Chapter 5, Part i

Chapter the Fifth

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

“Trisha? What are you doing here?” Tom yelled across the Dunberg city square as he spotted her leap from a trader's caravan. She stumbled toward him, breathing heavily, a wild look in her eye. Tom caught her awkwardly just as she collapsed from fatigue.

“Tomas, you lazy bum,” she gasped, gripping his coat with one hand and wrenching herself upright. “Do you have... any idea... of how much trouble... I just went through... to get here?”

“I'm kinda afraid to ask,” Tom admitted, trying to detach himself from the woman's iron grip. “You look like you got run over by a gypsy caravan. All six wagons of it, plus all the horses.”

“Just about,” she panted. He noticed that the only luggage she carried was a small bundle wrapped in a leather bag, which she clutched tightly to her chest.

Tom swallowed. “Um. Trish, that looks like one of Hector's bookbags.” Trisha nodded with manic emphasis. “And, er... I thought you were supposed to take those books to New Poliston.” Another nod. “And... by this time you should be just arriving in New Poliston.”

Trisha laughed bitterly. “Boy, do I have a story to tell you. Where's Hector? I need to have a little talk with him.” Tom turned white and swallowed again. “What? Where is he?” Trisha insisted.

“Er...” Tom scratched his head. “That's the thing... he disappeared two days ago.”

“What!”

Tom turned and started heading toward the library and attempted a conversational tone of voice. “Well, ha ha, let's go find that library, eh? Warm you up a little after your travels, eh? And let's see how long we can chat without beating me up, okay? How does that sound?”

*

Tom, Trisha, Blanche, and the other five librarians sat in the library before the fireplace in the Reading Room. The fire cracked and popped as Trisha's thoughts settled.

“So, what you're telling me is,” she started, and darted a wary glance at the large, feathery shape in the corner that kept making raspy sounds of delight as it pulled books off the shelves and onto the floor. “Not only did Hector skip town with the very same Tove that tried to break in and possibly kill him, and not only did Professor Trellis and the Mome Raths take over Dunberg and tear apart the library looking for a mysterious book called the Manxor Slithe – tying you all up as hostages in the process – but there's a giant filthy talking bird here who loves reading diaries and gossiping about them?”

“He won't shut up,” Blanche lamented, and buried her face in her hands. The Jubjub bird cackled from its corner.

Trisha tried not to stare at him. “Um. Yes. Anyway. So, are the Mome Raths really in control of everything here?”

“Everything,” Tom nodded gravely. “Not long after Hector left, a bunch of Professor Trellis's cronies moved in and threatened the City Council; well, actually I'm not sure what exactly it was that they did, but at any rate the Council has been booted out of office and now there's just a bunch of creepy people with depressing wardrobes in charge of the city. All the businesses have been taken over, and Professor Trellis himself named himself the new Dunberg Head Librarian. 'Course, he never comes in here, now that he knows the Manxor Slithe isn't here.”

Trisha quietly fingered the leather-wrapped book on her lap. She knew that she could trust the librarians – she had known most of them since they were children – but when the city was crawling with Mome Raths, she didn't want to broadcast that she had the Manxor Slithe. She still hadn't told them about the book, or how the Mome Raths had tried to steal it. Trisha shuddered with the memory: Clarissa had not been the last person to try to take the book from her; in fact, she couldn't travel a single hour without some creep trying to wrench it away from her. It had been a long trip home.

“So,” she said, directing her words at Tom, “Did he really tie you all up in the History Section? How did he manage that? And why did he let you go?”

Blanche set her jaw. “He had these two friends with black, hooded robes, and they just burst into the building and grabbed us all. In case you haven't noticed, we librarians aren't really the most physically gifted people, so it wasn't too hard to round us all up.”

“He had us tell him where that book was,” said Pete, the Science Section curator with the curly hair. “We kept telling him we didn't know, because... well, we don't. I had no idea it existed until he asked us about it.”

Trisha narrowed her eyes in concentration. “And now he's let you go free... But you're not allowed to leave town?”

“Nobody is,” Tom despaired. “Now that you're here, you ain't leaving, Trish. And there are tons of those creepy robed guys that surround town. They don't sleep, they don't eat, not that we can see. Hundreds of them, I bet. The other night Billy tried to make a run for it, but... well, er... it didn't really go so well for him... Let's just say that he was kind of a mean guy, and nobody really misses him anyway.”

Trisha's eyes went wide. “Oh,” she gulped.

“But hold on, that's not the weirdest part,” Tom said ominously. He massaged his knees as he spoke, a nervous tic he had always had. “I told you we got tied up. Trellis was looking for the book, remember. And I told you that at one point this guy came into the building --”

“--The one with the sword, right?” Trisha interrupted. “The one that Professor Trellis seemed to know?”

