The Librarians and the Lost Lamp (19 page)

This is real. It's all real.

Even the ghoul.

*   *   *

“Of course,” Flynn realized. “One of the brightest stars in the Perseus constellation is Algol, from the Arabic
al-Ghul
, meaning ‘the ghoul.' That miniature constellation outside wasn't just a grave marker. It contained a warning as well.” He slapped his forehead. “I really should have seen this coming.”

The ghoul licked his lips and patted his sunken stomach.

“Dark meat and white,” he chuckled, admiring his catch. His voice was as dry as the dusty bones beneath his feet. “A veritable feast.”

“Hold on.” Flynn clutched the metal sword hilt, even though it could be of little use against the ageless creature. “I thought ghouls only consumed the flesh of the dead. My companion and I are very much living.”

“Oh, I'll kill you first,” the ghoul replied, unconcerned by Flynn's objection, “then let you rot until you're good and tasty. It will be a pleasant change from rats and spiders. It's been ages since I've tasted man … or woman.”

Shirin shuddered beside Flynn. “This is real,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “This is actually happening.”

“I'm afraid so.” He was impressed by how well she was coping, relatively speaking. Her entire worldview had just been altered irrevocably, yet she seemed to be holding it together, more or less. He resisted the temptation to tell her “I told you so.”

That probably wouldn't be productive.

The ghoul crept toward them, drool dribbling from his muzzle. “Or perhaps I should keep one of you alive until I've finished consuming the other? No need to gorge on you both all at once.” His head swung from side to side, admiring his catch. “But which to eat first? Decisions, decisions…”

Flynn had no interest in becoming either the first or second course. He hadn't spent all those years accumulating nearly two dozen degrees just to end up in a monster's belly. That would be a tragic waste of his advanced education, and a sad ending to Shirin's brilliant career as well.

“Any chance we can make a deal instead?” he asked.

“A deal, you say.” The ghoul eyed him speculatively, sounding intrigued despite his ravenous appetite. “What do you have to offer in exchange for your lives?”

Flynn had no idea at first, then remembered where he was: the Tomb of Scheherazade.

“A story?”

The ghoul's eyes widened.

“A story,” he said longingly. “I haven't heard a good story in even longer than it's been since I tasted human flesh, and I've read and reread all the Storyteller's famous tales for a thousand times a thousand nights.”

Flynn could believe it. He doubted the ghoul got out much.

“By the Storyteller, you mean Scheherazade, correct?”

“Who else?” the ghoul replied. “The sultan tasked me to guard the Storyteller's resting place, compelling my obedience with a powerful enchantment cast by his grand vizier, but that was many centuries ago. How I crave a
new
story instead of an old one!”

New to you,
Flynn thought.
I think I can manage that.

“And if we tell you a story, one you've never heard before, will you let us go?”

“I make no promises, mortal.” The ghoul squatted on the floor, settling in to be entertained. “You'll live as the long as the tale amuses me.”

Just like Scheherazade,
Flynn thought.
Well, if she could pull it off for a thousand and one nights, I should be able get us through tonight at least.…

“Fair enough.” Flynn cleared his throat and began. “Once upon a time there was an industrious young student who loved learning and wanted to stay in school forever.…”

He started strong, regaling the ghoul with his own early exploits as the Librarian, but keeping a story going for hours proved more arduous than he expected, both physically and mentally. After the first few hours, he found his energy flagging. He was tired and hungry, and his mouth felt as dry as the dusty bones littering the chamber. His tongue grew heavy and sticky and clumsy, so that just trying to string words together felt like laying bricks, and it didn't help that he was already worn out from their long hike into the mountains. He would have killed for a glass of water, but his canteen was empty. Glancing furtively at his watch, he saw that dawn was still hours away. They still had a long evening ahead of them, and the ghoul was showing no sign of wanting to call it a night.

“Um, any chance we can take a brief intermission?” he asked.

