The Word Guardians: and the Battle for the Peacekeepers Page 2

  Yas wasn’t sure what to say. Sam was an emotional mess. She felt the irritation from him, and it stirred up memories of conflict in her own home. Fortunately, she was distracted by the cheeps of small birds in the tree just above them. The sound brought her back to the here and now.

  “I know this sounds bad,” he sighed. “I wish she wasn’t there. With Dad not around, she...” He paused. He was clearly finding this awkward. Yas found herself thinking what could constitute a polite pause before she suggested a switch to a lighter topic. Then she reflected that this was exactly how her parents handled these situations, so she decided to stay with it, even though her head started to pound and her intestines twist from the emotional energy.

  “I know,” Yas finished after a respectable pause. She could see he had a lot to deal with. It must be hard. His father had disappeared, his mother had died when he was young. Yas was very aware of triggers that could set off emotions from her past.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Its okay,” she said. She reached out to touch him on his arm and then felt that it might be going overboard, so she pulled back and instead adjusted her jacket.

  “You don’t like her, do you?” she questioned.

  He looked at her in shock. For a moment, there was a slight flash of anger. She’d clearly touched a nerve. She wasn’t sure how he might react. Then, he sighed and relaxed his shoulders.

  “I don’t know,” he relented. “I guess she’s not all bad. Its probably better to have someone in the house right now, rather than being on my own. Its just that she’s a pain in the ass, you know?”

  “I get it,” Yas replied. She remembered seeing a similar conflict in her adopted brother in the relationship he had with her mom. Awkward was under-stating the relationship on many levels. She was curious though why Vickers was still staying at Sam’s house.

  “So are your dad and her, you know...?” She wanted to indicate ‘dating’ with her hands but she wasn’t quite sure how to do that, so she kept them by her sides.

  “Seeing each other?” he shivered his shoulders to add to the severity of the response. “Oh God no! Do me a favour!”

  He paused for a moment. “Is that what you see? I know she was struggling to find a place when she arrived, but I always wondered why Dad had invited her to stay.” He shook his head. “I thought it was because Dad had wanted to help her out. I don’t understand why she won’t help me now after all we’ve done for her.”

  “No, I don’t either,” Yas agreed. “Maybe she’s leaving it to the investigation?” She immediately regretted saying it. She knew from her own experience when her grandpa and Akoni had gone missing that any additional help would have been better than nothing. She realised that she also didn’t understand Vickers’ motives.

  “I’m sorry,” Yas said. “It does seem strange.”

  “Its okay,” he replied, dismissing it with his hand. He added, “I just wish there was a clue or something he’d left or said.”

  They walked in silence for a while, neither sure what to say, as they approached the smaller shops and cafes on the outskirts of town. They could see signs of life inside, being only thirty minutes before opening time. They walked along in the sunshine, watching other people go about their morning.

  “You seriously think they could be together?” he asked at last.

  “I think you’d know if they were,” replied Yas.

  Sam nodded reluctantly. Yeah,” he said. “I guess I’d know. And my dad would have said something, wouldn’t he?”

  Finally, they reached the downtown core. They walked into a small green park that gave workers and visitors a respite from the hustle and bustle of the shops. Quiet at this time of the morning, the sun glanced in on fall flowers. On the other side of the water fountain, sat the looming town hall and library, conjoined into a single building. Either side of the square were shops and cafes with little apartments above. In the middle of the right-hand side row was a small and unassuming store, called ‘Bystead Books’.

  They took the path that they regularly did, from the middle of the square to the side, up the three steps to the walkway that ran in front of the shops and cafes. It was separated from the sunken main part of the square by long planters. These still had summer foliage, but the leaves were starting to look tired, to match the sun’s greater effort to reach the same height in the sky. There remained a faint scent of the waning plants. Together with the lazy sunlight, it reminded Yas of simpler times.

  “I know it seems difficult right now,” she said, stopping at the top. She was not quite sure where these words were coming from. If it had been more of a conscious choice, she didn’t know that she would have started the sentence that way because she immediately found herself struggling to finish it. She wanted to offer what she hoped was wisdom from experience and ended up saying, “but things have a way of working themselves out.”

  Sam just looked at her. “Thanks,” he nodded awkwardly and then looked at the ground for a moment. Yas wasn’t sure that he believed her, and why would he? She wasn’t sure if she did. If anything, she took his response as appreciation of the gesture.

  “Well, “she said as if to indicate a change of subject. “This is me,” she sang. She gestured unnecessarily with her hand towards the door of the shop. “See you later?”

  “Sure,” he said, returning to his more casual tone. “You finish at five?”

  “Sure do,” replied Yas.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you then?”

  She nodded and turned to head into the bookstore. He stood still for a moment.

  “Err, Yas?” he started, shuffling his feet.

  She stopped and half turned back around to face him. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks,” he added. “For listening.”

  “Sure,” she said. She was glad that it had helped and she smiled at him.

  He smiled back and nodded, then turned and leapt down the steps into the sunken centre and headed towards the library.

