"I wondered where it'd dumped you. The damn World Snail has a mind of its own." The man’s voice was one of fondness. Complaining about the irritating habits of a beloved. "What did you grab?" The man stepped forward with the heavy foot of someone who hadn't tried to sneak through a forest to glimpse an elk.

  I flinched as he snatched the book out of my hands, his enormous mitten-like hands flaring with some sort of magic.

  In an instant, a cloud of dust puffed up from the music, as the pages whipped through his hands.

  "Ah, yes, Cantos de Espa?a." He closed the volume, studying me. "Are you a musician?"

  I shook my head.

  "Why did you choose this volume? You walked past scores of surely more interesting books to an [Adventurer]. Histories of long-lost cultures, clues to buried treasures, and treatises on strategies of defeating dungeons. And you pick a beautiful song, sure, but it just seems an odd choice."

  "It was the only thing I recognized." I mumbled, embarrassed before the intellect of this stranger. I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t read any of the books. Even this one, Cantos de Espa?a, I would not have guessed the pronunciation until he spoke it. And I still did not know what it was about.

  He stooped, face descending to eye level, brows knitting together. "Isn't that the purpose of a library? To find knowledge that you don't already possess. Choosing something you recognize seems even more bizarre."

  Even with my face burning, the man failed to realize that I couldn't read any of his precious books. I looked at the floor.

  "They're all in languages I can't read."

  Silence descended on our conversation like a wet blanket. I didn't need to imagine him recalculating my intelligence; I could feel it.

  Cut the kid some slack. The world got much simpler after the Cataclysm. I'd never been so grateful to hear Richard's voice. Come back to the fire so we can talk. It's warm.

  The man held the thin book of music. He caressed it with his meaty hands, as though he could read it through the cover.

  "Very well, I'll let you check this book out. It's an odd choice," he said, still looking at me like he was doing complex mathematics. “But I think one that will serve. Maybe not you, but Cantos de Espa?a was something of a favorite of mine. Albéniz has this way of feathering the notes, and then it calms down to this musica espa?ola challenge.” He tilted his head wistfully as though he could hear the melody. “The world is less without this piece.

  He handed the book back to me.

  "Oh, I wasn't—" Just shut up and take the book. "—sure you were going to let me take it. This is a magnificent gift! Thank you," I stuttered, trying to recover. I took the book from the man.

  The cover had a woman with a wide-brimmed hat sitting at a piano with music notes coming out of its top. The Librarian appeared to have used some sort of [Preservation] skill on the book, removing the dust, grime, and age.

  "A gift? I think not. You're checking out the book, yes? This is a library, son. I expect you to return it in the same condition as it is now the next time you visit the library." The man paused as he led me back towards the central hallway. "Although even I'll admit that could take a while." He resumed walking, the flip-flop of his sandals echoing in the silent hall.

  The librarian was short, almost portly, but not so much that I'd call him fat. His robes had an embroidered symbol of an open book on the back. The dark brown threads danced across the fabric, outlining each page. Floating above the book sat a red candle with a gold flame. I'm sure it meant something, that he was the grand librarian of ancient histories, but like the books surrounding me, I couldn't decode it.

  "Are you the [System]?" I asked, recalling my last trip to the Library of Alta.

  The man almost stumbled at my question. He didn't turn around as he answered.

  "Heaven's no. I'm the [Librarian]." A lot of help that was. "You really are ignorant if you think a construct like me has the power of the [System]."

  That made me stumble. This man in front of me was a construct? He wasn't real?

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Tandy may give me shit for my manners, but even I knew better than to ask if he was real. I assumed constructs had feelings too, but I wasn't sure. Either way, it would have been at best impolite. I kept my mouth shut.

  It took us ten minutes of walking to make it to the fireplace that Richard had referenced. The Library of Alta was such an odd place. As soon as one entered the Library of Alta it gave the impression of size. The scope, however, was not as easy to comprehend. It was a city of stacks, but magic blurred the edges of distance.

  The [Librarian] walked at his slow pace, taking me to what looked to be an open-air reading room. It stood off to the side in a break in the stacks. A roaring fire snapped in the fireplace. Richard, predictably, lay in front of the hearth. His [Fire Resistance] seemed to know no limit.

  "Doesn't having a fire in the library make you nervous?" I asked, figuring this was a safe question as we neared the reading room.

