Chapter the 11th
The wind-driven snow chilled Kevin to the bone marrow, just as much as the water did before the fish came to his rescue. Kevin held on to a fin awkwardly as the fish swam along the river. The other fish floated beside its partner and Kevin, carrying the sweater and the knitting needle in its mouth. When Kevin shivered violently from the cold, the fish wrapped the end of the sweater around Kevin as if it were a shawl. In spite of its being soaked with the icy water, the shawl was surprisingly warm. As before, the sweater trailed behind him in the river further than he could see. The water was dark but it was flecked with specks of gold that seemed to match the gold on the snow-covered trees. On one side of the river, the train still moved along at top speed with the same endless stream of cars. Kevin still saw no trace of the boar swimming after him nor the boat he had jumped from.
The fish carried Kevin for quite some time until it followed a bend in the river. There, the large prickly carnation that was following Kevin like a persistent star was blooming on a snow-covered bough on a tree just a short distance from him. The fish slowed down and floated towards the tree and then landed gently in the snow. The other fish carrying the knitting needle followed and lowered itself until Kevin took the hint and took back the needles.
“Who knows when I might need a good, long spear in a strange place like this,” Kevin muttered to himself.
Kevin pulled the sweater-turned-shawl as tightly about his shoulders as he could and took in the eerie landscape around him. He quickly noticed something peculiar about the trees in addition to their golden trunks and branches. The roots grew up above the ground as much as they grew into the ground, so that many strands of golden twisted roots climbed up the trunks way above Kevin’s head. Kevin stepped tentatively over to the nearest tree to take a closer look. He stretched out a numb hand to touch one of them and he was sure that the root moved. Kevin hastily drew back his hand and looked hard at the root he had almost touched. Now it seemed to be holding still but a root near it wriggled, or so it seemed.
“Since when do the roots of trees move about like snakes?” Kevin asked himself.
There was no answer to his question, but a root on a neighboring tree rose up like a snake. Worse, a pair of small black eyes in the root gave Kevin a cool, appraising look and then slipped its tongue out and in its mouth. Kevin pointed his knitting needle spear at it.
“Are you roots or are you snakes?” Kevin asked the creature impatiently.
“Sssssssilly question,” said a slithering voice.
“Silly question,” echoed another creature behind Kevin.
The two fish had moved very close to Kevin so that they were almost perched on his shoulders.
“Did you answer me?” Kevin asked the fish.
“Sssssssilly question.”
“Silly question.”
Now the answer seemed to come from all directions. Kevin whirled around with the knitting needle spear to protect himself but he had no idea what, if anything, to strike first. By this time, all the roots on all of the trees were twining about the trees like golden snakes. All of their black eyes were fixed on Kevin and their tongues were flickering.
Kevin turned to flee, but there was nowhere to flee to. He was surrounded by snake-infested trees. Worse, the friction of his sweater trailing in the snow pulled at him so that each step was infinitely tiring. The only point of reference for Kevin in the midst of the trees and the snakes was the white prickly carnation blooming in the tree high above him. The two fish floated up the tree towards the carnation while the golden snakes wrapped themselves about the trunk and kept their eyes on him and their tongues active.
“How can I follow them now?” Kevin asked himself.
“Sssssssilly question.”
“Silly question.”
The forest extended in all directions further than he could see. It seemed possible that Kevin could walk among the trees until he dropped from exhaustion without ever getting anywhere. Kevin looked up at the fish floating towards the prickly carnation and looked again at the snakes.
“Can’t you give me another ride?” Kevin asked the fish.
“Yesss.” Yesss.” “Yesss.” “Yesss,” answered snakes in all directions.
Kevin backed away from one set of snakes only to have to turn away from snakes meeting him behind his back.
“I can’t ride you,” said Kevin.
“Yesss you can.” “Yesss you can.” “Yesss you can.” “Yesss you can.”
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings but—“
“You hurt our feelingsss.” “You hurt our feelingsss.” “You hurt our feelingsss.” “You hurt our feelingsss.”
Kevin felt overwhelmed with the feeling of hurt, as if he himself was the one who had just been rejected. Kevin remembered a pet garter snake he once had. He had always liked snakes. Why should he be so afraid of them all of a sudden?
