‘And . . . the Curators claim he already gave up his soul.’
I fell silent. They gave back my papers when I asked, I thought, and they keep trying to get us to agree to give away our souls, but don’t take them by force. They’re bound by rules.
I should have realized this earlier. You see, everything is bound by rules. Society has laws, as does nature, as do people. Many of society’s rules have to do with expectations – which I’ll talk about later – and therefore can be bent. A lot of nature’s laws, however are hard-set.
There are many more of these than you might expect. In fact, there are even natural laws relating to this book, my favorite of which is known as the Law of Pure Awesomeness. This law, of course, simply states that any book I write is awesome. I’m sorry, but it’s a fact.
Who am I to argue with science?
‘You,’ I said, looking toward a Curator. ‘Your kind have laws, don’t they?’
The Curator paused. ‘Yes,’ it finally said. ‘Do you want to read them? I can give you a book that explains them in detail.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t want to read about them. I want to hear about them. From you.’
The Curator frowned.
‘You have to tell me, don’t you?’ I said, smiling.
‘It is my privilege to do so,’ the creature said. Then, it began to smile. ‘Of course, I am going to have to tell them to you in their original language.’
‘We are impressed that you speak ancient Greek,’ another said. ‘You are one who came to us prepared. There are few that do that, these days.’
‘But,’ another whispered, ‘we doubt that you know how to speak Elder Faxdarian.’
Speak ancient Greek . . ., I thought, confused. Then it occurred to me. They don’t know about my Translator’s Lenses! They think that because I understood them back at the beginning, I must have known the language.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ I said casually, swapping my Discerner’s Lenses back for my Translator’s Lenses. ‘Try me.’
‘Ha,’ one of them said in a very odd, strange language – it consisted mostly of spitting sounds. Like always, the Translator’s Lenses let me hear the words in English. ‘The fool thinks he knows our language.’
‘Give him the rules, then,’ another hissed.
‘First rule,’ said the one in front of me. ‘If anyone enters our domain bearing writing, we may separate them from their group and demand the writing be given to us. If they resist, we may take the writing, but we must return copies. We may hold these back for one hour but, unless the items are requested, can keep them from then on.
‘Second rule, we may take the souls of those who enter, but we can do so only if the souls are offered freely and lawfully. Souls may be coerced, but not forced.
‘Third rule, we may accept or reject a person’s request for a soul contract. Once the contract is signed, we must provide the specific book requested, then refrain from taking their soul for the time specified in the contract. This time may not be longer than ten hours. If a person takes a book off its shelf without a contract, we may take their soul after ten seconds.’
I shivered. Ten seconds or ten hours, it didn’t seem to matter much. You still lost your soul. Of course, in my experience, there’s really only one book in all of the world that is worth your soul to read – and you’re holding it right now.
I accept credit cards.
‘Fourth rule,’ the Curator continued. ‘We cannot directly harm those who enter.’
Hence the traps, I thought. Technically, when we trip those, we harm ourselves. I continued to stare blankly ahead, acting as if I didn’t understand a word they were saying.
‘Fifth rule, when a person gives up their soul and becomes a Curator, we must deliver up their possessions to their kin, should a member of the family come to the Library and request such possessions.
‘Sixth rule, and most important of them all. We are the protectors of knowledge and truth. We cannot lie, if asked a direct question.’
The Curator fell silent.
‘That it?’ I asked.
If you’ve never seen a group of undead Curators with flaming eyes jump into the air with surprise . . . okay, I’m going to assume that you’ve never seen a group of undead Curators with flaming eyes jump into the air with surprise. Suffice it to say that the experience was quite amusing, in a creepy sort of way.
‘He speaks our language!’ one hissed.