The Crown of the Bandit King Read online

There was a pause followed by a shriek. She must have seen those thousands of basketballs bouncing her way.

  “I’ve got to get out of here!” I cried.

  I clambered to my feet and stuffed the napkin inside my pants pocket. If I lost the map in all those basketballs, I’d never find it again.

  “What’s going on in the sports section!” the Librarian yelled.

  She was coming closer. I raced along the aisle as fast as I could, climbing over basketball mountains and rolling down basketball valleys.

  “Whoever is responsible for this, you’re gonna be sorry! I’ll make you organize the periodicals! I’ll make you re-alphabetize the dictionaries! I’ll make you dust the geology section!”

  The Librarian had almost reached the sports aisle, though the basketballs were slowing her down. After all, there was no easy way to get around a basketball avalanche, even for an Artisan. I, on the other hand, was almost free. If I could just make it to the end of the aisle….

  “Who is that there?” the Librarian shouted. “Is that you, Prankster? I warned you about coming into my library again! Oof!”

  A basketball smacked her in the face, stopping her for the moment. Even with all the flying basketballs in the air, she’d soon be able to see me. Just a few more seconds.

  “Whoever you are, don’t think I won’t catch you!”

  Not if I could help it. I grabbed the last shelf and yanked myself free at last.

  Then I ran.

  I didn’t even notice which way. It didn’t matter. Down one aisle, up another. Ducking behind tables and chairs. Darting along corridors. I ran until the sound of bouncing basketballs stopped. Until I couldn’t hear the Librarian shouting out the horrible things she was going to do to me when she caught me. Until I couldn’t breathe enough air to keep running.

  Finally, I halted and glanced around.

  I was still in the library. Of that I was certain—there were shelves around me full of books. But it was much darker here. Only a single glowing light bulb hung from the ceiling. It was dirtier here, too, with dust everywhere. And cobwebs. Like hardly anyone ever came to this section.

  Good. Maybe the Librarian wouldn’t think to search for me here—whatever section this was. I couldn’t tell by looking at the books because the books had no titles on their spines. And something else was bizarre about this section. The books here were chained to the shelves.

  Why chain books to a bookshelf?

  With my luck, they were chained to the shelves because they would bite your hand off—or your head off—the minute you opened them. Once, I might have laughed at that, but after what just happened with the basketballs?

  Like the Ragman had said, maybe anything was possible.

  The air was colder here, so I wrapped my coat closer to me and folded my arms across my chest. My fingers were way past tingling. And my stomach wasn’t doing somersaults—it was doing jiu-jitsu. Whatever kinds of Collectible books were kept here, their magic must’ve been strong.

  Really strong.

  “Map? How do I get out of here?” I asked.

  There were no map markings in this section of the library, so I checked the napkin to see what was wrong. Except for an X in the center of the white space, the napkin was completely blank.

  “Where am I?” I gave the napkin a shake.

  Nothing happened.

  So I asked again.

  Still nothing. No funny swirling arrows. No witty comments. No helpful research tips.

  No directions.

  “This isn’t funny, map. Please, don’t joke around now. Not now!”

  But the map wasn’t joking. It wasn’t doing anything at all.

  I was lost.

  I stuffed the map back inside my pocket. “Where is this place?”

  “You mean you don’t know?” a voice asked. “How interesting.”

  I spun around to face a boy only slightly older than I was—sixteen or seventeen, maybe. He wore a school uniform, with a black and silver striped tie tugged loose at his collar, a gray pullover sweater, and a black school blazer. One of the Professor’s students, probably.

  He had his head tilted to the side, and there was a huge smile on his face like he’d just played with a kitten. He didn’t look threatening or unfriendly. So why was he the creepiest thing here? Worse than the dark and the dust and the chained books, even.

  He had a paperback copy of the play Richard the Third in his hands. Shakespeare. A student of English?

  “I’m sort of turned around,” I said. “Can you tell me what section of the library this is?”

  He took a few steps closer to me until I was pressed against a bookshelf with no way to escape. His eyes gazed into mine—freaky black eyes. Just like his freaky black hair. His breath smelled like cinnamon red hots and cigarettes. And all the while, he still was smiling.

  “This,” he said, “is the aisle of forbidden books.”

  Chapter 6

  The Detective

  “Forbidden books?” I asked.

  The bookshelves with their chained books towered over me, closing in on me until I felt like I was in a tomb. Was it just me, or was the air getting thicker, the darkness heavier?

  “Yup, and neither of us is supposed to be here.” The boy lifted a finger to his lips and winked. “But I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

  “What’s so bad about them?” I glanced at the chains. “Do they bite your hand off or something?”

  The boy’s smile widened. “Oh, worse. Much worse. You’d be lucky if that’s the only thing they did. Imagine a book that could make you insane for reading it. A book that could make children grow old in an instant. Make dead tyrants live again. Make summer an eternal winter and day an eternal night. Imagine a book,” he paused and leaned closer, “that could make the world end.”

  “Those kinds of books are kept here?”

  He gave a single nod.

