Chapter 11
Locked in the Library
Busywork, or work, as many office-goers call it, is a singular exercise in tedium.
Your boss knows it. Your colleagues know it.
You know it. And yet, when tasked with something of absolutely no consequence, everyone just does it.
You may complain—in fact, you should complain—but the work still gets done.
Whether it’s giving an intern a cupboard full of wires to organize or making copies of a document no one’s going to read, you know busywork when you’re handed it.
Mal recognized the stench of busywork as he hauled a box of personnel files up into his arms. The fireplace was now a roaring coal-bed, so the group had moved into the smattering of comfy furniture surrounding it.
They each brought over a box, threw themselves into a cushioned armchair, and got to work looking through the files.
The work was slow, and tedious, and made worse by their potential impending doom.
Like asking a man to check every nail in a gallows before he’s hung from it.
The work’s only joy was that it allowed them to be as nosy and judgmental as they liked, which only seemed fair given the circumstances.
They scoffed at funny names, and made wild accusations about who was having affairs with whom.
As the work got more serious they separated the files by those who fit the magical profile (lightning and teleporting), those who fit the physical description (old man with beard), and those who had no alibi for all the nights in question. There were no overlaps.
After a bit of discussion, they realized that some magical objects exist that mimic certain magics.
Des posited that the murderer could have used a lightning rod, so they made a pile of teleporters.
It was during this exercise that Hala realized similar objects exist that can teleport people, so they made a pile of storm mages.
It was only then that Yu remembered that appearance-altering potions exist, although they were rare.
It was at this point the group collectively threw their files to the ground.
The resulting pile was their most accurate suspect pool yet—every member of the Order.
Defeated and annoyed, they lounged, awaiting their fate.
Yu, determined to continue their reading, got up and perused the library’s contents.
Within minutes they had returned with an armful of books.
Yu threw one down on a table close to Mal.
It was thick and black and dusty. As Mal picked it up, the book stared back at him through the eyes of a silver skull engraved on its cover.
“In case we run into any more of your pals,” Yu said, a small smile broaching their lips, as if taunting Mal.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Mal said, putting the book down. He felt as though it was still staring at him from the table.
“Why not?” Hala said, sitting up in her chair.
“It’s not— It’s just— It’s evil. Nothing good can come from me learning more of it.” For some reason Mal felt embarrassed admitting this. Flashes of his parents’ faces struck his mind. Tensing and contorting. He shuddered.
“I can see that,” Hala said.
“What?” Yu said. “It’s not evil, it’s just magic. Magic is what magic is.”
“And that is?” Hala said, awaiting a response with a smile.
“A tool,” Yu said. “It’s what people do with it that’s evil.”
“But all tools aren’t created equal,” Des said, now leaning forward in her chair.
“Take guns. They aren’t inherently evil, they aren’t forged in Mount Doom, but their only function is to kill.
There’s a reason we have laws against them here.
A tool has a purpose and you can’t just pretend it doesn’t. ”
“Thank you,” Mal said. “See, Des agrees.”
“Hell no,” Des said. “You should be studying.”
“What?!” Mal said, echoing the rest of the group’s sentiment.
“You have this tool with you whether you want to or not,” Des said. “Pretending you’re not carrying isn’t the same as not carrying. I’d rather you know what you’re doing with your power than only pulling it out in emergencies and setting it off willy-nilly.”
“Now that is a good point,” Yu said, nodding.
“But,” Mal said, “what if using it makes me … y’know …”
“Studying in a safe environment is different to going out and digging up corpses,” Des said, half laughing. “How about this, if you start looking lich-y, I’ll track you down and stop you myself.”
“You got a deal,” Mal said, nodding to Des. “To the ends of the earth?”
“To the ends of the earth,” Des said, returning the nod.
“Count me in,” Hala said. “I don’t want you bringing any more of those things back. The fact you’re thinking about this at all is a good sign. You have to just hold yourself accountable, otherwise you’ll get out of control …” Her words trailed off and Mal caught her staring as if lost in thought.
“I guess I’m studying then,” Mal said. Fuck, Mal thought. They weren’t wrong, but was now the best time to do it? Now might be the only time he had left to do it. He picked up the book and cracked open a random page.