“Do you promise to help me and not hurt me?” Kevin asked.
Now the black eyes seemed to move in circles and the tongues engaged in pyrotechnics.
“We are your sssnakessss.” “We are your sssnakessss.” “We are your sssnakessss.” “We are your sssnakessss.”
Feeling that he had little choice, Kevin approached the nearest tree with its brood of snakes and carefully patted one of the snakes on the head. Somehow, the gesture made Kevin feel that he could trust that snake and all the others as well. Several more snakes rose out of the ground and curled themselves about Kevin’s feet and tripped him up. Kevin landed on the backs of snakes further up and snakes on either side of them shored Kevin up so that he did not fall. With his knitting needle in hand, Kevin surrendered to the snakes and allowed them to inch him up the tree. The further Kevin up he was carried, the more the snake-roots of the tree entangled themselves with the snake-roots of the neighboring trees until Kevin had no idea if he was still being moved up the same tree he had started with or not. Above him, the prickly carnation still beckoned, but it seemed at least as high as it was before this strange journey started.
For a time, Kevin had the feeling that he was floating in a nest of snakes, but gradually they thinned out and merged into the snow that caked the upper branches of the tree. One by one, the remaining snakes left him as well, leaving Kevin alone. The prickly carnation star still hung far above him from a branch of the snow covered tree. The two fish floated in the air nearby, giving every indication that they could wait on Kevin forever if he failed to follow them up the tree. Although Kevin thought he should be have nothing more to support his body than a thin branch at the top of a tree, Kevin felt as if he were sitting deep in snow but on solid ground. Kevin stuck the knitting needle spear into the snow. It went down quite a ways but then it hit against what felt like frozen ground. Leaning on his weapon for support, Kevin pulled himself up and stood in snow that came up past his waist. The shawl slipped off Kevin’s shoulders and he had to pull it back around him to keep himself from freezing any more than he was already.
Kevin blinked his eyes and focused his gaze through the snow until he made out the image of a court yard of a ruined castle. Golden snow-covered trees twisted themselves around what was left of the crumpled walls. The prickly carnation flickered from a high branch of one of the trees. There was no movement anywhere except for thin S-shapes forming in the snow as the snakes continued their journeys. Gradually, Kevin realized that human figures were placed all around him, all of them as still as if a sorcerer had turned them into stone. A herald, the bright red colors of his uniform covered with snow, held a long trumpet to his lips. A frozen woman stood erect in the middle of the courtyard while a group of girls held up the snow-covered train of her dress. A young man carrying a tray filled with pastries was frozen in mid-stride. Over in a corner, a boy’s hand remained outstretched towards a ball frozen in midair. Up ahead of Kevin, the fish floated through an open window on the ground floor of the castle. Kevin decided he had better follow them. The snow was so high that he could practically treat the window as a door until he was inside, where he had to jump down to the stone floor, hoping all the while that if the lord of the castle woke up, he would not arrest Kevin for trespassing.
The room in the castle was doubly dark for Kevin after the bombardment on his eyes by the snow’s glare. A soft glow emanated from the fish, but that and the weak sunlight coming through the window furnished the only light Kevin had to see by and that wasn’t enough for him to see anything in the room. Kevin tightened the sleeve of the sweater around him and dragged his knitting needle spear along the stone floor as if it were a white cane, hoping to come against a piece of furniture without tripping over it, but he came across nothing.
"Hello?" Kevin called out.
There was no answer, not even an echo.
"Where am I?" Kevin asked himself.
Only the silence answered him. The fish floated about Kevin's shoulders. Kevin waited. Nothing happened. Fears began to crowd in on him. He feared that he would have to stand on the stone floor of an empty castle until he starved to death. Nobody would ever find him. Even if he had a cellular phone, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where he was. If anybody cared about him, he would not feel so lost. If his mother had been home the day he stumbled into his adventure, he wouldn't be in trouble now. If Karen wasn’t so bossy, he wouldn't have to flee the house all the time to get away from her. Grandmother was gone. Everybody was gone.
