The First Librarian
Overdue and out of date are just a stamp away
I’m on holiday on a windy coast on the east coast of Scotland with the hubby, as is Pete and his diary, so today I have for you part one of a free story from my yet-to-be-published second anthology, “Sitting Comfortable.”
The Librarian comes into play in the Manifesto the Great books, he is a sleazy character who appeared from nowhere and took over…
So I just had to explore why he is so bad, and in this story, we find out why.
I hope you enjoy it so much that if you didn’t shout, ‘When will that anthology be published? I want more!” last time . You will this time.
The First Librarian
James ‘the Strong’ was young when he discovered reading was not for him, yet his father insisted.
He was told to go to the library and “help himself.”
The last thing James the Strong wanted to do was help himself to a book. A woman yes, a second helping of a roast, of course, but a book? He’d rather have his nails ripped out—slowly.
Liberto was up although it was dark, he was awake, alert, and padding about his pad, if you could call it that.
He would have called it a dungeon if he knew what that was, but as he had no access to books let alone earth, he’d no idea of such a word.
Liberto was not a sleeping sort of person. He liked to spy, which always led to plans, to influence ‘those in power’.
Sometimes his head was so full of ideas he couldn’t sleep, he’d be up all night ‘noting things down,’ walking the empty corridors that often led to the speech gallery, and this morning was one of them.
The cleaners had just finished, the door was still ajar, and the room was empty. He opened the patio doors, a breeze fluttered in brushing the silk curtain across his cheek.
God, he loved silk.
His father was a uniform maker for those who made decisions. His job was to make them look, well, intelligent.
Not an easy thing to do.
The leader was a pint-size man who needed to stand on a box for just about everything, and James the Strong, his way too muscular giant of a son, thought tight trousers were the way to go—the sort of tight that tore with a mere sneeze.
Liberto’s father’s servile job made him a grumpy man, and catching his ‘girlie’ son playing with silks and ruffles was the last thing he needed. Liberto had been slapped silly so many times that his father finally booted him to his so-called bedroom to darn the leader’s son’s trousers.
There were so many Liberto piled them in the corner to sit on.
Liberto walked out onto the balcony, a balcony high enough to make many dizzy; but not him. Pushing away the leader’s speech box, he looked down and stared at the lone street sweeper below.
“Just you and me” he muttered, “sorting the world.”
Pen poised, pad on his knee, Liberto began his spectacular sentence when a loud belch followed by a foghorn of a fart reverberated down the corridor.
“Great pickling wept.” Shouted a deep voice.
Liberto stopped; was that James the Strong?
His dressing room was but a spit away.
Liberto, like many, knew the leader’s son was an idiot and dreaded him taking over, in fact many men of influence were plotting against him.
He heard a thump, a crash, and the smash of glass…he took a chance and headed down the corridor.
He peered into the dressing room to see an almost naked James the Strong poised on one foot while pushing the other into a pair of trousers fit for a doll.
His shattered glass cup inches away.
He tripped, fell, then after a volley of swear words, looked up as Liberto entered.
“I’ve been trying to get into this pickling thing all night,” he said.
“What?”
“My new PJ’s. I was told it’s Lycra,” he huffed “supposed to stretch.”
Liberto spied a bleeding cut on James the Strong’s ankle and bent to wipe it.
“Stretch my arse, there’s as much stretch in this stuff as a lamp post.”
Liberto looked up. “Lamp post?”
“And I’ve had as much sleep as one…I mean look at it, it’s the size of a handkerchief, one sneeze and it’s full.”
Liberto pulled a face, then moved on to another cut.
James the Strong didn’t even wince.
Liberto stopped and spied a book; “The Great Spaceship Banquet.” he brushed off the broken glass and picked it up.
“I’ve heard of these,” he said.
“There’s another cut here,” muttered James the Strong.
Liberto flicked through the pages. “Impressive.”
James the Strong pulled the handkerchief from Liberto and with a dirty look tended to his cuts. “Load of old bollocks,” he muttered.
“So many words,” sighed Liberto.
“I’d rather have my balls tied to a door and slammed shut than read that pile of puke.”
“Would take days to write, let alone read,” muttered Liberto.
“Days? They wrote all the time in the spaceship, memoirs, and the like. Read them in the John, so I’m told.”
“Good place to think,” muttered Liberto.
“Pfff think? I can think of better things to do,” he snorted, tossing the handkerchief at the bin.
It landed with a plop, his perfect aim unnoticed by Liberto.
“There’s more,” said James the Strong.
Liberto stopped. “More?”
“Yes, a room full, my father calls it a library, I call it the dungeon for idiots.”
“Dungeon, what’s that when it's at home?”
James the Strong laughed out loud.
Then, realizing he was still in his underwear, blushed.
Part Two next newsletter
Hometown Space Pirate
Aliens, robots, and spaceships all rolled up into one hilarious, page-turning story. Get your copy of Hometown Space Pirate to start the adventure.
Until next time happy reading