘Great to finally meet you,’ he said. ‘Oh, and I’d give that handshake a four out of six.’
I sat down. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Four out of six,’ he said, sitting. ‘Reasonable firmness with good eye contact, but you held on a little bit long. Anyway, may I present Himalaya Rockies, formerly of the Hushlands?’
I glanced over at the Librarian, then hesitantly held out my hand. I half expected her to pull out a gun and shoot me. (Or at least to chastise me for my overdue books.)
‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, taking my hand without even trying to stab me. ‘I hear you grew up in America like I did.’
I nodded. She had a Boston accent. I’d only been away from the United States for a couple of weeks, and I had been very eager to escape, but it still felt good to hear someone from my homeland.
‘So, er, you’re a Librarian?’ I asked.
‘A recovering Librarian,’ she said quickly.
‘Himalaya defected six months ago,’ Folsom said. ‘She brought lots of great information for us.’
Six months, eh? I thought, eyeing Folsom. He didn’t give any indication, but if it had been six months, I found it odd that we were still keeping track of Himalaya. Folsom and the king, I figured, must still worry that she was secretly a spy for the Librarians.
The booths around us filled quickly, and the parlor enjoyed quite a boost in business from my patronage. The owner must have noticed this, for he soon visited our table. ‘The famous Alcatraz Smedry, in my humble establishment!’ he said. The pudgy man wore a pair of bright red-and-white-striped pants. He waved to one of his waitresses, who rushed over with a bowl filled with whipped cream. ‘Please have a bandana split on the house!’
‘Bandana?’ I asked, cocking my head.
‘They get a few things wrong here,’ Himalaya whispered, ‘but it’s still the closest you’ll get to American food while in Nalhalla.’
I nodded thankfully to the owner, who smiled with pleasure. He left a handful of mints on the table, though I don’t quite know why, then went back to serving customers. I glanced at the dessert he’d provided. It was, indeed, a large bandana filled with ice cream. I tasted it hesitantly but it actually was kind of good, in an odd way. I couldn’t quite place the flavor.
That probably should have worried me.
‘Alcatraz Smedry,’ Folsom said, as if taking the name for a test drive. ‘I have to admit, your latest book was a disappointment. One and a half stars out of five.’
I had a moment of panic, thinking he referred to the second book of my autobiography. However, I soon realized that was silly, since it not only hadn’t been written yet but I didn’t even know that I would write it. I promptly stopped that line of thinking before I caused a temporal rift and ended up doing something silly, like killing a butterfly or interfering with mankind’s first warp jump.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I said, taking another bite of ice cream.
‘Oh, I have it here somewhere,’ Folsom said, rifling in his shoulder bag.
‘I didn’t think it was so bad,’ Himalaya said. ‘Of course, my tastes are tainted by ten years as a Librarian.’
‘Ten years?’ I asked. She didn’t look much older than twenty-five to me.
‘I started young,’ she explained, playing idly with the mints on the table. ‘I apprenticed to a master Librarian after I’d proven my ability to use the reverse lighthouse system.’
‘The what?’
‘That’s when you arrange a group of books alphabetically based on the third letter of the author’s mother’s maiden name. Anyway, once I got in, the Librarians let me live the high life for a time – buttering me up with advanced reader copies of books and the occasional bagel in the break room. When I was eighteen, they began introducing me into the cult.’
She shivered, as if remembering the horrors of those early days. I wasn’t buying it, though. As pleasant as she was, I was still suspicious of her motives.
‘Ah,’ Folsom said, pulling something out of his pack. ‘Here it is.’ He set a book on the table – one that appeared to have a painting of me on the cover. Me riding an enormous vacuum cleaner while wearing a sombrero. I held a flintlock rifle in one hand and what appeared to be a glowing, magical credit card in the other.
Alcatraz Smedry and the Mechanic’s Wrench, it read.
‘Oh, dear,’ Aunt Patty said. ‘Folsom, don’t tell me you read those dreadful fantasy novels!’