“Yeah, that guy. Um. Well, his voice sounded kind of familiar to me, even though I couldn't get a look at him with being all blindfolded. The thing is, Trellis said his name was Aric.”

Trisha waited for him to explain, but he just sat there with an astonished look of expectation. She rotated her hand in the air, gesturing for him to continue. “I'm sorry, buddy, I'm just not getting what you're hinting at... Aric who?”

Tom smacked his lips nervously and looked at the others for support. They all stared at him for an explanation. “Um. Well, you remember how before I came to live here in Dunberg a couple years ago, I lived in New Poliston? I didn't exactly live in a nice house. Or in a house at all, for that matter. Lived in the streets. Grew up with the gangs, sometimes stealing in order to eat, but we usually got paid in food by the local residents.”

“Paid for what?” asked Blanche.

“For keeping the other gangs away.”

Blanche scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Forget it, just keep going,” Trisha urged.

“Well, it wasn't an easy life. We got by, but we wasn't exactly happy, you know. Those were some pretty dark times, for us and for New Poliston. Anyway, one day this guy comes along, really charismatic, holds a sort of peace treaty between the leaders of the gangs, gets them all to agree on a common goal: survival. But not scraping-through-the-gutter survival, and not even scandals and gimmicks to cheat people out of their money so we can get rich kind of survival. He meant real, honest work to build us up as real, honest boys so we could help the city become a better place. A utopia, he always said. He wanted a utopia. So we did what he said, eager to do anything to get out of the gutter. We worked, we built houses for ourselves, we worked for folks, we earned the city's honest respect. We were the good guys, Trish, the good guys!

And you know what? For a while back then, we all thought that would reach it. Utopia, I mean. Everyone was happy. Most of the crime was gone – 'course, it was us that did most of the crime before, just not any more – and we even had a name and a organization for ourselves: the New Poliston Alliance For The Betterment Of Urban Fellows. Kind of a mouthful. And this guy that had been our leader, he was great, never let it all get to his head, always real humble about everything. Became good friends with the Mayor. Those were good times...” Tom trailed off, reminiscing.

Trisha leaned forward. “This leader of yours. Was this Aric?”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, staring into space. Trisha had never seen him so serious and pensive.

“So, what was he doing in Dunberg, if he was supposed to be running the New Poliston Alliance of the Good Street Boys, or whatever it was called?”

Tom shrugged, brought out of his reverie. “That's just it. I have no idea what he was doing here. In fact, what surprises me most is the fact that he went missing several years before I left town. Completely vanished. He didn't even tell the vice prez what was going on. One day he was there, takin' charge of building an orphanage, the next... poof! No more Aric. We thought one of the few rival gangs had caught up with him, had a grudge against him, but we would have known if he had been kidnapped or killed, and that gang woulda been awful sorry. Anyway, the vice prez took over, but this guy wasn't as cool-headed as Aric, and... well, long story short, things got worse and worse. We started fighting among ourselves again, like the old days, and we split into separate gangs again. Started throwin' rocks through windows again, burning each other's houses, living on the streets, back to begging for our bread. 'Course now nobody trusted us, they thought we could never get out of the gutter and stay out, like we was born with gutter in our souls. They were prob'ly right, if the only thing keepin' us together was Aric.

“Anyway, that's when I decided to leave. Make a life for myself. Start over somewhere, where nobody would know what I was or where I had been...” He looked down, realizing what he had just said out loud. He scuffed his foot awkwardly on the stone floor, his face downcast. He sniffed.

Quietly, Blanche stood up, walked to his chair and squeezed his shoulder. “It's okay, Tomas. We don't think any less of you.”

Trisha waited for a respectful moment before speaking again. “So... it must have been quite the shock to see Aric – well, hear him – after his disappearance. Right?”

“You have no idea,” Tom said incredulously. “No idea. You don't forget a guy like Aric. But Trellis sent one of his friends to find and kill Hector, and Aric jumped out the window after him. That's the last I heard of him, and the Mome Raths don't exactly bring us the newspaper every day.”

“We've got to go after him, then,” Trisha said. “Hector's in danger. He's a little too eager for his own good. And we can help Aric, because if he's against Professor Trellis he must be on our side, right?”

Sophie, the somber librarian in charge of the Nonfiction Section, sighed. “But we have no idea where he is, where he's going, or what he's doing. He could be anywhere. He could be dead right now, and we wouldn't know it. And how could we possibly leave the city with all those sentries?”

“He's in the mountains,” a mind-grating voice screeched straight into Trisha's ear.

(Graphic 5:1: The Jubjub bird stares down Trisha with one bloodshot eye. Pete, Sophie, Blanche and Tom are equally shocked at its sudden appearance.)

“How do you know that?” Blanche asked. The Jubjub bird cocked its other eye at her.

