Reader had slept in the library on the night of the fifth day. He discovered that the place never closed. There always seemed to be some people working there, at studies of projects, at any given time of the day or night. The result was that he was able to slip away to a quiet corner and lie on a couch or slump in a chair. Why the multiple improvised sleeping spots? Because whenever the librarian, Cornelius, discovered him in this manner, a sharp feathery finger would jab him awake, followed by a berating. However, the librarian had better things to be doing than standing watching over the human adept and, by moving to new spots, Reader was able to assemble at least a modicum of a night’s sleep.
He’d slipped out in the morning seeking less expensive sustenance than he’d enjoyed the night before. For a single gold coin he was able to procure a meat-filled flatbread from a street vendor. He couldn’t swear to the standards of hygiene that were employed, but again raved at the tastiness of the meal. If he could get by on a meal or two, and do all his sleeping in the library, then he would be able to stretch his money for a week.
He returned to the library, and spent the rest of the morning pulling books at random, loading them into Grim, searching for a few choice search terms, and then replacing them with another text. As he worked, he started to paint a picture of the world he inhabited. He’d come across new terms and ideas, like The Edge, and they became part of his search process, his curiosity expanding. Words like The Edge brought him to terms like The Finality and Lord Eater, and these disturbing concepts became part of future searches.
He broke up this task by spending time in one of the weaving rooms, practicing his levitation weave.
“You know, at least for now, I need a way to make a little money.”
“What a fucking revelation.”
“Seriously. I need a plan for the long term, because I need a way to get home. It’s so weird though. If the Shopkeeper was right it’s only been a couple of hours at home while it’s been six days here. Even with that exchange rate, I’m going to need to find a way to make a lot of money fast, or figure out about the Syntra. But I can’t do any of that if I starve to death. So I should learn some useful weaves and, you know, hire myself out. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Grim crossed his arms. “Mmmm-hmmm. Listen, don’t know if you fucking remember, but that floating library in the sky was my old boss’s setup. Want you to fucking think about what it takes to make something like that. I can’t say I’m fucking delighted to hear that I’m now the geist of a fucking spell peddler. How the fucking mighty have fallen.”
Reader said, “You could just be useful once in a while. That doesn’t help.”
Grim said, “Oh, be useful? All fucking right, what would you like me to fucking do?”
Reader shrugged, “I don’t know… advise me or something.”
“I advise you to fucking stick your head up your—”
Reader fixed him with a glare. “I order you to advise me on the best way to make some money in the short term.”
Grim deflated a little but found the spirit to lance Reader with a spiteful glance. “Illumination weaves.”
“What?”
“Illumination. It’s easy enough to fucking learn and everybody can use a fucking light that’s not inclined to go out in a breeze or burn their fucking house down. There’s always a market for shit like that and even braindead dipshit like you can probably learn it.”
So Reader committed to the task.
He found that this was composed of two parts. There were countless examples of illumination weaves when he summoned the knowledge from Grim’s pages. A little study showed him that there were essentially “switch” weaves that could be used to turn another weave on and off. It looked challenging to stitch the two weaves together, but he had templates. Exploring further excited him as he discovered the equivalent of AND and OR gate weaves, and more complicated patterns. He was starting to see the potential of the art. It appealed to him.
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He passed three days like this, searching the books and practicing his weaves, expanding his understanding more than his skill as the time passed. He realized that for the task he was setting about a wand would be far more applicable than his staff. A wand would let him perform the smaller delicate weaves required to make what amounted to magic flashlights much more effectively. However, by the end of the ninth day, his net worth was seven coins and a wand’s value most likely exceeded that by a considerable margin.
He also discovered, through interactions with creatures on the streets, that he seemed to be one of a kind. The street vendors were unfamiliar with hoo-mans. One mentioned seeing something that looked a lot like him hanging at Spinner’s tavern. Reader ventured to investigate, but one look at the rowdy interior was all he needed to decide to return to the comforts of the library.