The ghoul's stomach rumbled. “Well, I suppose we could pause for a bite to eat.…”

“Never mind,” Flynn said. “Forget I asked.”

He tried to muster enough saliva to continue his story.

“And then the brave Librarian set out on another quest, for another legendary relic—”

The ghoul yawned. “Yes, yes, just like before and the time before that. I'm getting bored … and hungry.”

Everyone's a critic,
Flynn thought. “All right, let's skip ahead to something fresher.” He tried to kick-start his brain, which was feeling more sluggish by the moment. Maybe he needed to venture beyond autobiography into something more fictional, some old story lurking at the back of his memory. “So then, after his quest, the hero set out on a fateful trip, departing from a tropic port on a three-hour cruise—”

“Let me guess,” the ghoul interrupted. “There's a shipwreck, and he's marooned on a deserted island as Sinbad the Sailor so often was.” He scowled impatiently. “I know this one.”

Flynn gulped aridly. “Um, did I mention the millionaire and his wife?”

Snarling, the ghoul dropped to all fours and … changed. His contours blurred momentarily, like watercolors running in the rain, as he effortlessly transformed into a large, gray hyena. His hackles bristled and he bared his fangs. Flynn and Shirin gasped in unison, even as the startled Librarian realized that they probably should have seen this coming.

Ghouls were supposed to be shape-shifters, after all.

“Sit! Stay!” Flynn called out. “No need to do anything rash. I've still got plenty of stories left!”

The ghoul shifted back into his original form. “Such as?”

“Um, well, that is…”

Flynn knew that, in theory, he knew centuries of stories that were after the ghoul's time, but how many of them were truly new? It was often said, he recalled, that there were really only seven or so basic plots, and he guessed that the ghoul was more than familiar with all of them. More importantly, his brain had hit a brick wall when it came to thinking up yet another story; his mind went blank, like an actor forgetting his lines onstage in front of a hostile audience. Flop sweat dripped from his face as he felt a possibly fatal case of writer's block coming on.

It's not fair,
he thought.
I'm a Librarian, not a storyteller.

“I'm waiting,” the ghoul said, “but not for much longer.”

Flynn opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He figured he was about to go from entertainment to refreshments when Shirin spoke up instead.

“And also aboard that boat was a young maiden, who had always loved the old tales, but never truly believed in them … except in the deepest recesses of her heart. She grew up in a land ruled by a cruel tyrant, where women were not always accorded the respect they deserved, yet she dreamed of becoming a great scholar, although many in her family disapproved.
Shirin,
they told her night after night, day after day,
why can't you just marry a nice boy and start a family?
But she loved books more than anything else and wanted to protect them from the passage of time.…”

The ghoul settled back down onto the floor. “Go on,” he said.

“I'm only just beginning,” she promised him. “One day, the maiden left her home to pursue her dream, no matter what obstacles lay before her, and sought to prove herself to the most venerable scholars and teachers in the great city of Baghdad, that fabled center of learning.…”

Flynn sighed in relief as Shirin picked up the story and ran with it, giving him a literally life-saving break.

Seems like what I really needed was not inspiration but a collaborator.

As it turned out, Shirin had plenty of stories, unique to her own life and experiences. Stories poured out of her: her early years and studies, a failed romance that ended in heartbreak, and then the war and all the hardships and dangers she had endured over the last few years.

“The once-great city was divided by walls and strife. The people turned on one another, nursing grudges old and new, until it was not safe to pass from one neighborhood to another. One day, as the maiden was shopping in the market, a speeding carriage crashed deliberately into a building, causing a terrible explosion. And deafening noises hurt the maiden's ears, even as smoke and ash blotted out the sun, turning day to night. The maiden ran in terror from the destruction, afraid for her very life.…”

Her voice caught in her throat for a moment as she relived what had obviously been a harrowing ordeal. Flynn wondered if it helped or hurt her to get all of this out of her system. Granted, a flesh-eating ghoul was not the ideal therapist, but maybe there was something cathartic about it?