“'Cuz I just saw him there! Duh! Where do y'think I got this library card?” It puffed out its pathetic chest to display the tattered yellow card tied around its neck.

“Wait,” Trisha said, and ripped the card from the loop of string. The bird tried to snap it from her hand, but she batted its beak away. “Hold on, I'll give it right back.” She read the note, lips moving silently, then scoffed in surprise. “Really? Did nobody check his library card before letting him in? Some bunch of librarians you are.”

“All right, you try keeping a ten-foot-tall bird of prey from entering by force,” Tom complained. “What's the note say? Is it from Hector?”

“Yeah. It says: To Tom and the Rest: I am fine. Having the adventure of my life. Please concede the bearer of this card access to any and all Sections in the library, especially the archived journals from last year's public event with the youth. P.S. Please be sure to dust the History Section every day while I am gone, because we don't want to make Blanche angry. Signed, H.B.”

“I'm flattered,” Blanche said dryly.

Trisha stared at the library card, turning it over in her hands. “Where in blazes is he, then? That's so typical of Hector, daydreaming and wandering off. I could strangle him.”

The Jubjub bird noisily cleared its throat for a full fifteen seconds, then spoke with a gallon of pride in each word. “He said I was brave and handsome. An' he's gonna write a whole book 'bout me!”

Trisha suddenly stood up and faced the bird. “Where is he?” she thundered. “You know where he is! When did he give you this card?” She flashed it in front of its beak.

The bird took a step backward, unused to a rival stubborn attitude. “He's in the mountains, on the other side of the forest! They's goin' to slay the Jabberwock. Read about it in his diary,” it gloated, and gestured toward the corner where the whole display of books had been toppled to the floor. “He told me I could read it, so I did! Ha ha! Nice an' juicy! Did he ever tell you he had a rash in his armpit--”

“What's he doing over there?” Trisha scoffed. “Jabberwock? Aric's probably with him.”

“Yep!” the bird squawked, eager to get a word in. “Aric, the guy with the sword – never gave me his diary, but I'll get it sooner or later – and two o' them Toves, a girlie and a lil' prickly brown one. They's gonna go slay the Jabberwock!”

Tom leaped from his seat and clapped his arms around the bird's beak to keep it closed. “Sshh, shut up, shut up, shut up! Don't talk so loud! The Mome Raths'll hear you! Remember, Professor Trellis wants Hector and Aric dead! If they learn where they are, they'll kill them!” The Jubjub looked surprised and offended, but it held still. Everyone nervously glanced at the windows and doors, but there didn't seem to be anyone listening in. Tom sighed with relief.

Trisha sat down again and took the leather bundle in her hands. Pensively, she unwrapped it and gingerly turned the pages of the strange book. Pete and Sophie gathered around. “What's that book, Trisha?” Pete asked curiously. “That looks like one of Hector's bookbags.”

She nodded and flipped another page. Sketches of plants and bones were drawn in pencil, with annotations in an illegible script in the margins. It was written in an unfamiliar language with strange characters. “I'm not sure what this book is,” she whispered. “But I think it's the book that Professor Trellis was looking for, the Manxor Slithe. I'm not sure why Hector sent it with me to New Poliston, but I certainly got my share of trouble for carting around this thing; Mome Raths and their thugs kept trying to steal it from me, and I got mugged more than a few times on my way back here. They got what's coming to them, though.”

“What's the book for?” asked Sophie. “Why would it be so important? I can't read it.”

“Neither can I,” Trisha said.

Pete planted a finger on a page before Trisha could turn it. He peered carefully at the spidery scrawl. “That looks like an anatomical diagram, but for a Tove. This is written in Q'imuh, an ancient language from Old Hume. It was said that this was the secret code of sorcerers and secret cults that dabbled in the arcane. Funny. I thought it was all just a legend.”

The Jubjub bird finally managed to wrench itself free from Tom's grasp. “Oh! The Slithy book! Hickter wrote 'bout that in his diary! He said the Mome Raths needed it ta take control a' the Jabberwock!”

Trisha turned in her chair to silence the bird, but Pete put a hand on her shoulder. “Tell us more, Jubjub bird,” Pete said calmly. “What is the Jabberwock? What did Hector write about it?”

The bird was all too pleased to be the center of attention. “That it's an ain-chent an' terrible beast, that's gonna destroy the world if they don't stop it with the vorpal sword! An' the Mome Raths are gonna use the book to take control o' the Jabberwock. An'--”

It didn't get to say any more, because the front door of the library suddenly slammed open. An average-looking man wearing a formal black suit and a haughty sneer stood in the doorway, with half a dozen hooded figures at his side. “Sorry to ruin the party, friends,” said Senior Archivist Reming. “But I'm afraid I must appropriate myself of that book. Get it for me, please.” This he said to his fellows, as he snapped his fingers and pointed toward Trisha. She immediately jumped to her feet and started to run in the opposite direction.

