Mask of Humanity

Standing at the start of the library, Nicolai peered about. Straight ahead of him was a wide space, splitting the room into two sets of shelves, all lined up in rows, half to the left, half to the right. Of those he could see, each shelf was filled with books.

There were signs placed on the edges of the shelves, and as he looked at these signs his mark pulsed and they resolved into understandable English and numerals. The space was wide enough to contain several desks and padded leather chairs that seemed in good condition, lacking the typical rot of most things found in the castle, the books looking in equally good repair. There was an odd scent in the air, slightly chemical, slightly minty.

Nicolai had no time to try and read the signs, as in the middle of the space between the shelves there were poles with glowing white orbs set atop, spaced out so there was one every few metres. The nearest pole flashed the moment Nicolai set down, which he knew preluded trouble. These would be the guard-poles Kleos had warned him of.

He saw a trio of misty lights leave the pole. One darted into a chair, one into a cabinet of drawers, one into a pole with one of the ever-burning torches on.

Nicolai didn’t wait around. He popped his Seed back into his mouth, then dashed to the right, between the first bookshelf and the banister that guarded him from the long drop to the ground in the statue area.

He heard the clatter of wooden legs and a squeal of wheels from behind and knew he was being pursued, somehow, by furniture. He glanced back and saw them rushing after him, the chair dancing and spinning jerkily from leg to leg, the cabinet rolling on squeaky wheels, the torch-pole hopping.

Part of Nicolai wanted to laugh at them, but another part was thinking that the chair looked pretty quick on its… feet and its movements were oddly competent, that the cabinet was now moving very fast towards him after building some momentum and, why was there a flaming torch in a library?

Nicolai was sprinting full out but the cabinet was gaining on him. Could he reach the end in time? The angry squeak of its wheels sounded from closer and closer behind, burying the slap of his leather-clad feet on the stone. He wasn’t going to make it. The cabinet was faster than him.

He turned and skidded to a stop, and the cabinet which had been facing him side on abruptly pitched into a spin, filling the entire space between the banister and the shelves, revolving viciously towards him.

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, the sight of at least a hundred kilograms of wood spinning at high speed towards him sharpened Nicolai’s focus and senses, and he fell into the calming, thrilling embrace of a fight in flow, drawing his metal baton with his good arm, bending his legs and timing the moment.

He pushed off at the last instant, jumping towards the banister, placing a foot on it and shoving off to throw himself higher into the air, the cabinet sliding beneath him with a squeal of fury.

Nicolai landed and immediately had to block the twisting, clacking assault of the chair which jumped and spun to launch one of its legs at his head. As soon as he’d blocked it, it spun again, then again, the legs smashing in quick succession into his shield, beating his blocking arm down. It had metal caps on the bottom of its legs.

He had no time to try and hit back and saw no option but to try and grab one of its legs from the air. He was forced to utilise his bad arm to do so, his arm aching and burning as he reached for one of the chairs spinning legs. But even as he did so the torch lunged at him, its fire flaring, and he had to dodge back.

He’d just had time to start worrying about the cabinet when a hail of missiles cracked into his back and legs. He saw the culprits immediately, as some of the wooden drawers the cabinet had launched at him had missed to slide past.

Nicolai was knocked staggering and could do no more than keep his arm protectively in front of his face. The chair capitalised on his momentary weakness, spinning like a mad thing then striking him a powerful blow to his chest that pained him even through his leather-and-chain jacket and squeezed the air from his lungs in an oof. The strike knocked him back, almost pushing him from his feet, but he barely managed to recover and warded it off with his shield, struggling to retreat as his feet became tangled with the small wooden cabinet drawers that now littered the ground behind him.

The chair and the torch fought with the skill and teamwork of battle-hardened warriors, the chair taking lead while the torch used its long range to jab at him from behind its companion, and though the rain of drawers hadn’t done what he’d consider real damage, they’d left him bruised and stiff and having to pick his way over treacherous terrain.

He heard the squeal of wheels from behind and knew the cabinet was returning. If it caught him in another great slide he’d be finished, lying on the ground with broken legs while the chair smashed his head in. Nicolai stepped back quicker, stomping and stumbling over the shelves, thinking he needed to get some space from the chair to safely jump over the cabinet again. As he went his feet found flat ground. He’d made it out of the clump of cabinet drawers.

The chair spun forwards with renewed aggression, apparently understanding his aim and seeking to tie him up so he couldn’t do as he wished. But it had overextended, gotten ahead of its companion in its excitement, and now Nicolai had good footing. He immediately stopped his retreat to lunge forwards. He blocked one leg then his teeth grit with pain as his bad arm lanced out like a snake, grabbing one of its other legs. Before it could struggle he twisted his body and hurled it off the balcony to do its spinning in empty air.

