With a sound like the furious bubbling of a broth, The Kitchen Almanac's pages rushed by. Dazed, I was barely aware of my own pages turning along with the almanac's. With the clap of a pot lid shutting, the book closed and I was spinning away like a thrown plate. With an “oomf” from Fen and a cloud of dust, I landed squarely on her chest, just where I'd been.

  Reeling, thoroughly overwhelmed, I simply lay there.

  Of all that had happened, I was most of all relieved to feel Fen’s steady breath continue in sleep, unbothered by my fall. As for me, I could not have mustered the strength to get up even if I’d had the will. So I simply felt the rise and fall of Fen’s chest, the warmth of her breath, the beating of her heart, and let myself reel.

  Inside my mind was a sky, whirling with thick, tumbling clouds. I’d been a fool, I knew. Just moments before, I’d admonished myself for having neglected to notice Fen’s exhaustion, without ever thinking the same could happen to me. Now, I too was entirely exhausted. Unable to move. Senses shutting down. In my mind’s sky were stamped giant words.

  Library

  Books catalogued:

  One

  Incomplete books:

  One

  Just beneath the turbid surface of my mind, dreams swarmed in waiting for me, eager to pull me under.

  But before I’d let sleep take me, I had to check one last time on Fen’s spell, our only source of light. It was still there, glowing above us. But its barbs were no longer dispersed… They were coming back together to shape a feather once again. Yet it wasn’t Fen’s feather, it was taller, ornate, and curled at the tip. It bobbed up and down, as though atop someone’s head. Someone with an unmistakable swagger to their step. Someone with a feather in their cap. Someone who was headed to the door and, to my amazement, opened it.

  Out into a corridor they went, the feather brushing along the ceiling. But the feather stood strong, for its quill was tucked deeply into the band of a maroon bycocket cap. In the shadow beneath the cap’s pointed brim were two keen eyes, which were not only ready but eager to each draw out the moustache’s thin branches for a fencing match against any part of the world that might offer a challenge. And kept just beneath this, as a reminder of previous duels, was a smile so thin it might have been slashed in leather. This was Mister Feathercap.

  “Ah-ha!” he said, “You! just who I was looking for!”

  “Me?” said an ogre, pointing to himself and looking around for other ‘yous’.

  “Yes, yes, of course you. To whom else would I entrust a most important task than you,” said Mister Feathercap, and draped his arm around the broad shoulders of the ogre, who blushed. Mister Feathercap then began, “Now, listen, I need you to -” and continued to say the rest as a furious whisper into the ear of ogre, who was giggling all the while.

  Mister Feathercap whistled and hailed his steed, and so it came trotting down the hallway, clippity-clopping on its hinges, for it was a door. Mister Feathercap swooped his cape and straddled the door, which whinied. Taking hold of the two knobs, he spurred the door into the chuf-chuf of a gallop. The ogre ran along beside, waving his handkerchief and crying, wiping his eyes on his apron. The train screeched to a stop at the terminus and Mister Feathercap exited by a window since all the doors had run off wildly into the fields.

  Mister Feathercap strode through the waiting room where two goblins were reading a burning book together. Once inside the office, Mister Feathercap bowed deeply, and said, “A thing of interest, Master.” In his hands was a book that had been there all along. It slammed onto the floor and slid to the wall, and there grew into a door. Mister Feathercap could find no knob or keyhole on the book-door, but opened it nonetheless by tickling the hinges of its spine with his feather.

  Through the door was only whiteness. There was no wind, nor breath, but more than all I felt there were no words. It was worse than desolation. It was the decomposition of minds.

  But there was something, far in the distance, salty air and seagull cry… A masted ship rose from the horizon, bells and shouts and beating flags, ploughing the waves of a fish-broth ocean roiling with bones and celery. Mister Feathercap bowed low, his feather brushing the ship’s deck as he sailed away, and he called out, “ I shall see to it, Master!”

  I realized then, with some dread, the presence which stood near behind me. For a while it had been there. It had spoken. And yet, I had neither seen nor heard it.

  I turned.

  The castle stood upon its ledge, myriad window-eyes searching for me. The darkness rushed out as a wall, pushing me. I fell. Forever I fell.

  With a spasm and a yelp I awoke, just as Fen groggily propped herself up to her elbows.

  “Fen!” I slurred, perhaps a little too loudly, “We have to check the door!”

  Fen blinked, then blinked again. She quickly sat up, toppling me down to her lap, and rubbed her eyes in panic. But quickly her shoulders sagged, and her head lowered. She spoke softly, neither to herself nor to me, but simply for it to be said, and the air turned heavy with her words.