The five of them scrambled for the the staircase that led to the upper floor, and the Jubjub bird loped along ahead of them, shouting its disapproval as it went. “Bonky Mome Raths, comin' in here and ruinin' everything! You'll see how brave and handsome I am, yes you will!”

They reached the stairs, and Trisha ushered everyone up before her. She took the stairs three at a time after them, but she made the mistake of looking back. A shadowy man in a heavy cloak lashed out and gripped her wrist, wrenching it painfully, but Trisha kicked him as hard as she could. Her assailant stumbled on the stairs and fell, releasing her. She grit her teeth and dashed to the top of the stairwell.

Blanche grabbed Trisha's arm as she reached the top. “Trish, you have to go. Get that book to Hector and keep him safe! Don't worry about us, we'll be fine.”

“But how will we leave the city?” Trisha jumped as she heard a towering bookshelf topple over the banister and crash on the stone stairs, sending books and boards and splinters tumbling downward and knocking over the ascending Mome Raths. Pete and Tom brushed off their hands triumphantly.

Blanche tugged on Trisha's arm and pointed toward the floor-to-ceiling window facing the History Section. It had been shattered some time ago, and snow had drifted in from the outside, covering the carelessly heaped history books with a white crust. “Go through the window. Take the Jubjub bird and get out of here.”

“That thing?” Trisha asked. The Jubjub was poking around a mound of history books with a hopeful air.

“Do you have any other ideas?”

Trisha set her jaw. She heard the Mome Raths trying to climb up the stairs again, so while Tom and Pete slid another bookshelf toward the banister she approached the bird.

“Jubjub bird.”

It looked up at her from the books. Its beak was long and jagged, its eyes were beady and red, and its feathers were disgusting and unkempt; a pallid light streamed in from the broken window, lighting the creature in shades of gray; a few snowflakes drifted in and retired on the dusty floor. Hector's library card dangled from the bird's neck, where Sophie had retied the knot. Overall the sight was rather dismal, frightening and alien, but Trisha felt something strange stir within her.

There's an adventure just ahead, she realized. That's what I feel. This sort of sickening thrill of not having the faintest idea of what to do or where to go next, but feeling strangely happy about it...

I've been spending too much time around Hector.

“What?” responded the bird.

“Jubjub, I need you to get me out of here. Out of Dunberg. I need you to fly me out.”

“Bah!” it coughed. “You're too fat! You're all too fat to carry! I can't--”

Trisha resisted the urge to punch the thing, and instead breathed out slowly. “Look. I know you don't like the idea. You know what? Neither do I. But I have to get this book to Hector. I don't know why, but I know I have to get it to him. He needs to stop this Jabberwock, whatever it is.”

The Jubjub bird cocked its head and surveyed Trisha. For the first time, it seemed truly pensive and serious. 

“The Jabberwock, you say?”

Trisha nodded solemnly. There was a shout from the staircase, and the bird shuffled nervously.

“Will they think I'm brave?”

“Only if you act brave.”

There was another shout, and repeated thumping sounds as books and furniture were thrown down at the attackers. The Jubjub shifted again, and blinked. It was clearly thinking harder than it had ever thought before.

“I-- I-- I--”

“This could be your chance to change the world, Jubjub,” Trisha pleaded. She sounded a lot calmer than she felt. “I mean it. Do something productive with your life. It might as well be to save the world.”

There was another crash, but this time the bird didn't blink. After a moment, it spoke.

“I'll take you to the book-man, then.”

Trisha felt like hugging the thing, if it hadn't been so grimy and foul-smelling. “Thank you, thank you! Here, let me get up--”

“I'm going with you!” shouted Tom, and appeared at Trisha's side, covered in dust and scratches. His hand was bleeding a little, and he had a wild look in his eyes. “I have to find Aric. I have to see him. I have to help. I owe him my life.”

“But you're both so fat!” the bird complained, and it would have said more if the clogged stairway hadn't suddenly exploded. Flames leaped from the crumbling books and dry wood, as black-robed creatures streamed through the wall of fire. They grabbed Pete and Sophie while Blanche fled toward the far end of the History Section. Reming stood in the midst of them with a look of determined malice on his face.

The bird squawked as Trisha and Tom leaped onto its broad back, then froze in fear as it saw the approaching Mome Raths. “Don't make me kick you!” Trisha warned, and the terrified Jubjub started for the window.

(Graphic 5.2: We see the outside of the library; the Jubjub bird, with Trisha and Tom on its back, leaps from the upper window and starts flapping desperately. A crowd of Mome Raths is surrounding the building, and they look on in surprise and frustration as the bird makes its escape. The three of them vanish into the distance, over the pine forest.)