I stepped through the seventh portal. Since the grove of false memories, I’d been from Times’ Square in New York to an ancient tomb in the depths of a pyramid – wild! Nothing had been quite as creepy as the grove, though, but basically it was all training us in the same sort of thing. But there was something different about this seventh challenge.

  I found myself in a library – a very old library. In the sitting area before me stood a high-backed leather chair, facing in the opposite direction. But it was the library that drew my eyes. A vast, impossible expanse of books and shelves, desks and stairs, and beyond that balconies with mezzanines, rooms, and more books beyond. Even the gloomy vaulted ceiling far above look like it held mysteries and hidden pathways.

  There was a hush in this space, like every good library I suppose. But I could almost hear something… like the flipping of pages, or the almost imperceptible squeak of a shoe moving. Something was throwing me off, but I couldn’t place it. It was as though the shelves were moving and re-aligning at the corners of my vision, but whenever I turned to look… all was quiet and still.

  I startled at the sudden squeal of a wooden chair leg on the hard floor. The high-backed chair in front of me shifted without warning, and a man rose up from the chair, like a pantomime demon coming up out of a trapdoor. He was tall and very thin. He had a long clean-shaven face with a sharply-pointed nose and extremely bright eyes and a great tousled mop of grey hair. He fixed his bright eyes on me, and smiled, showing all his teeth.

  “Ahhh! I am delighted to see you my boy!” he said, rubbing his hands, his knuckles cracking. He had very long, beautifully white, fingers.

  “Welcome to the Library!” he continued. “I get so very lonely here, what a pleasure to have your company at last.”

  Not quite sure what to make of this, I guessed this was some kind of guide for the challenge.

  “Ahh… a delight to make your acquaintance” I replied, rather lamely.

  “Now. I wonder if you might be able to help me?” he began. “You see, I’ve been looking for a book. My problem is that… well… my health is delicate, you see. I cannot cross the labyrinth for myself. And I need a person of… distinction. Not an ordinary, ignorant person, do you understand?”

  “I’m not...sure I do.”

  “It is a book of hidden wisdom, you see. A book…” he paused for a moment, holding my eyes, “… a book from another world. An ancient book of old Atlantis.”

  I decided to play along, clearly Simon wanted this to go a certain way.

  “I’m listening” I said.

  “There are twenty one portals, twenty one guardians, and the labyrinth you see around you. Each guardian will show you an object, as well as the next segment of the maze. You must hold these objects in your mind’s eye and recount them, one by one, with each new guardian. The twenty first guardian will give you my book, which you can give to me!” He said this final point with a note of glee.

  “Have a care, my boy, do not forget the tokens which the guardians reveal, or you may find yourself at a loss.” A little bit ominous, but I guess it was just part of the fun. No doubt if I forget, there would be nothing but a simple reset and I’d have to endure another monologue from this character.

  “Ok. I’m in. When do I start?”

  The man stepped aside with a flourish of his coat, and a sweep of his hand revealed an aisle of books straight ahead from his seat.

  “Remember this” he said, and produced a green ring in his hand. “With this, you will gain a hearing with the second guardian. Good luck! The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back!” And with that, he vanished. A magician? I started walking down the aisle, and notice that there was a constant sense of almost movement in my peripheral vision. It was unnerving. I stopped and looked back, the library had shifted behind me. The clearing had been obscured by fresh rows of books, more twists and turns. Only one thing to do, keep moving forward. I marched on.

  After walking down a few aisles, I began to notice a smell… a smell of… brine and sea-salt on the air. I thought I could hear the lapping of waves, and a breeze was beginning to pick up. I turned a corner, and found sand had piled up against the bookshelves. The piles gave way to a true sandy pathway leading down to a small stretch of beach. A very… library-like beach, which, I could see at the other end, reverted back to the normal mind-bending books and aisles of my present predicament.

  “AH! Jim!!” I was startled by the voice, and turned to see an older man hobbling toward me.

  He had a crutch supporting his left side, carved from old wood and wrapped in salt-stained rope. His right leg, or what was left of it, ended in a battered brass peg. His coat was long and sun-bleached, with tarnished buttons. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the faded crisscrosses of tattoos. Anchors, knives, and the remnants of some bird in mid-flight. His face was weathered like driftwood, with a crooked grin and sharp, watchful eyes. Despite his limp, he gave the impression of a man who was always one step ahead. I hadn’t read the book, but I’d seen him feature in a gaming scenario once: Long John Silver, a cold-hearted pirate.

  “What have you got for me, Jim?” He put his arm across my shoulder, and he was a good head taller than I was. It was a little unnerving, there was a menace about this man. I cast the green ring, floating above my hand.

  “Ah! Very good my lad. Very good.” He snatched it midair, and produced a golden coin from his pocket, it had a skull and cross bones on it. “You’ll need this for the next stage” he said.