  “I could still see, in my dreams…”

  The anxiety of my dreams had lingered in my half-sleep, but the weight of what she had said fully awakened me. Unless we… No, unless I was successful at restoring Fen’s sight, she would only ever see again in dreams. And if I failed, would even her dreams lose the memory of sight?

  I moved to rise, but groaned as an unexpected soreness struck me. I could feel every part of myself, but also none. It was as though my pages hadn’t spoken to each other yet, and wouldn’t unless they had good reason to. Sleep had left me worse for wear, and I could only imagine how Fen must have felt.

  “Fen,” I said, doing my best to be soothing, “Wait here, I just have to see something.”

  “Yes, go see…” Fen retorted, bitterly. I felt like lying flat in shame, embarrassed that I could see and she couldn’t. And yet, an even greater shame was that I resented Fen’s comment. Wasn’t my remorse punishment enough? Would I also have to endure her spite? Yes, I would do whatever was needed to help her, even if it meant bearing her anger as she bore her constant blindness. With the strength of this resolve, I stood.

  The golden feather had now entirely dispersed, but lingered as a gently fading glow where barbs had landed. The spell was at its end, though at that moment I did not question how I knew this. I slid from Fen’s cold lap and tiptoed on my corners around the stack of boxes, then peered towards the door suspiciously. None of its cobwebs had moved. The floor’s dust hadn’t been disturbed. The door hadn’t really been opened by Mister Feathercap. I breathed in relief.

  I’d known that it had only been a dream, but it was so pressing, so real… I’d had to make sure. But then, what had all those dreams meant?

  “Book, where are you?” said Fen, her fogginess dissipating and tinged with worry.

  “Here, I’m here!” I answered, and let her searching hands find me and pull me against her.

  “What happened?” she asked, then winced and drew in breath between her teeth as she rubbed her shoulder.

  Only too happy for a chance to please her, I began the telling of what had transpired without hesitation, “There we were, in the long tunnel, with the Dark nearly upon us, when you found and fell through a doorway through that cabinet -”

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  Fen listened attentively, her eyebrows rising progressively higher as I went. Only once did she interrupt, as I was saying, “And lo, from the tunnel’s shadows, two goblins appeared, Ragsies and Goofin-”

  “Wait,” said Fen, “Ragsies and Goofin? Book, how did you know their names?”

  “I asked them.”

  “You asked the goblins their names?”

  “Yes, I said: What are your names? And they-”

  “And they actually gave you their names?”

  “Yes! What else should they have done?”

  At this Fen shrugged, stumped, and I continued. However, as I attempted to recount my dream, only fragments lingered. My telling trailed off in its struggle to bring the pieces together. “-And then, a horse, but it was a door, and also a train. But the ogre was crying… And the goblins were reading a burning book, an-”

  Fen lay her hand on my cover, and I fell silent. She had a bemused and thoughtful expression, and I was only happy to have eased her mind.

  “What about you,” I asked, “what were your dreams?”

  There moved over her face a far-away impression, and her eyebrows tightened as she spoke, “I - I’m not quite sure anymore. There was…” But she fell silent, then righted herself and turned to me with her usual curiosity, which I was more than glad to see.

  “So, tell me, you read the Kitchen Almanac, did you learn anything about yourself?”

  “I suppose so,” I answered, thinking as I went, “a little, perhaps. Afterwards, I was entirely drained. It seems reading books takes a lot out of me, but also gives something back, though I’m not yet sure what that is.”

  “Tell me about it…” said Fen, with a small, sarcastic voice. It was at this moment I first noticed the whisper of Fen’s humor in her negative comments. Perhaps I had not caught on that her quips about losing her sight had not been entirely self-derisive or accusatory, but were instead in great part jest. Her tragedy was being transformed into comedy with such subtlety that it wasn’t clear where either began.

  With a hefty breath, she spoke out into the room, “Well, from what you’ve told me, the tunnel isn’t an option anymore. Once one of those doorways is broken, it can’t open again. I believe new ones appear at some point afterwards, but there won’t be another in this room, at least not soon. You say there’s a door somewhere? Ok, let’s check it out.”

  Fen stood and tucked me beneath her arm once again, just as though holding books this way was a well-practiced habit, then stumbled around the boxes.

  “Watch out for the cobwebs, they’re all over!” I warned, but Fen swept her arm around with efficiency, and the cobwebs were no more. The door’s latch was locked, and so, without ceremony, I witnessed Fen perform a second magic.