  Yikes. I never thought Collectibles could be that dangerous. No wonder I could hardly breathe in this place. At first, I’d thought it was the dust on the books, but maybe it was the books themselves. Their black leather covers glinted under the light bulb’s flicker. And farther down the aisle, beyond the light’s faint reach, the books hid in shadow, lurking like the worst kinds of monsters.

  “So, what are you doing here, then?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Research.”

  I should have expected such an answer from one of the Professor’s students. The boy slipped a packet of cigarettes out of his pants pocket and offered me one.

  I shook my head. “Smoking’s bad for you.”

  He drew the cigarette out for himself instead.

  “The Librarian will throw a fit if she catches you smoking in her library,” I added.

  “Yes, I imagine she would be rather upset, wouldn’t she? After all, I might start a fire.”

  He flicked open a tarnished, silver lighter he had in his hand. The tiny flame sputtered a moment, then steadied as it burned a few inches away from the books. Probably he was trying to scare me.

  It worked.

  “Hey, careful!” I said. “You’ll start a fire!”

  I tried to knock the lighter away, but the boy only lit his cigarette with a big puff of smoke. As if the air in this place wasn’t thick enough.

  “Look on the bright side,” he said. “A fire would make her stop chasing basketballs up and down her library aisles.”

  Then he smiled again like he knew some good joke and I was the punch line.

  “Does the Professor know you smoke?” I asked.

  “If he did, I’m sure he’d tell me to research the history and origins of tobacco products.” He inhaled a breath of smoke, then blew it right in my face. “You really should make up your mind.”

  “What?”

  “You know, about whose side you’re on. It’s why I stopped to talk to you in the first place. I’d hoped we might get along. I’m familiar with most of the Finders out there. I keep an eye on them, particularly the o
nes with exceptional skill. But I don’t know you. You’re new, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t answer, and he smirked at my silence.

  “Thought so. Which means you don’t hold any allegiance to the Artisans yet, do you?”

  At first, I thought of the Librarian, with her flashing rage and power. But then I thought of the Professor, with his chuckling laugh and his peppermints. Who were the Artisans, really? And more importantly, who was this creepy kid?

  Sides? I didn’t even know there were any.

  “I’m just here to find a book,” I said.

  “Of course, you are. For your Collector, no doubt. Artisans, Collectors…you needn’t answer to any of them. See, I think you and I could work very well together. But you’re still thinking of being a good boy, aren’t you? A very good boy.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Me? I am determined to prove a villain, and hate the idle pleasures of these days.”

  Trouble. That’s what this kid was really researching.

  “Look, I have my own job to do,” I said. “If you’re not going to show me the way out, then at least get out of my way.”

  He moved aside just enough—daring me to run, daring me to stay. I couldn’t tell. But now that I could make an escape, something about the boy’s face had me mesmerized. His eyebrows drew together, and his lips turned up like a snarl.

  “Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous….” He paused. “Richard the Third. Act one, scene one. Haven’t you ever read it?”

  He held up the paperback copy of the play—the only book in the whole library that wasn’t a Collectible.

  “It’s a great read,” he added. “I highly recommend it.”

  With a laugh, he took another puff of his cigarette and flicked some of the ash onto the Librarian’s nice marble floor.

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll remember to find a copy sometime.”

  Then I shoved my way past him, and he didn’t try to stop me. That aisle seemed to go on forever, but when I finally reached the end of it, I turned for one last look at the Professor’s student.

  He was smiling at the forbidden books.

  As soon as I’d escaped the aisle, the map markings reappeared on the walls, the ceilings, the bookshelves and the floor. I exhaled a breath and fished the map from my pocket. The napkin was no longer blank—the crazy drawings and scribbles and marks were back to normal.

  “What happened?” I asked the map. “You left me stranded with some super creepy kid in the creepiest part of the whole library!”

  Then the map’s words appeared on the bookshelf next to me. The map seemed a little annoyed.

  I have no knowledge of that section of the library. I don’t go there. Nor should you. What were you doing there?

  “Um, research,” I said.

  Didn’t seem like map entirely believed me, but there was no time to talk about it any longer. Voices came drifting down the nearest aisle, and one of them sounded a whole lot like the Librarian. Not good. She was the last person I needed to run into now. I ducked along a different aisle, made a dash to the right when I reached the end, and then I crouched to listen.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly, Detective,” the Librarian said.

  “No problem. I came as soon as I got the call.” The other voice paused. “What did you do with it?”

  The Librarian was still out of sight, but I could see the second person. It was a man wearing a tan-colored trench coat and a brown fedora hat tilted low over his eyes. He was short and stocky, but he looked muscular and tough, too. Sort of reminded me of a bulldog.

  Wait, the Librarian had called a detective? Why had she done that? Unless….

  The basketballs.

  Man, Deeter wasn’t kidding when he said to watch out for the Librarian. She really meant business.

  “I placed it right over here on my returns cart, Detective.”

  “You mean you haven’t shelved it in the forbidden aisle yet!”

  “I didn’t have time! You would not believe the commotion there’s been in here. Basketballs everywhere!”