  I left Silver quickly behind, happy to get away from him. As my trial continued, I found the colourful imagery of the characters easy to recall. Sherlock Holmes (who had all the clinical precision that I had imagined he would) showed me a cracked magnifying glass, and Carroll’s Cheshire Cat showed me a small replica of himself in a clown outfit! Dr Jekyll had a life-like effigy of Mr Hyde in a glass bottle, and even Gollum (wonderfully creepy when you meet him in person) showed me his precious – though it took him some convincing even after I successfully recalled the previous treasures. I met Dracula (don’t even ask), Captain Nemo, and Tom Sawyer himself. Nine down, eleven left.

  As I reached the end of Sawyer’s white paling fence, I turned a corner and thought I saw… I’m not sure. A shadow. A movement. I moved forward, a little cautious. Apart from the silent peripheral shifts of the aisles and books on my right, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was a trick of my mind.

  Then I heard a clicking sound, it stuck out because it was a bit louder than the usual muted scuffs and squeaks of shoes in this place. Click. Clickclickclick. Clickclick. Click.

  “Hello?”

  I crept forward, approaching a broad t-intersection of aisles, peering around both corners. It was empty, the clicking sound had stopped. Then just ahead, from somewhere around the bend, I heard a voice very clearly.

  “This place is boring. Why can’t you read a book that produces an interesting character?”

  Another voice—dry, unimpressed, and vaguely feline—answered:

  “And here I thought I had no self-control. If you summon a ghost, I’m not helping. They smell like dusty socks and unresolved emotional trauma.”

  I crept closer, rounding the corner slowly. Sitting on a low bench, legs kicked up and balancing a teetering stack of books on his head, was a wild-haired boy with goggles pushed up over his forehead and a ridiculous grin on his face. Next to him, lounging lazily across three volumes of A Concise History of Temporal Ethics, was a tiger. A real tiger. Talking, apparently.

  The boy noticed me and gave a dramatic wave.

  “Hey! You must be the new guy. They keep sending you quest types in here like it’s a personality test. Got any snacks?”

  The tiger raised an eyebrow. “He’s probably not allowed to eat anything in here. It’s a library. And, you know, a dreamworld of shifting fictional archetypes.”

  The boy rolled his eyes and leaned toward me conspiratorially.

  “I think that means you’re not supposed to lick the books. But I did once. Tasted like algebra. Not a good experience.”

  I grinned.

  The boy jumped to his feet with a cartoonish spring and struck a heroic pose.

  “I’m the unnamed literary anomaly of chaotic imagination and limited impulse control—and the unofficial king of this maze on alternate Wednesdays!”

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  The tiger sighed. “He means his name doesn’t matter and he’s been stuck here for three chapters because he tried to short-circuit the system by asking Captain Nemo if he could pilot the Nautilus.”

  The boy threw his arms up. “I was trying to be efficient!”

  “Efficiency is not the point of this exercise,” the tiger replied, tail flicking.

  “Fun is the point!” the boy declared, grabbing a book from the shelf and flipping it open. “Or maybe chaos. Or collecting weird stuff from strange fictional people and hoping it doesn’t melt your brain by the end.”

  He looked me over. “So? What’ve you got so far?”

  I cast a green ring, the pirate’s coin, the cracked magnifying glass, and the rest. He whistled. “Nice. You’re farther than the last guy. He got eaten by the Jabberwocky. Or maybe he was the Jabberwocky. Never really got that cleared up.”

  The tiger stood, stretched, and gave me a level look. “Well, you seem mostly sane. That’s a good start. And if you're here, you’re probably about to meet the librarian of impossible riddles.”

  “Or the chapter that never ends,” the boy added with a grin.

  “Same difference,” the tiger muttered.

  I glanced down the newly shifted aisle that lay ahead. “So… any advice?”

  The boy winked.

  “Yes. Don’t die, don’t blink, and whatever you do… don’t trade anything for a popsicle. The Queen of Hearts is running a total scam.”

  “And if you see anything shaped like furniture,” the tiger added, “run.” “It’s a monster in disguise, and not the friendly type.”

  “Oh, almost forgot”, the boy said, “you’ll need this as well.” He produced a very cartoony looking spaceman’s gun. I noted the colours and shape, and set off for my next stop. As I rounded the next bend, and left the two of them behind, I felt a little… sad to say goodbye.

  I pressed on.

  I walked through corridors of ink and silence. I met Jean Valjean, and Mephistopheles, who have me a scorched feather from an angel’s wing (“collateral,” he said with a wink). I walked the windblown battlements of Elsinore with Hamlet, and next found Tarzan in a rain-soaked jungle. D’Artagnan offered a sliver of a shattered rapier, and I was given a bullet casing by a ghost in a ruined cityscape of glass and bone. I met Prospero on a shipwreck, and the Phantom under the gothic arches of an opera house. At last, there were only two left.

  I stepped forward, and then I heard it again. Click. Click. Click. Clickclick. Clickclick. But further away this time. I strained my ears to hear, but it was gone.

  Hrrhrrrhrrr…

  I couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a growl, must be my twentieth guardian. I rounded the corner, and about twenty metres away, down a gloomy aisle, I saw a wolf-like shape staring at me. At first it looked beastial, but it rose onto it’s two hind legs.