  Yas watched him go. Already his body language seemed to portray the more ‘happy go lucky’ Sam she knew from before his father had disappeared. Not many things got him down, and at least the library where he worked was a constant in his life right now.

  She looked up at the building he was headed towards. It always amazed her. The investment here seemed too large for a relatively small city. Granted, there were over a hundred thousand people living around and being serviced by this downtown core, but it still seemed perhaps larger or more special than it should be, compared to other cities nearby. The library took up the lion’s share of the floor space in the building. It rose up three floors, providing reading and reference material that far outstretched the local geography. One could argue it was somewhat redundant now with the advent of the Internet. But for Yas, this represented one of the two key places that she had associated with the collection of knowledge and wisdom. For her this was a better collection. It was knowledge and ideas that had been put up for scrutiny and critical review by learned peers before being made available to the masses, rather than the endless unscreened chatter that could be found on the Internet.

  The other key place that she associated with quiet wisdom, was the bookstore where she worked. She took a step and opened the door. The old-style bell above the door tinkled its familiar welcome as she stepped inside.

  The smell of books, carpet and furniture polish greeted her. It was homely even though a little tired in places.

  “Good morning,” Yas called out as she entered. The front of the store had a soft seating area, a leather sofa for three people, along with several fold-up chairs and beanbags which could be arranged in the space next to the large window. Behind that, to the side of the store was the counter and cash register and further back was an area of lower shelves for younger readers. All the way down the left-hand side of the store, at differing angles, were taller shelves covering as wide a range of tastes as could fit in the small space. It didn�
�t look large on the outside but packed in more than seemed possible.

  Yas heard muffled footsteps from further back in the shop.

  “Good morning dear,” replied Ms. McVale, the owner, in her familiar Scottish accent. Yas glimpsed down the centre aisle of the shop but couldn’t see her.

  Yas followed the sound of Ms. McVale’s voice to the back right-hand corner of the store. There was a door through to a room for the staff and deliveries. She put her bag on the shelf inside and returned into the shop area in time to hear a shrill “Wooahh,” and the rumble of some books crashing to the ground.

  “Are you alright?” Yas asked in alarm, rushing to the source of the sound. She rounded the aisle and found Ms. McVale sat up against a bookshelf, with a kick step on its side in front of her. A box was on its side with some books on the floor.

  “Yes, yes,” dismissed Florine McVale with a wave of her hand. “Help me up, would you?”

  Yas offered her hand and pulled the older lady up. Slim and a little shorter than Yas, the most significant thing Yas noticed was that she was the truest definition of a ‘librarian’ she knew. Conservatively dressed, a blouse, cardigan, a simple brooch and formal pants, she was welcoming and soft in a kindly, grandmother, like way. Yas thought that this lady was well travelled and experienced in life. However, she knew little about her employer’s personal life, though. McVale never talked about vacationing or having travelled anywhere. There was never any talk of a partner, children, or grandchildren. She was fiercely independent, which Yas admired and it explained why she owned the bookstore, rather than being part of a larger organisation. The only glimpse Yas had into her employer’s life outside of the shop was that she often ran chores while Yas minded the store, and occasionally had visitors from other business owners. McVale was always non-committal with requests for help. She was reticent to become involved in local groups it seemed.

  Ms. McVale recovered her balance and brushed herself down. “I didn’t mean to give you a start there,” she said by way of an apology. “I just went all light-headed for a moment.”

  “What were you doing up there?” asked Yas. It looked as though she had stepped down awkwardly from the kick-step that they used for reaching the top of the bookshelves. It was there that books were placed for display if not actually on the shelves for being sold.

  “This book up top, see?” she said, pointing. “Its in the wrong place. Should be above world histories, not here in fantasy fiction.”

  “Does it matter though?” Yas asked in reply. It was just a book on display after all, albeit an interesting one about history and mythology. In fact, Yas wondered why it was up on display at all. It felt like something more in place in a library.

  McVale looked at Yas over the top of her half-rimmed glasses and smiled. “It doesn’t my dear. I just can’t seem to keep my balance on this silly foot-step anymore.” Yas knew that it meant that her employer was asking her to do it for her.

  “I can do it,” said Yas, accepting the inevitability of the hint.

  Yas righted the kick-step and then reached up to grab the book. She closed it and pulled it towards her. As she did so, the whole shop rumbled around her and she reached out with her other hand to steady herself. There was a brief rush of air too, as if the front door had opened, but there was no tinkle of the bell. She stepped down quickly and looked at McVale.

  “What was that?” Yas asked, surprised.

  “Oh,” dismissed McVale. “Maybe its from that construction site nearby, building the condos.”

  “Wow,” replied Yas. “That must have really been something.” It felt like no construction work she had ever experienced. “Could that have been an earthquake?”

  “Hmm,” replied McVale, bending over and putting the books back in the box. “Its not out of the question, I guess.” Then she straightened up, picking up the box as she did so. She looked at Yas, smiling. “Let’s just be cautious, hmm?”

