The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,59
displeased. “I’m a very big proponent of plans. Ardent fan, even.”
Claire waved a vague hand as they left. “Can’t be helped. We’ll be doing this the human way: quick and improvised.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
THE MAIN HALL HAD progressed beyond boisterous celebration and into clusters of dedicated drinkers industriously working toward a stupor. This worked in Claire’s favor, as the path had eased and the largest warriors still blocking her path had become significantly less mobile. She and Andras wound their way through the stifling hall toward Bjorn’s study.
Claire touched her hand to the handle but paused when raised voices trickled through the rough wood.
“Showman like you, thought you’d appreciate admirers.”
“You’re not admiring, lad. You’re molesting.”
“Merely partaking of the simple joy of fine literature. I was bravely wounded in battle, you know.”
“Don’t think I can’t finish the job!”
Claire gave a sigh and pushed through the door. The study was still a picture of clutter and warmth, but this time a very agitated storyteller paced in front of the fireplace. Hero perched in an armchair and shook a partially unfurled scroll as a greeting. “Warden! I do believe I’ve found our host’s weakness. Had you merely rumpled his manuscripts in the ring, this whole nonsense would have resolved itself.”
“I see you’re feeling well enough to be a nuisance again, Hero.”
He was pale, but his wrist appeared restored, and the cuts on his face were gone. He didn’t rise from the chair, which could indicate some stiffness, but he seemed in one piece.
Hero chuckled. “The healers here are marvelous. I suppose they get some practice.”
Claire made sure the door was firmly closed before approaching the group. Brevity and Leto were present, the latter a dark shadow positioned closer to the door, having obviously taken the “keep Bjorn there” order with teenage seriousness. He gave Claire a tight nod as she entered with Andras. Darkness pooled under his eyes, and Claire made a mental note to enforce a rest when they had a chance. Demons didn’t need sleep. Human souls didn’t either, technically, but every human psyche needed a break. Mental breakdowns happened in the afterlife just as easily as they did in the world above, and Leto had been through more than enough.
“Brev, please see if Bjorn can point you in the way of a decent teapot.” Claire had her own ways of shoring up her psyche, after the interrogative game with the angel. Brevity wiggled her way free of couch cushions, and Claire turned her attention to the still glowering storyteller. “Problems, Bjorn?”
“He doesn’t like me reading his books . . . scrolls . . . things,” Hero offered.
“I don’t mind if you read. I mind if you converse with them,” Bjorn snapped, finally succeeding in sweeping the scroll out of Hero’s hands. He turned to Claire. “Who leaves a hero unattended in a library?”
“I watched him!” Brevity protested as she hung a small pot of water— no teapots in Valhalla, but it appeared Brevity had improvised—over the fire.
“Great lot of good it’s done. He’s been chatting up every tale he can get his hands on.”
“I’m a story. They’re a story. I was simply being friendly,” Hero said with an elegant shrug. “Besides, I learned a few things. Lots of strategic texts around here. Might help me keep my head on my shoulders next time I’m forced into the warden’s service.”
“Must you persist in calling me a warden?” Claire asked.
Hero’s smile was a calculated dazzle. “Would you prefer jailer? Or shall I curtsy and call you mistress?”
“Nuisance.”
“Warden.”
“Ass.”
“It’s not right!” Bjorn interrupted, leathery face creating even more wrinkles as he drew a hand over his long beard. “Learning changes a character. Changes a story. This is irresponsible.”
He was entirely correct, and a twinge of regret nagged at her. Claire knew Bjorn’s concern as well as any librarian. Hero was a character. He came out of his book with certain skills, certain knowledge, a personality, even, all based on who he was in his story. The longer he remained separated from his book and unable to go back, the more likely that would change.
If you considered Hero human, it was a good thing. But if you considered Hero what he was—a living portion, only one small part of a larger book—it was making him something other than his original character. It would be harder than ever to fit him back into his pages. It was why when books woke up, excepting the damsels, they were quickly put back to sleep again. But Claire