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jcverne · 9 days ago

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The Hunters of the Hidden Library - Chapter Three

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Is that book on your shelf a danger to your child? The IPL says yes.

By Ellory Harris

Not all books are created equal. At least, that is the message the Institute of Proper Literature (IPL) was founded on. The ILP has many concerns regarding the contents of books that have been filling our shelves – and our minds.

“The old saying is right. ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover.’ You cannot do that, because the covers are deceptive. They look innocent, when the inside holds material that is, put simply, inappropriate. Vulgar. In most cases, the content is not something that can be considered literature,” one of the founders of the IPL, Victor Greenwood stated.

“How would you define ‘literature,’ then?”

Greenwood smiled, leaning comfortably back in his chair. “Exactly how we would all define it. It is the classical stories worth telling – and worth reading.”

“The definition of literature is ‘written work.’ Wouldn’t that include all books?”

“We both know that isn’t true. Our society as it is today would not call a frivolous, smut-filled story ‘literature.’ Literature is something different. And it isn’t dangerous.”

When asked why the IPL describes some books as dangerous, Greenwood went on to say, “What you read, what you consume, can have such an impact on your mind. Everyone knows that. But not everything is sufficient to be consumed. It indoctrinates these innocent people. We are just trying to weed those out.”

“Just to confirm: you believe books are indoctrinating people?” I asked.

“That’s correct.”

With statements like this, it is no wonder why the ILP has faced many accusations of censorship since their founding.

“Censorship,” Greenwood mulled over the word. “This is not censorship. You watch what you eat. So, why wouldn’t you watch what you read? We are just simply doing that work for you.”

That work Greenwood described, involves the ILP arriving in great big semi-trucks. Workers and volunteers arrive to fill black boxes with books from libraries and schools that are then “sent for review,” with promises that they will return if the ILP finds them to be “sufficient,” to use Greenwood’s term. However, it is rare these books are ever seen again, despite complaints from the respective libraries and schools.

“Usually, if we determine books should be reviewed, we have already found concerning elements in their contents.”

“And what are these elements you consider when analyzing these books?” I asked.

Greenwood smiled. “The elements consist of a long list of factors we deem to be appropriate for the health of our children and the betterment of our society.”

“Can you give me an example of these elements?”

“Of course. Consider fantasy. What purpose does it serve? It exposes children to lies, to things that do not exist in our world here. Which then fills their minds with unfair and impossible views that simply cannot be realized.”

“Yes, fiction is by definition made up. We know that dragons don’t exist, but there is much to learn from reading stories about slaying them, isn’t there?”

“How can children learn properly if we fill their heads with nonsense, Miss Harris?”

While there is widespread criticism of the ILP’s efforts, there are also many voices raised in support. Many of these people also support Mr. Greenwood’s run for a seat in the State’s Assembly.

“I only hope when I win this seat, more people will understand the good work I, and the Institute of Proper Literature, are trying to do.”

The Filehouse Press published this Ellory Harris article posthumously.

Chapter Three

Cicadas droned above them, the sound shimmering through the summer’s suffocating heat. Even the shade from the forest canopy didn’t offer relief. Sachin and Daphne were soaked through with sweat, huddled together in the brush.

“It’s been hours,” Wyla whined from the treetop, hiding in the of the leaves that refused to move.

“It’s been one hour,” Sachin reminded. “But they might have rescheduled the shipment.”

Daphne squinted through the trees, strained her ears. A mail truck and a beat-up sedan had been the only travelers on this lonely stretch of road. ILP’s truck was set to pass this way today. She had double checked – triple checked – the shipping schedule she’d nicked from the trucking company before they left the book hoard this morning. But with the truck so late…

Was it tomorrow? Or was it 11 p.m.?

Or did they catch on? It would be tough to find another route so quickly. The ILP always took side roads, avoiding the main drags. Avoiding eyes. But the only other route from the Westing Library was under construction. At least, that’s what everyone assumed from the cones and signs Daphne had put up days ago.

Wringing her hands, Daphne looked down at Sachin’s watch again, willing the hands to roll back to eleven.

“Daphne.”

She jumped, Sachin’s voice pulling her eyes back to his face. He took her hand, squeezing lightly. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not.”

He arched a brow at her, brushing his thumb against the back of her hand. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic.”

It was her turn to raise a skeptical brow. “For this long?”

“Maybe.”

Wyla squawked overhead. “Here it comes!”