  "A fire? Why? Oh, no, not at all. It's magical, not real. We wouldn't dare burn anything here. The Library of Alta is not into book burning. No self-respecting library is, much less a bastion of knowledge such as this."

  If you'd burned the books on [Corruption] the world would be a different place.

  The [Librarian] tilted his head towards Richard. He'd obviously heard my slug's commentary.

  "And now, those same books are perhaps the key to saving the world. Your point is moot, slug." The [Librarian] turned to me. "And what is your opinion, young [Adventurer]? Should we have books on [Corruption] or should they have been tossed into the fire?"

  It's— The man in front of me waved at Richard, and the slug's mental voice cut off.

  I didn't need to be told this was a test, but I'd never thought of the question before. Was dangerous knowledge something a library should keep? Woodsten hadn't even had a library, although I'd visited the one in Dusridge several times. They wouldn't let me check books out, to my vast disappointment. Something about taxes. But every festival we went down, I'd always visited, unable to stay away from a place that held so many books.

  "Evil exists," I said carefully, thinking of the dungeon below Eddie's Mill. "Whether we have knowledge of it or not." I was sure that reporting the dungeon to the Adventurers Guild was going to result in more deaths. The young want-to-be [Adventurers] clogging the basement of the guild were surely going to attempt the [Trap] dungeon before they were ready. But I couldn't help but think that it was still the right decision. I'd rather have young [Adventurers] dying down there than a young kid like Mira. Or Mistress Del's ladies as they used the tunnels to navigate. "I think it’s better to have a candle in the dark."

  The [Librarian] looked at me, a spark of approval in his gray eyes.

  "Well said, young one. Perhaps there's something here worth salvaging."

  Richard snorted, this time his voice was quieter, as though meant for me.

  I can't say I enjoy your taking his side, but it's probably worth not pissing off Galgius.

  "Sit, young one. Warm yourself by the fire." The man motioned to one of the red velvet chairs. Unlike the stacks, this cozy section of the library was clean. I looked down at my bare chest and the damp tatters of my pants.

  Wincing, I lifted the book away from my bare chest, realizing I was covered in grit, salt and sweat.

  "I should probably stand, don't want to get your furniture dirty."

  "If I were worried about the furniture, I wouldn't have brought your slug here. Sit." He waved and before I could react, a chair bumped up against the back of my legs. They buckled, and my butt hit the soft velvet with an audible plop.

  "So, about that. Why are Richard and I here?" I asked nervously, adjusting my position on the chair. For looking cozy, it was oddly uncomfortable. The padding on the chair was thin, and while the fabric was soft, the chair itself was hard.

  "It's a funny thing, being a construct." The man sat across from me, grabbing a steaming mug that'd been sitting on the side table. "I know the chair is uncomfortable, but when I sit in it, I don't feel discomfort. Watching the expression you just made was priceless. It's like I can feel your spine shifting to make that brick more palatable."

  "Uh, you’re welcome?" I folded a leg up onto the chair, shifting one last time.

  "No one who comes here has time for the niceties of uncomfortable chairs and tea." He gestured at the end table, which had a matching cup of tea on it. The brown liquid smelled of chamomile and vanilla. I reached for it, as much for the warmth as for the tea itself.

  "Do people come here often?" I asked, blowing across the hot mug.

  "Every century or so, often enough." He took another sip of his tea and eyed me as though waiting for me to take a sip. I acquiesced to his peer pressure, judging the liquid cool enough for a sip. It was by far the best tea I'd ever tasted. Chamomile and vanilla melted with a touch of cinnamon and a faint trace of orange.

  "Ah see! That smile! I've had this brew for a hundred and fifty years, and didn't know if it was any good!"

  Now that he's had his tea, can we get on with it? We've got a dungeon to complete.

  The construct sighed, as though Richard had stolen its moment of joy.

  "Do you know how many years of effort went into that single cup of tea?" The [Librarian] chastised Richard.

  "A lot," I commented, taking another sip. "Don't mind Richard. He doesn't have manners."

  The warmth of the tea filled my belly. The fire chased a little of the encroaching darkness at bay.

  "You are right. I've known him nigh six hundred years, and he's irritated me the entire time. Very well, Richard, we will get on to business." The [Librarian] turned to me. "You, Cole Moldboard Thornfield, have leveled a serious accusation against the [System]. I am the Librarian and [Arbitrator] of such accusations. Are you prepared to receive judgement?"

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