Memories of the series of strange events replayed themselves in Kevin's mind. They seemed no more real than a long dream he had just awoken from. He dreamed that he had copied an intricate design from a book until a wild boar chased him away. He dreamed that he took a strange train ride and on the train he tried to paint his ticket so that he could get off it. He dreamed that he swam across a river chillier and colder than the Jordan. He dreamed that he rode in a boat where an old man with a long beard was sleeping. He dreamed that the wild boar chased him off the boat and a fish carried him to shore. He dreamed that a tangle of tree roots turned into snakes and carried him up to a sleeping castle. Now he sat alone in a dark room in the castle. What if that boar should appear and chase him yet again? Kevin listened carefully to the stony silence. If the boar was coming for him, it was still a long way off.
“What can I do here while I wait for nothing to happen?” Kevin asked himself.
“Silly question.” “Silly question.”
Kevin looked about in the darkness but saw nothing and nobody except the fish floating near him.
“What’s so silly about asking that?” asked Kevin.
“Silly question.” “Silly question.”
After those responses, Kevin was not about to ask anything more. He reviewed his adventures once again, looking for a clue. The answer, when it came, was so obvious that Kevin would have laughed at himself if he wasn’t so cold. He would, once again, work on his drawing, his train ticket. But how? Kevin pushed the knitting needle along the floor until it ran into a wall. A thin golden line appeared where he his needle had passed over the stone. Then Kevin began to draw on the wall. Before long, his movements became a combination of drawing on the wall, knitting the sweater, and jousting with whatever ghosts were haunting him.
"Ow!" cried a muffled voice.
Kevin stopped.
"What's the matter?" Kevin asked.
"You’re pulling my beard," answered a familiar voice, coming from a distance that sounded as if several miles of wool separated the voice from Kevin.
"I'm sorry," Kevin replied, not understanding how the old black man, or at least his beard, could still be with him. “Is it you? The man I met on the boat?”
“Of course it’s me! I wouldn’t be anybody else.”
“I was afraid you might have drowned or something.”
“I would have been afraid you might have drowned if I didn’t know your art work as well as I do.”
“I wish I knew my art work that well,” said Kevin.
“You will if you keep at it.”
“But it’s pulling your beard.”
"That's okay, there are few better uses for a beard than to get woven into a work of art by Kevin the Weaver Painter. Please proceed with your work."
After hesitating for a moment, Kevin drew a swirling design like the one he copied from the strange book. Then he tried a few variations on the design by drawing threads that intermingled with each other the way the roots of the tree roots-turned-snakes twisted around one another. He drew little floating islands inside the stream of the thicker threads and inside the floating islands he drew pairs of intertwined serpentine threads. As he worked, something caught Kevin's attention from the corner of his eye. Looking up, he saw the white prickly carnation blooming from one of the threads like a star in the sky.
---------------
Roger slammed the library door shut, cutting off the howling wind and snow at a stroke. Inside, Karen was standing in a small vestibule with Roger and Samantha where books of every color in the rainbow covered the floor and the walls.
“I guess this is a library, all right,” Karen muttered as she stepped carefully, trying to avoid stepping on any books, but with no success.
“Where’s the floor?” asked Karen.
“You’re on it,” said Samantha.
“Is this library made up of books?” asked Karen.
“Of course,” Roger replied. “What else do you need in a library?”
Roger and Samantha took off their coats and lay them over a pile of books conveniently available for the purpose. With misgivings, Karen tried to take off her coat as well but the knitted shawl got in the way. Karen pulled at it, but the shawl was stuck between two lines of books in the wall next to the door. Seeing the problem, Roger held the shawl and allowed Karen to wriggle out of her coat and lay it on top of the others. Then Roger put the shawl back on Karen’s shoulders.
“I think you’ll have to keep that,” said Roger.
“But I can’t move with this thing,” Karen protested.
“Try it now,” Roger urged her.
She moved away from the wall carefully, finding that this time, she could pull the shawl from between the books. With that settled, she looked about the vestibule, looking for a door into the rest of the library, but there was none.
"How do we get in to the rest of the library?" asked Karen.
"By opening the right book, of course," said Samantha.
"And which book is that?"
"It depends."
“Depends on what?”
“It depends on what it depends on,” Roger answered.