  From what seemed to be a pocket in her palm, she drew out another feather, but small, tufted, and glowing blue. With a flick of her fingers, it darted into the keyhole, and shone there brightly. The lock mechanism creaked and complained, then with a rusty clack was unlocked. The feather’s glow lessened, lurking faintly in the keyhole.

  At once I was torn between the worry that the spell’s light may have been seen from the door’s other side, and immense interest in Fen’s two magics. If only my mind was at ease, I might figure out what Fen’s spells had been, how she had done them, and then maybe I could…

  But Fen did not seem to share my worries, and said, “That light was only visible from this side of the door. I’m able to obfuscate one side, and haven’t managed to shutter both sides yet. You don’t need to worry,” she sighed, “even though I’ve lost my sight, I know how my magic stands. That’s a sense I haven’t lost.”

  I knew then that our rest had not only restored but increased our sense of each other’s mind, for her answer had suited my unspoken worries too clearly for this not to be the case. And even as I thought this, I knew she was coming to the same conclusion. We stood awkwardly before the door, for it seemed appropriate to acknowledge our bond, to agree to a code of respect for each other’s thoughts. But neither of us managed to put this into words without being aware that we’d already agreed to it with our minds.

  Finally, Fen cleaned her throat, “I don’t know where we’ll be once we’re out there, so we’ll have to play it by ear,” she said, sardonically.

  I was getting used to her quips, for it seemed to me a healthier thing than despair, and retorted, “I hear you. Why don’t you let me take a look?”

  I am quite proud of the surprised and amused smile this garnered from Fen. I am convinced that by meeting her comedy, I was introduced to her tragedy, and in this way she was no longer alone, and could share with me their company.

  Fen squeezed me lightly in recognition, then lifted the latch, eased the door ajar, and presented me to the opening page-first.

  Though I will always feel terribly responsible for Fen’s blindness, it gave me a guilty sense of worth to serve as her eyes. Filled with this purpose, I was overtaken with inspiration, and so described this new place:

  We’re at the end of a long hall

  That stretches forward out of sight

  And all along cobblestone walls

  Are doors with each a lantern light

  Fen raised her eyebrow at me quizzically, and I flushed.

  “Pardon me,” I said, embarrassed, “it just came out that way. It wasn’t intentional.”

  “That’s alright,” she said, and added, “it actually left a surprisingly clear impression. Go on.”

  There is little she could have said that would have swelled my sense of worth further than this, and I found my covers puffing out in pride. I cleared my throat (so to speak) and continued:

  Each of these doors has a stone hearth

  Laid on a floor of beaten earth

  And though no door another faces

  Between each always sits ten paces

  I paused and turned back to Fen, who nodded, and so again I continued:

  There is a sense here in the air

  Of loneliness and old despair

  Like something lost deep in a maze

  Thoughts that no longer find their way

  And something else, too faint to tell

  A subtle hint of a strange smell

  Yet ‘till we near, all that I know

  Is that there’s something cooking, slow

  Fen sniffed at the air, but, detecting nothing, drew me back from the door, and I surmised she’d had enough information.

  “This must be a cellar level,” said Fen, thinking aloud, “I suppose there’s no other option than to go forward. You should know that in this castle, closed doors do not appreciate being opened unless one has specific business beyond them. In a case like ours, it is often best to find a door open to inviting us through.”

  All things considered, this made perfect sense. But, just as Fen readied to step forward, I seized the moment to ask a pressing question before our adventure resumed, “Wait! What are we trying to get to? What is our objective? How do we escape?”

  Fen frowned and pursed her lips. What I felt then from her mind was muddled, and though she spoke slowly, the answer she gave was succinct, with no invitation for discussion. “To speak of it is to drive it away. It is not a place, nor a path, but a certain state of mind.”

  I let this sink in.

  If this were true, to speak more of it would only make it more difficult to find. I also intuitively knew that to think of it would be no better. And yet, one question had to be asked. “And, what state of mind is that?”

  “That,” huffed Fen, “is what I haven’t found yet. But, with you…-” With the fading of her voice, Fen let her train of thought die, and I knew it was to avoid warding off the exit with too many words.

  To be told that such a great notion loomed nearby, but that I must avoid inspecting it, must forget it, must not even look in its direction…

  Oh! How I would have loved to know more. But I pulled my mind away from it, and tried to concentrate on what was to come, for I was now Fen’s guide, and must not become distracted by a curiosity that would only hinder our escape.

  Fen spoke as she slipped out into the hall, but did not let her voice follow us, and I only barely caught her words as they fell to join the dust of the storage room.

  “...- there might just be a chance.”