  “If that book falls into the wrong hands—”

  “Relax. I told you the book’s safe and sound. Which is more than I can say for whoever set loose those basket—hey, while you’re here, how about you investigate a small matter for me. I think it started somewhere in the sports section….”

  Their voices were getting farther and farther away—thank goodness. But who knew when they’d be back? And who knew how long I still had to go before the map finally led me to the encyclopedia? This was getting ridiculous.

  “Listen,” I said to the map, “isn’t the point of research to find what you’re looking for?”

  You already have.

  The map’s words had appeared on the spine of a large, red-colored book right in front of me. And the title of the book?

  The Complete Encyclopedia of Counterfeit and Fraudulent Collectibles.

  Unbelievable. This was it.

  I lifted the book off the shelf, then opened the cover really slowly and carefully, just in case something jumped out. When nothing did, I read a few of the pages. They contained lists of random objects like the Plastic Eggbeater, the Double-Sided Ruler, and the Tire Swing.

  Weird.

  Still, I never thought I’d be so happy to find a stupid book before in all my life. I opened the clasps of my bag and shoved the encyclopedia inside. Time to get out of here fast. Just one more thing to find—an exit.

  “Um, map?” I said. “Would you please help me with something else?”

  This time, the map’s reply appeared on my sneaker.

  More research so soon? How delightful.

  “I need you to help me find the nearest exit.”

  The little golden arrow appeared on the map once more, pointing to a light switch on the wall with another arrow that gave me the directions: Nearest exit that way.

  So why did I end up in the anthropology aisle?

  You said you might like to research anthropology after you found the encyclopedia, remember?

  Too bad there was no practical way to strangle a map.

  “I think I’ll save my research on anthropology for another time. After we find the exit. The nearest exit.”

  The map pouted after that. It refused to give me any further directions for a full five minutes. Mostly I spent those minutes telling the map how helpful it was and how accurate it was and how much I enjoyed doing research with it.

  Really?

  “Absolutely,” I said. “You’re the best research map in the world.”

  With that, the map was much more cooperative. It started leading me back on course, but just a few sections away from the aisle of forbidden books, I heard humming, so I ducked.

  The Librarian was back at her cart, shelving the remaining books. Didn’t look like she was planning on leaving any time soon, either. She kept stacking book after book, smiling at one, shaking her head at another. Muttering a bit. Humming again. Every time she shelved a book, she caressed its spine.

  Now what?

  I glanced around, but there was no other way to go. I could either pass the Librarian or turn around and retrace my steps in the direction I’d come, through all those endless aisles of books. Or, I could research anthropology.

  Sure didn’t seem like much for choices.

  But right when anthropology began to look the most appealing, I heard a dog barking. It was somewhere nearby—a shrill yapping sound, like a poodle, or a Pomeranian.

  A dog in a library?

  The Librarian heard it, too.

  “Is that a dog?” she yelled. “First, basketballs, now dogs! Someone’s gonna get it!” She slammed the book she was holding down onto the cart.

  More barking. Closer.

  Then a fluffy white dog scampered past me, panting and drooling. Sure, it may have looked cute with its perky ears and shiny black nose, but it was as mean as a five-star chili pepper. With a lunge and a growl, it ran right up to t
he Librarian and bit her on the ankle.

  The Librarian howled. “Ah! My leg!”

  Score one for the poodle.

  The Librarian bent down to seize the dog by the scruff of its neck, but she wasn’t quick enough. The dog made a stealthy escape down the next aisle.

  “Just you wait, you little mutt! I’ll get you!” the Librarian shouted, and she raced after it.

  Perfect. Now was my chance. But right when I reached the Librarian’s cart, I paused. The air smelled funny. Like something burning. The Librarian must have smelled it as well. A few sections away, her voice screamed out.

  “Fire! My library’s on fire!”

  I actually felt a little sorry for the Librarian then. This was just not turning out to be her day.

  At that exact same moment, the fire alarm went off while above me the ceiling’s sprinklers burst open like a library monsoon.

  “Quick, map! We’ve got to get out of here!” I yelled.

  Ther nearef ext er thar whar!

  At first, I didn’t understand the map’s words on the wall. Was that supposed to be Latin? Or some strange scholar’s code? Then I remembered the Professor’s warning, and I realized what was wrong.

  The map was getting wet.

  I grabbed the biggest book off the Librarian’s cart, and I raised the book up flat over my head to shield the map from the sprinklers. The map tried again.

  Quick! The exit is thar way!

  The book provided some cover, but I still didn’t have much time. The ink on the map was blurring on the paper, and all around me the map markings were fading. The air was filled with gray smoke. I ran until I arrived at a cross section.

  Go right! Go rift!

  I dashed down the right aisle, my ears throbbing from the fire alarm’s bell. The smoke was getting worse. The whole place was growing darker, and my throat burned.

  Now left! Levv!

  I turned left. Now what?

  “Map! Which way? Please!”

  The soggy map was almost useless now. I did my best to keep the delicate wet tissue from tearing, but the edges of the map were already disintegrating, and the ink had run together into one big black smudge.

  Run, young scholar!

  The map’s last words appeared for a moment with perfect clarity on the wall in front of me before they mingled with the smoke and faded away completely.