Flynn hoped as much, for her sake.

In any event, Shirin's story did what it was supposed to do: hold the ghoul's attention. The creature squatted mutely upon the floor, arguably more attentive than he had ever been during Flynn's stories. The Librarian felt a twinge of competitiveness.

Hey, that business with the Crystal Skull was pretty good, I thought.

Not that he could really complain about Shirin keeping the ghoul entertained. Hours passed, and the torches in the braziers began to sputter and die down. The ghoul yawned again, more sleepily this time, and his head began to droop. Flynn and Shirin exchanged hopeful looks. Maybe they were going to live to see the dawn after all?

“Then, one fateful night,” Shirin continued, her voice growing hoarse, “thieves crept into the House of Wisdom, stealing a tome of ancient secrets that pointed the way toward a treasure beyond comprehension. The maiden, who had been entrusted with caring for the book, feared that it had been lost forever, but then a dashing stranger—the Librarian she had met on the sea voyage, remember?—came back into her life and revealed to her that magic truly existed in the world.…”

Her voice faltered, and Flynn could tell that she was running out of steam. The drowsy ghoul lifted his head, noting her silence. “Is that it? Are you done?”

“No, no,” Flynn insisted. “We're just getting to the best part.”

He whispered into Shirin's ear. “Keep it going … just for a little longer.”

“I'm not sure I can,” she said weakly. “I can barely think straight at this point.”

Flynn remembered feeling the same way hours ago. “Don't worry about it. I've got this.”

He picked up the tale where she left off, hoping his break had given him a second wind.

“Their reunion was a timely one, for the Librarian was also in search of the treasure and sought to find it before the wicked thieves did, but he needed the beautiful maiden's help—for she alone recalled the secrets recorded in the stolen book and grasped their meaning. Alas, she doubted him at first and kept her secrets to herself.…”

Shirin jabbed him with her elbow.

“Ouch!—he said, feeling the sting of her distrust, but he guessed that she too was in danger, so he followed her to a crowded marketplace, where a nameless woman of dubious virtue accosted the fair maiden and attempted to abduct her.…”

A snore interrupted Flynn's narration. Down on the floor, the ghoul's eyes had fallen shut, and he slumped over onto his side, making a nest for himself amid the scattered bones. Flynn felt mildly offended that the ghoul couldn't stay awake long enough to find out what happened next.

I was just getting to the part where I saved the day!

“You did it,” Shirin whispered. “He's asleep.”

“
We
did it,” he corrected her.

Flynn glanced at his wristwatch. In theory, the sun had just risen outside.

“Seems ghouls are nocturnal,” he said. “Good to know.”

Using the jagged edge where the scimitar's blade had once been, Flynn began cutting a hole in the net until he had a gap big enough for them to pass through one at a time. “Try not to make too much noise,” he advised Shirin as he helped her lower herself to the floor. Loose bones rattled quietly beneath her feet, causing the sleeping ghoul to stir worryingly, but he kept on slumbering while Flynn cautiously descended to the ground. He stretched his limbs to restore circulation to them.

“I think he's out like a light,” Shirin said in a low voice.

“Lucky him.” Flynn tiptoed away from the ghoul. “I could use a few winks myself.”

She looked back the way they'd come. “Maybe we should try to find a way out of here?”

“Not without what we came for.” He understood, however, that Shirin might not feel the same way after nearly becoming a ghoul's late-night snack. “But if you want to search for a way out and leave the rest up to me, that's okay, too. I signed up for this kind of craziness. You didn't.”

She thought it over, but only for a moment.

“I've come this far. I might as well see it through.” She contemplated the snoring ghoul. “Besides, if shape-shifting ghouls are real, I guess Aladdin's Lamp is not beyond the bounds of possibility either. Which means you were right all along: we can't let those killers find it first.”

Flynn admired her resolve after all she'd been through. “Glad we're finally on the same page, so to speak. I wasn't kidding a few minutes ago when I said that I really needed your help.”