Without taking time to explain anything, Roger and Samantha got to work scanning the titles on the book spines. They picked a book here and there out of the floor or from the wall and leafed through it. In each case, they shook their heads and put the book back in its place. Mostly Samantha crawled along the floor on her hands and knees while Roger reached as high as he could for his books. Deciding to play along with this latest game, Karen picked a book out of the wall at random. It was a history of tricycles, with a stress on their impact on society. She put the book back and carefully pried the one next to it out of the wall with the result that several books fell out of the walls and onto the floor.
"The balance of books around here is quite delicate," Roger remarked.
"So I see," said Karen. “How do you know when you’ve find the right book?"
“By knowing it’s the right book,” Samantha replied.
“Big help.”
Karen looked at the book in her hand. Seeing that it was history of sea urchins under the reign of King Thresmond she reshelved that volume as well.
“I’ll give you another hint,” said Samantha as she whipped out a book, leafed through it, and put it back without any problem.
“What?”
“It helps if you know what you want to do.”
"I know that I want to find Kevin," said Karen with waning patience.
“Then if you find a book about finding Kevin, it’ll be the right book,” said Roger.
Karen shook her head and decided to try her luck with one of the books that was sandwiching her shawl. She dislodged the volume carefully and read the title on the cover: Managing other People: a Guide for Aspiring Bossy Sisters and other Overweening Siblings.
“A bossy sister?” Karen asked to herself. “That’s what Kevin accuses me of being.”
“Better take a look at it, then,” Roger suggested.
With the feeling that she was being hauled into court for judgment, Karen opened the book and read a passage at random: “One of the first things that any girl who wants to be a bossy sister must know is: how to know what is good for all siblings, be they brothers or sisters, half-brothers or half-sisters, quarter-brothers or quarter-sisters, etc., etc.”
“But I do know what’s good for Kevin,” Karen protested.
“Congratulations,” said Roger, “next thing we know, you’ll be giving Amarilla lessons on the subject.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It won’t be funny if Amarilla learns from you what’s good for Roger and me,” said Samantha.
"Try a page further in to the middle," Roger suggested, "this book has more possibilities than anything else we've found so far."
Karen obediently picked another page at random and read aloud the first sentence she laid her eyes on: “A bossy sister’s siblings are genetically incapable of knowing how to eat properly.”
“At least Amarilla thinks I could know how to eat properly if I’d stop writing violin concertos when its mealtime,” Roger quipped.
"Shut up."
“Do you think Kevin knows how to eat properly?” Samantha asked.
“Oh!” Karen exclaimed.
Both children ran to Karen’s side to stop an avalanche of books falling on them and then to look at the page Karen was looking at. What they saw was a picture of a kitchen with a young boy reaching for a cupboard with one hand while he held a sketch-book with the other.
"If you’re serving rabbit food salad with vinegar, I’m never coming home," Kevin pouted.
“You need leafy vegetables in your diet to offset all the candy you stuff into your fat mouth,” Karen admonished her brother.
“Well, guess what you need in your fat mouth?” Kevin said in return.
“What did you say?” Karen asked her brother as her shoes dug into the maroon tile floor of her kitchen with each deliberate step she took in his direction.
“Try not to be so bossy,” Roger prompted Karen.
“Try promising him some chocolate pudding after he’s had his salad,” Samantha suggested.
“I won’t repeat it because you still won’t listen,” Kevin replied as he flung open the back door and bolted from the house.
"Thataway!" cried Samantha as she pointed to the disappearing Kevin.
Karen and Roger and Samantha chased after Kevin through the door, and tumbled into a room where stacks of books formed a semi-circle around the children. Karen would have plowed right into one of the stacks if her shawl had not held her back yet again. A woman sat behind the semi-circle as if it were her desk. She dealt out a deck of cards for a game of solitaire and poked at a rickety manual typewriter with her elbow as she did so. The librarian was a strange woman, if she was a woman. A pair of antennae stuck out of the forehead, and her body was wrapped up in a cocoon with no openings for arms or legs so that Karen could not figure out how the librarian was handling her playing cards.
"Looks like you found the right book for us," said Samantha.
"I guess so," said a shaken Karen.
"May I help you?" asked the old woman.
Karen found herself at a loss for words. As with the vestibule, this room, too was made up entirely of books.
“Tell her what our quest is,” Roger prompted Karen.
"Uh—I'm looking for my little brother. Roger and Samantha thought we should try here."
