Guardian Cats And The Lost Books Of Alexandria

GUARDIAN CATS AND THE LOST BOOKS OF ALEXANDRIA

Chapter 1: Moonlight and printer’s ink

Marco stayed up until dawn, the night he discovered he could read. He never dared think the books would speak to him like they did for Lucy. He had been content to curl up next to her in the library, listening. At first the sound of her voice drew him in, but gradually he grew to love the stories.

Then one night, Lucy left a book open on the window seat where the bright light of a full moon illuminated the page. Marco cocked his head, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks. The rows of black lines wavered as moonlight caused the paper to ripple, as if touched by a celestial finger.

Marco could not have known about the mystical effect of a full moon on cats and books left on their own in the library. Not until he saw the lines breathe, the words unveiled.

His heart pounded when he realized that Lucy’s stories had been locked inside the books! And now he had the key!

His immediate surroundings, the rich scents of the library, mahogany, leather and brocade, receded into the background. He no longer heard the grandfather clock’s steady ticking. Time stood still while moonlight and printer’s ink transported him and four children through an English wardrobe to a place of everlasting winter. There, a majestic lion befriended them and liberated his kingdom from the spell of an evil witch.

He was hooked. He couldn’t wait to open another book. He inspected the shelves with the knowledge that books were no longer the unique property of humans. They were, like the wardrobe in the story, a portal which opened into strange and wonderful places.

And now he held a magical pass.

Where would these other books take him? And where in the world would he start? There were so many to choose from. That night he did not sleep a wink. Each one transported him into a new adventure. How amazing, he thought, that books, once opened, were so much bigger on the inside.

In the wee hours of the night, Marco became a warrior, a wizard, a wanderer, but he was always the hero. When Marco read, he forgot he was a cat.

Chapter 2: A force to be reckoned with

The nights stretched out longer and colder, each one stealing warmth and light from the previous day. Marco didn’t mind. It gave him more time to read.

In the early evenings, Lucy and her grandmother played cards or watched TV in the living room. In the company of a crackling fire they sipped hot tea, and Marco had his choice of two warm laps.

Later, while Lucy and her grandma slept, Marco settled into the library and read. His armchair travels took him to exotic places full of adventure, intrigue and danger. He had a perfect life.

Many adventures passed and the days gradually outstretched the nights, until one morning the clamor of song birds shattered the chill of winter. Marco stretched and yawned. The library glowed with warm sunlight diffused through gauzy under curtains. All around him books were scattered about, and he hoped Lucy wouldn’t scold him too much.

No matter, he thought, then curled up on the leather ottoman and fell asleep. He dreamed of being in a clearing in the woods. An enormous hawk took off from atop a tree, swooped down in a wide circle and Marco was suddenly flying—the hawk’s wings spread wide on both sides, almost as if they were his. Wind whooshing, flattening his ears, Marco was exhilarated, soaring high above the ground, when the bird suddenly turned and they were no longer in a sunny meadow, but a dark alley between buildings.

Together they made the descent—plummeting downward toward an unlit brick street with a single car parked in the shadows. At the last moment, Marco saw the man. He was frantically trying to unlock the car door. The hawk shrieked—just before striking the man to the ground.

Marco was startled out of his dream; the hawk’s piercing call still in his ears. But the sound didn’t go away. The shrill cry was no dream! He jumped down from the ottoman and fought the urge to run.

This was a force to be reckoned with, right? Just the kind of thing that might require the services of a hero. That ruled out ducking under the bed.

The clamor was coming from outside, so it was possible the threat could pass. He chose the writing desk beneath a library window as his vantage point and poked his nose through the sheer curtains. Screeching to a halt in front of the house was an extraordinary vehicle flashing beams of red and blue light from its top.

What a strange creature, he thought. Its cries abruptly ceased and the back end of its white shell burst open, casting two men from inside. Like prisoners escaping, they ran at full speed towards the house.

Were they friend or foe? Were they on a rescue mission or was Marco’s house under attack? And how in the world do you tell the difference? He didn’t realize being a hero required so many decisions.

Lucy ran past the library towards the front door and, in what seemed to him like a reckless moment, threw the house wide open to total strangers. She turned and dashed toward the back while the men chased after her.

Marco pursued them as they rushed towards Grandma’s room. But tailing him from behind was a metal bed on squeaky wheels, and one of the men pushing it booted Marco in the head.

His ears rang from the blow and he ducked under the chaise lounge at the end of the hallway to regroup. How would he save Lucy and her grandma from these men who had obviously come to abduct them?