Which brings us to the ninth night, Reader starting to drift off in an overly upright wingback chair in a room where Cornelius had not previously apprehended him. He wasn’t at peace, exactly. He ached to see his family and the anxiety of whether he would ever get home practically devoured him. But he was satisfyingly exhausted and living in a strangely peaceful state. These last days may have come with the imminent threat of an impoverished end, but he was his own man. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to pass so much time without the drudgery of work or the chaos of children. It reminded him of being in college, spending his hours fascinated with some new puzzle, only breaking to eat as cheaply as possible. It left him feeling guilty.
As he drifted off, he couldn’t see the eyes that watched him from the shadows…
Chapt-
“WAIT! WHAT?”
Reader shot out of the chair, staff clenching in both hands, eyes wide and searching. He trembled slightly in alarm, suddenly realizing that he could at least have learned a basic offensive weave, or prepared some kind of weaponizable weave in advance. He cursed himself for the oversight, marking it down as something to address at the soonest possible convenience.
The room was dark, the shadows deep. Grim looked at him curiously. “What the fuck is wrong with you now?”
Reader’s voice had a shake. “Someone’s watching us.”
Grim rolled his eyes, lumbering to his feet. “And how, pray-fucking-tell, did you come to that conclusion?”
“The narrator- I mean, I, um, saw it.”
Grim observed his head, turning and scanning every dark recess. “Yeah, you sure fucking saw something. If you saw something, then where the fuck was it?”
“It was peripheral. Movement.”
“Yeah, no way dipshit. This place is full of assholes moving around all the time. Why are you getting your panties all in a twist now?”
Reader was muttering to himself now. “It was one of those ominous trailing endings… it meant something bad… they do that when they’re foreshadowing…”
Reader searched the room further, wishing he’d tethered an illumination weave to something. His weaves were working, but tying them so they’d last was another challenge entirely.
Grim begrudgingly joined the search when issued a direct command but eventually Reader came to the conclusion that if something or someone had been watching him, it was gone now.
He slumped back in the chair, less easy than before. “Hey… Grim… I don’t want to be an asshole…”
“Could have fucking fooled me.”
“I need you to keep a lookout.”
“The fuck did you say?”
Reader said, “I actually hate giving commands. It feels really icky, like it’s taking away your free will…”
Grim crossed his spindly arms, “Uh, that’s because it fucking does take away my free will, dipshit.”
Reader said, “But you have to understand, something was watching me. I know it. I hear a… nevermind. I just know for a fact we were being watched. And I have to sleep. I’ve nearly cracked these new weaves, but I can’t keep going if I don’t rest. So I’m going to have to command you. I’m really sorry about this.”
Grim shifted uncomfortably, his voice a little less confident. “Not so fucking sorry that you won’t do it. To my fucking recollection sorry is the kind of shit you say after you did something you don’t fucking want to do again.”
Reader’s face was a mask of contrition. “I really am sorry.”
“Alright, alright, get the fuck on with it then.”
“Grim, I command you to stand watch over me while I sleep. Be vigilant.”
Grim dropped his arms to his side and moved closer to Reader, taking a position by the chair. “Great. There. It’s fucking done. Can I do anything else for you, master? Want me to fucking blow you while you sleep? Or maybe finger your—”
“That’s enough. Really. I do hate this. Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking prick all the time.”
Grim blinked, nodding slightly with an expression of exaggerated amazement. “Wow, there it is. There’s a little fucking spine. Maybe I wouldn’t be such a prick if I could just, oh, let me see… die!”
Reader watched him, thinking. “I’m not going to help you die but… you hate being a slave, that’s the problem isn’t it?”
“I fucking hate being an accessory to whatever fucking asshole has that sigil. I fucking hate that my fucking purpose in life is to be an extension of some other slobbering dick-faced fucking moron.”
Reader said, “What if there was a way to get you out of that?”
Grim stopped dead at that. For once he was stuck to produce any utterance, even a single profane expression. Eventually, he found his voice.
“Fuck you. Go the fuck to sleep while I play watchdog.”