  Yas held the book in front of her, to prompt McVale to tell her where she wanted it. While she could guess, she figured that the older lady had a specific spot in mind.

  “Ohh,” she said, seeing Yas’s gesture and prompting her memory. “That needs to go further along,” she pointed her finger to one of the bookshelves further away. “In the space there, see?” she said, pointing at a gap on the top.

  “Okay,” replied Yas. She pushed the kick-step along the carpet, manoeuvring it around to the indicated aisle, then climbed it and placed the book on the shelf again, opening it just enough to enable its hardback cover to stand.

  “You know,” said McVale as she continued putting the books away. “That was a gift to me many years ago... from your grandfather.”

  “Wow,” said Yas, wishing that she’d known that before she’d got down off the kick step. She’d have looked at it more closely.

  “How did you know him?” She moved the step to the end of the aisle, so that she could look along to where McVale was standing. “My parents never said anything about it.”

  “Ahh,” McVale said, looking wistful. “Sadly, it ended.”

  Yas wasn’t sure what she had meant by that. ‘It ended’ sounded like a way of implying there was a relationship.

  “You were working together, or something?”

  “Working together, yes,” McVale replied. “We were volunteering for the Word Guardians,” McVale continued, looking down at the empty box in her hands. She walked back towards Yas. “It was a kind of charity, providing access to books for those less fortunate.”

  “Word Guardians?” said Yas, mostly to herself. It was not a charity that she’d heard of.

  “Yes,” continued McVale, walking past her and to the back of the shop to return the box. “Doesn’t exist anymore, sadly.”

  Yas turned and moved to the counter.

  “Have you ever wondered though why people with no money can still afford televisions and cell phones?” continued McVale.

  “Not really,” replied Yas. The question caught her off guard. She wasn’t sure if this was a new topic or not. McVale had a way of springing something new on her, then linking it back to what they had already been talking about.

  “Well, its unfortunate,” continued McVale, re-appearing from the door in the corner and closing it behind her. “Children often don’t have access to good reading material for leisure, as much as they should. That’s what we were trying to do. Protect and encourage access to the printed word.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Yas, remembering times when her grandpa had read to her. “So, what did this organisation do? Story time? That sort of thing?”

  “Yes, in a way,” replied McVale, joining Yas at the counter and powering up the cash register. “We aimed to make books interesting and free. It was about bringing the printed word to the next generation.”

  “Ahh, clever,” said Yas, not really understanding. She wondered how that was different to what the library offered. She did agree with the sentiment, though. From her own experience, access to knowledge was valuable.

  “Your grandfather was an integral part, you know?” said McVale, smiling again at the memory. There seemed to be more to the story.

  “So, what happened?” questioned Yas.

  “Changing technology,” replied McVale, sadly. “The Internet. Social media. Children stopped wanting to discover something for themselves in books. They wanted to have the entertainment brought to them. Then your grandfather and I disagreed on how we should continue. It just ended.” She looked wistful again.

  “Oh,” said Yas, desperately wanting to ask further but realising that to do so was probably prying. She hoped that McVale would say more. Unfortunately, the train of thought was interrupted by the tinkle of the doorbell.

  A young adult man, a little older than Yas, entered the shop. He seemed lost and searched around with his eyes.

  “Can I help you?” asked Yas, moving out from behind the counter.

  The man turned to look at Yas, then just as eye contact was made, he glan
ced away again quickly, searching the room. His overall demeanour was that of someone with extreme anxiety. Yas wasn’t sure what to do, her own feelings swinging between the need for distance and sympathy.

  He moved from the front door and along one of the aisles. Yas followed but stayed at a respectful distance, watching him. He seemed to be looking around the shelves but not at anything in particular. He wasn’t browsing like most other customers did. He looked lost.

  “Are you looking for something specific?” she asked from behind him. He was in the section where McVale had been placing new books. Fantasy fiction. She wondered if perhaps he was one of those incredibly intelligent but intensely awkward people who was embarrassed to admit he liked the genre.

  He turned slightly, glimpsing at her and then looked down.

  “You like fantasy novels?” she asked gently, moving a little closer. He looked at her again. The look suggested he was not against her continuing to interact. She took that as a good sign.

  “Do you like science fiction?” she asked. There was no visible reply. He just looked at her, his head angled downwards. “Books about werewolves, vampires?” she continued. Still no visible reply. “Urban fantasy and mythical creatures?”

  “Y-yes,” the man said suddenly, looking at her intensely. It took Yas by surprise. She watched him for a moment and then she took a few steps closer, looking for matching books. She knew he was watching her as she did so. She pulled out a few titles to show him.

  “Here”, she said. “These authors are a few of those that describe other worlds and how to get to them.” She offered them to him. “Have a look and see which you like.” He took them from her uncertainly, as if waiting for her to take them back again. She didn’t. “This area is your best bet,” she waved in general to the lower shelves where she had selected those from. He flinched, looked down at the books, then back at her.