Daphne shot up to her feet. The deep rumbling of the truck drew near, speeding much faster through the woods than any vehicle should. But relief eased through her veins. Perfect.

As Wyla took wing, Daphne pulled the pistol from her belt and jumped form the brush, Sachin right behind her.

But she stopped after a few stumbling steps down the slope. Whipping around, she searched the shadows in the dappled sunlight behind their hiding place. There was no wind to make that shush, shush, shushing sound. There was no movement. There was nothing.

But she could have sworn –

“Daphne! Hurry up!” Sachin’s urgent whisper hissed back, pulling her forward. With one last look at the great tree they’d hidden beneath, she followed him towards the road.

They sprinted to meet the truck hurtling around the corner, and Wyla’s form sped ahead.

Right in front of the truck.

She made a big, dramatic show of being hit, even tossing paper mâché feathers that looked just like hers into the windshield as she collapsed on the hood.

The high-pitched screeching of the truck’s brakes was music to Daphne’s ears. Pulling masks up over their noses, she and Sachin angled for the back of the trailer. With Wyla’s pathetic, coughing caws covering them, Daphne and Sachin slipped around the back and into the opposite door, just as the driver leaped out of the cab with a shout.

“Do you even know how to drive one of these things?” Sachin asked in a nervous whisper.

“Nope.” Daphne grinned under her mask, leaning heavily on the horn.

The driver jumped nearly a foot in the air, eyes bulging. Wyla flew up, pecking at his bald head to get the stupefied man out of the road.

“Have a nice day!” Daphne waved at the driver as they pulled away, blaring the horn again. And they left him on the side of the road, gobsmacked.

-x-

When they threw open the doors of the trailer, Lis gasped. Sachin cursed.

“I don’t even want to know where they were taking all of this.” He hopped up into the trailer bed, joining crates upon crates of artifacts, files upon files of manuscripts, and tarp-adorned forms of sculptures.

Lis’ nose twitched in annoyance. “The Institute must be emptying their storage.”

“Then we’ll have to find where they’re emptying it.” Daphne grunted, pulling heavily on the crowbar to break open the first crate.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lis warned, but it was cut off as Sachin shoved clipboards into their hands.

“Right. We have to properly catalogue all of this first. So, make sure – is that Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss?” He stared at the statue Daphne had just revealed.

“Well, a copy. But even a copy is ‘pornographic,’ according to them.” Lis’ snout curled up in a sneer.

“I know it’s a copy, I just…” Sachin ducked to dodge the tarp Daphne threw. “Wasn’t this the copy on display at the MET?”

“Highly likely,” Lis tutted, scanning the contents of the crate next to the statue’s embrace and scribbling on her spreadsheet. “Daphne, please. Don’t just rip through it all. Pick up a pencil, like everyone else.”

Sachin tapped Daphne’s clipboard, only smiling in response to her pout.

Soon enough, swirling clouds of dust permeated the air all around them, eliciting the occasional sneeze and sniffle. These crates of books, these artifacts, had simply been locked up, gathering dust. Just to keep them hidden from the eyes of the public – them and “the dangerous ideas they spread,” according to the Institute.

With each stroke of her pencil, rage grew from a smoldering ash to a blazing inferno, eating away at Daphne from the inside out. She was surprised the paper didn’t start to singe and curl under her hand.

A sudden clattering of wood flurry of feathers pulled all of their noses up from their pages.

Wyla almost slammed into the edge of the truck bed, heaving to catch her breath. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Another bounty hunter?” Daphne dropped her clipboard, brushing the dust off her clothes.

“Not exactly.” More heavy, wheezing breaths. “They know. They know about the book hoard.”

-x-

“We have received word about an underground, contraband collection of forbidden materials.” The Watch Captain stared into the camera with eyes like glazed ice. He held up a children’s book with two fingers, as if merely touching it could be hazardous to his health. “We have obtained this piece of evidence after arresting the individual who had this perverse material –”

“Perverse?” Sachin snorted.

“We will not be releasing this individual’s name at this time, as the investigation is ongoing. But know that we are taking this very seriously. And we vow to protect the public from this threat –”

Lis switched the television set off, still glaring at the blank screen. “Well.” The silence was all too loud, reverberating from every corner of the room. “This isn’t ideal. But we must be very careful moving forward. We have to be smart about this. So, we all must – oh, brother.”

Lis drooped, stared at the empty space Daphne had stood only moments ago.

#the hunters of the hidden library #my writing #writeblr #creative writing #jc verne

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