Hi, this one was prompted by a the pun on Book Worm in refernce to librarians. I have a few version of this theme, I love the idea of hoarding books, and defending knowledge…I know, a writer who loves books, what a surprise. Hope you enjoy.
People came from far and wide to visit The Library. The books within it were some of the oldest in existence, and there were few other places that one could see a book like this, let alone be allowed to interact with it.
No one knew how long The Library had been there, it seemed like it had always been there, and when people began to question this, it’s age could not be verified. The strange thing was, despite the growing size, and the voluminous collection, The Library only had a single librarian that worked there. There had only ever been one, and it seemed there would only ever be one.
There were assistants of course who were known to help out from time to time, but they never stayed on for long before moving along. Even though the positions were voluntary, and the vetting process extreme, there was never a lack of applicants. Everyone knew that a good reference from the Library was worth it’s weight in gold. It could be used to gather all manner of positions in the world, not just in libraries, but in museums, archeology, anthropology, to have worked in The Library was one of those things that was coveted.
There were many attempts to sack The Library over the years, but none really ever succeeded. It seemed they reconsidered upon entry, or they mysteriously disappeared never to be seen or heard from again. No one knew who owned the library either, as many had tried, and failed, to purchase it.
The one person that no one had ever suspected in all of this, was the libraries lone librarian. At present the librarian was known as Kaida, though in her late 40’s now, had been a mere 19 years old when she had started her apprenticeship to the previous librarian Daniel. No one knew how one got an apprenticeship at the library, and it was assumed that Kaida had been head hunted in some manner to obtain it.
Behind closed doors though, there was only ever one, the other an illusion to satisfy the curiosity of others. After all, were it known that the librarian was the proprietor, and the original one at that, there would be no end to the questions. One thing that they had learned from the fall of their brethren, was that there would also be no end to the fear. Not until the other had been eliminated, and was not longer a threat.
While many of their kind had kept jewels, gold, even spices, they were likely the only one, or were at least the only one left of their kind to keep books. In the early days they were laughed at, because they kept nothing at all, only the stories they had been told, and it was hard to explain to the ignorant what the true value of knowledge was. When people had began writing things down, they were overjoyed, for now they had something physical, some proof of what they had acquired.
At first they had kept the collection private, but private collections implied one had something to hide, and the illusion work was tedious to keep inventing husbands and wives and children. At some point they would surely be found out, and so they had created The Library.
This Library was their greatest accomplishment, and by another name, their hoard. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, to give others access to their hoard, but it kept it safer. Strangely, it also helped it expand far more quickly, as people were surprisingly willing to donate books to a library, knowing that it would benefit themselves as well as others.
The Library got more donations than any in the world, as it was advertised that no book donated would ever be destroyed, or thrown out, like so many other libraries did. Even the most damaged books were treasured, and carefully restored, in what was assumed to be a world class restoration room. It was very hard to explain that one was using magic to fix them, when one didn’t admit to being magical.
What The Library gave them though. was more than a safe hoard, it also gave them the gift of companionship. It allowed them to meet the people who were most like them, that worshiped at the altar of knowledge. Here they would live out their days, content in what they had wrought.
Anne McSommers' Writing Nook 