  “Who are you supposed to be?”

  It bared it’s teeth at me, and then walked out of my line of sight down another aisle. Was I supposed to follow? I guess so. What’s the worst that could happen?

  I jogged lightly toward where I’d last seen it. If I’m honest, the jogging helped calm my nerves a little. As I rounded the corner and peered down into the distance I saw… nothing.

  BRRRKKKRRAAAASSSHHHHH!!!!

  "HRRAAAUUUNNNGGHHHHHH!"

  The primal roar shattered the silence, and the bookcase next to me exploded. I was slammed straight across the aisle into another bookshelf, and in the confusion I couldn’t make out whatever it was that was causing this.

  I sent out a pulse of blue power, and the books and debris flew from me. I didn’t care who this guardian was, I was taking him down.

  From the other side of the aisle, towering at an inhuman height, a massive figure emerged from the dust and chaos.

  "HRRAAAUUUNNNGGHHHHHH!!!!" It bellowed. And by “it”, I mean the Minotaur of Crete. No matter. He’s still going down.

  I flipped up onto my feet and cast an M60 belt-fed machine gun. Now let me tell you something: there are few things in life as satisfying as firing an M60 full blast at a Minotaur.

  "BRRRAKKA-KA-KA-KA-KA!!!"

  Books exploded, paper filled the air, and the ancient oaken floor was getting fragged. Devastation reigned, and I felt the heat and adrenaline from the gun as it shook violently in my hands.

  Unfortunately, the Minotaur itself had cast an energy shield and easily deflected my onslaught.

  I tossed my M60 aside, but before I could plan my next attack, it charged. His shoulder slammed into me like a battering ram, and even with the neuro-dampeners in effect, it was a decidedly unpleasant sensation. My ribs lit up with pain as I flew backward over a splintering desk. I had to move quick, and in about a second I was armed in full tactical carbon-thread armor, shockwave boots, and twin plasma gauntlets. I used the Minotaur’s momentum against him as I rolled back and launched him with my boots.

  “BBR- CRAACCKK!!” Another shelf of books went down.

  I got to my feet a little unsteadily, but the Minotaur picked himself up easily.

  "HRRAAAUUUNNNGGHHHHHH!!!!" It came charging at me again. I focused with everything I had, and met the charge with my plasma guantlets.

  “TTHHHOOOOOOOMMMMM!”

  I was flying through chaos, and paper, and splintered wood. Dust filled the air. I realised I was lying on my back, looking sideways at a surprisingly pristine copy of The High House, by James Stoddard. Dang that was a good book. Two massive hands grabbed my armour at the chest plates, and the Minotaur lifted me up above his head with a roar of triumph.

  BAAMMFFFF.

  I teleported to reappear about ten metres behind it. I needed to shut this thing down. Wait. That wasn’t my goal.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  The Minotaur turned.

  Before it could move I cast all 19 of my memory tokens as quickly as I could manage. It paused, like it didn’t quite know what to do, like it was fighting some inner battle. After what seemed like an age, it slowly reached it’s hand into the pouch slung around it’s midriff. It produced a fluffy, minotaur doll, looked at me again, turned around, and went crashing off into some other part of the library.

  Phew. I was relieved not to have to fight that thing again, that was one tough guardian. I wonder why it fought me? Maybe Simon just wanted to keep things interesting.

  One token left.

  I left the chaos behind me, moving on down the same aisle I’d left to follow the wolf-man. What was that about? I couldn’t deny that I was feeling a bit shaken by the experience.

  RRAAAARRRKK.

  “Geez, what the hell?”

  I looked up to see a great raven hopping along the top of the bookshelf next to me. Was this one of the guardians? Was it something else?

  RRAARRRKKK!!!

  It looked at me, tilting it’s head.

  “So… uh… you one of the guardians of the labyrinth?”

  “Rrark… Quoth the raven, nevermore.”

  It just kept staring at me. Ok, let’s give it a go. I cycled through my items, casting them as I went. The raven just looked on as I went. I had no trouble at all recalling my list, it had been a very memorable experience.

  As the fluffy minotaur doll faded into nothingness, the Raven leapt suddenly, in a flurry of wings.

  “RRRAarrk!! Nevermore!!!”

  It disappeared over the next shelf, but on the ground in front of me lay a single, large, black feather.

  “You’ve come at last dear boy!!” I turned to see the strange magician again. All of a sudden the flourish disappeared, and he stuck his hands into his pockets.

  “Alright, Peterson, show me what you got.” It was Simon again now. I cast all of my items, again with ease. “You got the hang of this, man. Nice work. What did you think about the Minotaur’s monacle? A bit overdone? Or ok?”

  “Monacle?” I asked, puzzled. “I didn’t see a monacle, and what was with the beast-thing just before that? Was it a were-wolf?”

  “Beast? I didn’t make a beast” he said.

  What is with the were-wolf thing?