CORPSES. Open and decorated, filled every page.
Entrails and esophagi, lungs and limbs, vertebrae and ventricles.
He turned to the first page and read the title: The Dances of Flesh: A Cannibal’s Cookbook.
He threw the book down in disgust. He should study—but maybe from a different book.
He threw the book back to Yu, who did the same thing he did—after some retching.
Yu thought it best Mal find another book too.
Mal went away for a moment, and returned with a book called Necromancing the Bone.
He thought that even if it was useless, it would at least be more comical.
When he returned he saw that Hala was still deep in thought.
Mal couldn’t tell if it was their situation or something more.
Thinking it better to ask than to ignore her, he found himself saying:
“You okay, Hala?” She snapped out of her gaze. Mal thought he caught a look of annoyance from Des.
“Yeah,” Hala said. “I’m okay. Been better, obviously.” She gestured to the world, as if to say, You can see where we are. “Just wondering how I got myself here.”
“I hope I don’t upset you by asking,” Mal said, “but, why are you here?”
“Trying to do some good, I guess,” Hala said, sighing with defeat.
“But, why?” Mal said. He spotted Des looking over; even Yu looked up from their book.
“Because I’ve done a lot of not good,” Hala said, very matter-of-factly. “It’s complicated.”
“We’ve got time,” Mal said, gesturing to the room with his eyes.
“I used to get … caught up … in my thing. My powers. I still do sometimes. You’ve seen it, I’ve used it on you guys already.” Mal nodded. Des nodded too, but quieter.
“Your power’s not evil though,” Mal said. “It’s insightful.”
“I know that,” Hala said. “There’s nothing wrong with the power.
The problem’s me. I feel like I can’t control myself sometimes.
I get so carried away. Even now, I want to use it.
I can’t switch it off.” She took a deep breath and pushed down her shoulders.
“I don’t like who I become when I use it.
I’m not present enough. I should be using it to help people. Do some good.”
“That’s why you wanted to help?” Des said.
“Yes. Doing this, it felt good. I could put them to use, make up for things.”
Mal understood completely. He’d felt much the same way about the investigation and his powers. But a question presented itself that Mal couldn’t help but ask.
“Make up for what?” Mal said.
“For what I missed.” Hala got up as she spoke. “Now, I’m going to do something useful. Does this place have a handbook?” She looked to Mal, who seemed bewildered. “Something about the rules of this place?” Mal was still confused, but Des seemed to understand.
“You want to see if there’s a loophole?”
“Yes,” Hala said, “or at the very least, I want to figure out how this Order works.”
“I think I saw a few books on the Order’s history over there,” Yu said, pointing to a bookcase in the corner.
Hala and Des left and returned with several books.
Des took The History of the Order, while Hala took a book on the Order’s operational procedure.
Mal cracked open Necromancing the Bone and turned to a random page in their absence.
PORN. Graphic and vibrant, filled every page.
Boobs and butts, penetration and passion, steamy and sweaty.
He turned to the first page and read the foreword.
The book was a fantasy re-imagining of the movie Romancing the Stone; it was a fanfic, asitwere.
The contents of which added more magic and much, much more sex.
Apparently the author had gotten a few things correct about necromancy and the Order had deemed it worthy of covering up.
Mal flicked through a few pages where Danny DeVito’s Danny DeVitos were illustrated in graphic detail, and decided he should study—but maybe from a different book.
He left the book open on a page depicting a very pleased-looking Michael Douglas and went to find an actual book on necromancy.
He returned with such a tome and found the group gawking at the page he’d left open.
To be sure of his new volume, he cracked it open and prayed.
Text. Only text on every page. This book was called Necromancy and Other Undead Oddities and was written in London during the 1880s.
Mal perused its contents page and was pleased to find it had many practical insights on offer, although how the author had acquired them concerned Mal slightly.
But beggars can’t be choosers (for some reason) and Mal dove headfirst into the book.
After reading for what felt like an hour, a question emerged in Mal’s mind that he felt the need to ask.
“Why aren’t you just arresting Taran?” Mal said, looking to Des.