How did heroes in books always seem to know the right thing to do?

He tried to stay calm. He knew a hero must look danger square in the eye and take action. Hunkered down under the chaise lounge, he was trying to come up with a plan when the earsplitting jangle of a telephone overhead broke his resolve. He made his getaway, finding refuge on a bookshelf. He was so mortified at his failed rescue mission, he refused to budge even when Lucy called his name.

After a long silence, Marco emerged from his hiding place. The desolation of an empty house was overwhelming. It had always been peopled. Lucy, her friends. The cook, the nurse, and the gardener.

He sat on the writing desk, looking out the front window into the fading light. How could he face the fact that his humans had been kidnapped and he had done nothing to save them? He went upstairs to Lucy’s room, hoping for a miracle. Maybe she disappeared through the back of her closet, like the one in the book, he thought with a burst of optimism. But no, the wall was solid and the only thing left of Lucy was her scent. For two days, he mewed inside the vacant house and nibbled on diminishing crumbs in his food bowl.

Empty space eventually fills up with something. A void, cultivated in the aftermath of misfortune, begins to attract the wrong kind of attention. Marco knew it was time to leave when disagreeable spirits started roaming freely through the house, as if they owned the place.

On the third day he stood at the front door, which the spirits must have left open. He stared out at the clouds while they moved and stretched across the sky.

It looked so big out there. He poked his nose through the door and sniffed the air. What in the world would he do outside?

Chapter 3: Book of the Dead

Leo Chin held the door open for a woman and her daughter while he collapsed his umbrella into a refined black walking stick and entered the Great Court of the British Museum.

As curator of Egyptian Rare Book Archives, he could have gone into the complex closer to his office, but he never tired of passing through the museum, breathing the air of ancient things. The current exhibit in the Reading Room’s enormous rotunda featured the Book of the Dead, instructions for an ancient Egyptian’s afterlife.

He was in front of the papyrus that contained a spell for help in the weighing of the heart when Arthur Nightingale, assistant curator of Roman and Egyptian Antiquities, came to stand beside him.

“What do you think, Professor Chin?”

“Superb as usual. The museum has outdone itself once again.”

“I meant the Egyptian’s view of death,” Arthur said. “They were lucky to have such potent spells to protect them in their night journey.”

“Knowledge is a powerful thing,” Professor Chin replied.

“A little magic doesn’t hurt either, does it?” quipped Arthur. He patted the breast and side pockets of his jacket, looking for something. “Do you suppose they’d work for an Englishman?”

The corners of Professor Chin’s mouth stretched into a smile. He was glad Arthur thought of him as an Englishman. “If you had enough money. Only the rich can afford to die properly, even now.”

“Yes, well…” Arthur’s cell phone vibrated with an incoming call. “That’s Croner. I have a meeting. Best be off. Good day Professor.

“Good day to you.”

Professor Chin wound his way through the Museum’s labyrinthine corridors to his department. Just as he got to his office which, was little more than a cubicle, his assistant, Oliver, approached him.

“I made your flight reservations, Professor. You’ll be leaving on the ninth, a day ahead of the conference, with the layover in Greece as you requested.”

“Very good. Thank you, Oliver.”

He entered a tiny but well-ordered world. Piles of books were everywhere, but he knew the exact location of each one. He hung his umbrella and coat and removed his fedora. On the desk was yesterday’s unsorted mail. It was the usual—catalogues, book review and trade journals—but when he picked up the stack, a postcard fell to the floor.

Professor Chin froze. The picture side was splashed with the gaudy colors of the Romanian flag and two dancing gypsies. He picked it up and looked on the other side. It had been forwarded twice.

“Leo, why don’t you write? We never hear from you and wonder if you died. Your poor mother is rolling over in her grave, worried sick about what’s become of you. Serves her right for marrying that horrible Gaje. You are full-blooded. Never forget!

Have you gotten married yet? Please, everyone here is dying of curiosty.”

It was no surprise his illiterate aunt had misspelled curiosity. Why couldn’t she leave him alone? His stomach knotted and he dropped into his chair.

“You’ve come a long way,” said a voice from an unlit corner of the room.

“You’re still here?” asked Professor Chin.

“Of course,” said the voice.

“Why?”

“You still need me.”

“Most people leave their imaginary friends at home when they grow up.”

“You’re not ‘most people’. And I’m not imaginary. I was your only true friend when you had none; when you were tormented by your own family and the outsiders; when your father beat you for trying to protect your mother. You needed me then and you need me now.”