"Looking for a brother," said the librarian. "That is not a basic principle. Human beings never are. You won't find him in one of the pillars."
Now that the librarian mentioned it, Karen could see many posts made up of books supporting the ceiling, which in turn were made up of books large enough to span the area above them.
"Show her the drawing," Samantha whispered in Karen's ear.
"Uh—I have this drawing. Uncle Martin thought you might have the—the manuscript that it was copied from—“ Karen stammered as she handed the drawing over to the librarian.
The librarian grabbed it so quickly and held it so tightly to herself, that Karen never did see a hand touch it. The librarian scrutinized the drawing for some time with evident interest.
“This is a copy," she said finally.
"I—rather thought it was a copy," Karen admitted, "but a copy of what?"
"A copy of Sir Kevin Weaver Maker’s harp page in Codex AG435TY789HJ."
Karen's jaw dropped.
"But Kevin’s my brother."
"Congratulations on being the sister of an artist who has done one of the greatest works in Carelin art history."
“How come everybody here knows all about the art works my brother hasn’t even done yet except me?” asked a bewildered Karen.
“It might be because you haven’t looked at them yet,” said the librarian.
“How do you know what I’ve looked at and what I haven’t?” Karen asked.
The librarian had become fully absorbed in her playing cards once more and she did not even look at Karen.
"You offended her," Samantha whispered in Karen's ear. "Tell her how impressed you are that she knew which codex the manuscript comes from."
"Uh—you seem to know manuscripts very well, Miss - "
"Miss Canfield," said the librarian as she moved some cards around.
"I am impressed that you knew which codex my brother's harp page is in," said Karen.
The librarian looked up from her cards with a pleased expression on her face.
"It is so nice to be appreciated," she said. "Now, may I help you?"
"Uh—could you tell me where the codex with Kevin's harp page is?"
The librarian shifted so many cards about that Karen feared she might have offended her again. But at last she picked up the King spades and two deuces and held them up for Karen.
"I am afraid that the codex in question has been reported missing. The king thinks the codex is in Milton, Pennsylvania, and the deuces think it is in World Transition Point Number 34598. My recommendation is that you look up Professor Duncan Dinwoodie. He is writing a monograph on that illustration today."
Karen looked over at Samantha and Roger. Both of them seemed to take what the librarian said quite seriously.
"Uh—can you tell me where Professor Dinwoodie is?" Karen asked.
The librarian moved some more cards around.
“The three of diamonds thinks he is inside the novel David Bronzefield, but the Jack of Clubs thinks he is in the middle of a cave-in. You will have to take your choice."
The librarian hunched over her typewriter and started to type at breakneck speed although Karen could see no hands executing the job. Paper began to roll out as the librarian worked, but she offered no further acknowledgment of her presence.
"Big help," muttered Karen.
She tugged at her shawl carefully as she moved away from the desk. As more of the shawl slipped through between a pair of books and followed her, Karen noticed it was wet.
"Now what?" Karen asked in dismay, as she pointed to the shawl.
Samantha picked up the wet spot and pulled the shawl further through the books.
"Must be the snow," said Samantha with a shrug. "Can't let that stop us in our search."
“How where are we going to find this novel David Bronzefield?" Karen asked.
“By looking it up,” said Roger.
“Do they have a card catalog here?” asked Karen.
“What’s that?” asked Samantha.
“A set of drawers with cards with all the titles that tell you where each book is,” Karen explained.
“That’s no fun,” said Samantha.
“You’d never find a book that way,” said Roger.
When Roger and Samantha started to scan the titles on the book spines on the walls and floor Karen looked at some books at random herself, but titles such as Windmills and Dragons, The Role of Windmills in the social history of Hungary, and What the Inca Civilization would have been like if they had invented Windmills seemed unhelpful.
"These books have nothing to do with me," said Karen in disgust. "Windmills indeed."
“Nor me,” Roger complained. “I suggest we look for the cave-in."
"Oh goodie!" exclaimed Samantha.
She promptly pawed away at the books before her and tore a hole out of the wall. Roger joined in the act, tossing books in all directions until the children had created a tunnel of books.
"Come on, Karen," said Roger, "we need your help."
Hardly in the mood for fun and games, Karen nevertheless obliged by yanking out a large volume that brought all the books tumbling about her head.