Nicolai didn’t stop, bending his knees then launching himself into a backflip as he heard the squeal of wheels from close behind. Unnecessarily flashy, but he wanted to show the furniture they’d met their match. The cabinet twirled below him as he spun above it. It slid to a stop as he landed, turning to face him as the torch hopped up to stand atop it.

The furniture and Nicolai gazed at one another through the scant metres between them. The only sounds were that of Nicolai’s light panting and the crackling of the torch as a stray breeze ruffled its fire.

This silence was broken by the distant sound of smashing, splintering wood from below. The furniture flinched.

Nicolai sensed their uncertainty, their weakness. He took a step forwards, raising his baton high and looming with threat, and with a squeal of wheels the cabinet spun around and fled, the torch atop it wobbling and jerking as it righted its balance. Nicolai’s mouth gaped open as he stared after them. They quickly reached the end of the shelf, skidded around the corner and headed off further into the library.

Retreat was a tactically sound move after the cabinet had launched its missiles and they’d lost a member of their team, and the retreat itself wasn’t what shocked him. It was the fact that other than the polearm wielding skeleton, the flying archers and other humans, this animated furniture seemed to be the most self-aware and tactically minded enemies he had faced so far in the new world.

Further still was the fact that in their short encounter they’d very nearly beaten him. The launch of the shelves from behind staggering him, the aggression of the chair aiming to confuse him and give him no time to come up with any kind of plan. Had it not been for the groups’ singular mistake when the chair grew a little too aggressive, he might be the one lying broken on the ground.

After checking nothing else was coming for him, Nicolai glanced over the banister, looking down to where he saw the splintered remnants of the chair. He offered it a nod from on high, the mark of respect between warriors. It had fought well and bravely, but it had allowed itself to become overaggressive, a fatal mistake. As he watched, he saw a misty glow detach itself from the ruined chair and float back up, heading towards the guard-pole it had come from.

Ah. It will be back, in some form. So the other furniture wasn’t so much retreating as regrouping. Time to go.

Nicolai moved quickly on, grimacing at the ache in his back and legs. The cabinet had thrown those shelves pretty hard. The squeal of its wheels had faded. Had they gone far away, or was it applying grease to come in stealth? He reached the wall, where there was a gap between the bookshelf through which he could once again see down the length of the room.

There were some chairs and tables here, which made him back up, scanning for more guard-poles, but he saw none. Creeping back out from behind the bookshelf, he was pleased to see that the shelves had signs on this side, too.

History, fiction and fables, off-world literature, science, construction, the wider universe… Nicolai read the signs as he passed each shelf, and when between the shelves he looked down their lengths to try and spot the mobile furniture. With every sign he read he felt an urge to go and investigate the books, wondering if he might learn in more depth about the many things Kleos had told him. But he had to find the rituals section, and the sooner the better. Already he’d used his bad arm two times too many and could feel the wetness beneath his bandage, the wound torn back open.

Nicolai kept going, still seeing no mention of rituals. If it was on the other side he’d have no choice but to go through the middle and, unless he could work out a way to block or distract the guard-poles, deal with another group of furniture.

He reached the very end and found that the final bookshelf had half-collapsed. It was leaning against the wall at the back of the room, the space underneath shadowed. The sign on it said Rituals. He peered into the shadowed space and saw it littered with books thrown out of their cubbies. Deeper in the shadows, he saw a faint orange glow. He stepped under the shelf and into the dark.

The books weren’t littering the ground quite so much as he’d thought. Past a certain point, they were formed into neat piles, a path through the centre of them. Nicolai paused while his eyes adjusted and then he was able to carefully pick his way through it, drawing closer to the light.

Someone had built a little hidey-hole here, using stacks of books to make walls, and the light came from within the construction of literature. The fact that the builder might still be around led Nicolai to draw his baton with his good arm as he crept up to the opening in the wall of books.

Peeking around the corner, he saw a cozy if cramped space within, with a table and a comfy-looking leather chair much like the one which had attacked him. Sitting in it, staring at an open book in its lap, was a short skeleton in a faded green robe.

Its head rose in response to the scuff of his feet, and it stared at him with eyes of blue light, grinning. Nicolai sheathed his knife and drew the baton. Better for breaking skulls.

‘Hello,’ said the skeleton, its voice hollow, seeming to emerge more from its skull in general than its mouth in specific.

Nicolai stared at it. He hadn’t expected it to speak. This one was clearly a different breed to those he’d met before.

Nicolai threw a look over his shoulder in answer to a random urge of paranoia that worried someone was creeping up on him, then looked back to the talking skeleton.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘You’re a Marked,’ it said, eyes flaring with… something. Excitement?

‘Yeah,’ said Nicolai. It reminded him of Kleos, which helped him relax, helped him ratchet the tension and urge to kill down. Perhaps this talking skeleton could be useful to him, just as Kleos had been. He twisted his features into a practised smile and considered his words.