Professor Chin sighed and surrendered to his lifelong companion. There was no use fighting it. He would never be a true Gaje, a non-gypsy, but he would certainly never return to‘his people’. He had no family, no home, no country.

But he still had dreams, and there were others like him. Together, he hoped, they would create a world of their own.

“If you want your dreams to be real,” the Whisperer said, “you will need more powerful magic. Your fortune telling mother was right. You have the Gift. But you need more than herbs, runes and rituals to accomplish your dreams.”

Chapter 4: Stray cats and castles

Next to the dumpster behind a gas station, Marco found food. Hardly the tuna or crunchy nuggets he was used to, but he was in no position to complain. Gas fumes mixed with the rancid odor of rotting garbage, but his belly had been rumbling for days and he gobbled up the meager pickings. It made him even hungrier.

The smell of meat drew him to search at the back of the trash bin. His head was caught in a tight space when he heard someone behind him.

“Punk! Did I say you could eat here?”

Marco involuntarily jerked his head up, but he only succeeded in getting more stuck.

“What a cretin,” said the voice. Another voice chimed in, and Marco learned a few words he’d never read in books. He was so humiliated, he considered staying stuck, in hopes they might give up and go away. He tried crawling farther in, but to his dismay he was suddenly free.

Free to face the cats who had been cursing him behind his back. They were practically in his face and he was trapped by the dumpster and a brick wall.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Uh… no.”

“Uh… right. You sound like a smart guy. Where you from, stranger?”

Marco had the feeling that whatever he said was going to be the wrong answer. Besides, he didn’t know where he was from anymore.

“I’m from…” Marco looked off vaguely in the direction of his old neighborhood.

“He looks lost, like a pet. Don’t you think?”

“I’m not…”

“Then you gots to be a stray. Like us!” said the smallest one.

What a horrifying thought. Was he a stray? Was this what his future looked like?

“This is our turf, runt. And there’s barely enough food for us. So scram.”

Marco was only too glad to leave the ragtag cats to their smelly dumpster and he took the opportunity to bolt.

“What a wuss. You’re not gonna last long out here! Pet!” the cats called out behind him.

Marco trotted along deserted sun-baked sidewalks, glad to have escaped the street cats, but the heat was searing his tender toe pads. Life on the outside was harsh. He was always hungry and thirsty, and he had no training in the hunt. Now he discovered he had enemies he didn’t even know existed. Some hero he was turning out to be. He couldn’t even defend himself against a few alley cats.

He longed for a place to rest, but he was surrounded by dry scrub and empty lots. Something made him lift his head, though, and look farther in the distance. As if by magic, the promise of relief appeared. He quickened his pace until he reached the cool shade of buildings and green leafy trees that seemed to grow out of the sidewalks.

His spirits raised, he explored the streets and found a puddle of water to quench his thirst. A girl patted him on his head before she disappeared through one of the shop doors.

At the end of one street was a stone building nestled in a grove of trees. A dome sprouted from the roof, and the rounded turrets at both corners reminded him of a castle, like ones he’d seen in books.

On one side was a good climbing tree, which beckoned him to climb into its cool arms. It held him like an old friend and he curled up on a wide branch that fit comfortably. It was the perfect napping place. He fell asleep the moment he closed his eyes.

How could such an ideal napping spot bring on such a terrifying dream?

Marco was surrounded by complete darkness, the lack of light so dense it had substance, like an invisible creature. Had he been eaten by a predator? He panicked, thrashing out in all directions, but it was impossible to fight an enemy he couldn’t see.

Somehow the realization came… who this enemy was. He understood that it was fear, his own fear.

A force welled up inside him, moving up into his throat and out of his mouth. He bellowed… like a lion, shattering chains he didn’t know were there. He would not go down like this! Before he sprang, he recoiled and roared again; something terrible and savage in a voice he did not recognize as his own.

Chapter 5: Old paper, leather and ink

Marco awoke, startled to find he was still in the tree, as though nothing had happened. The dream evaporated like mist, and the sun, low and bold, glowed briefly through the canopy of magnolia leaves before disappearing altogether.

It was his favorite time of day, this fading light that heralded the coming of night. The atmosphere shifted with a quality that came in the natural order of things, like the phases of the moon or the changing of the guard.

A slight breeze kicked up and the leaves of the magnolia tree waved at him, inviting him to play. He climbed to where tree and roof entwined from years of companionship, pressing his way through the thick foliage until he reached open sky.

The town, spread out below in a carpet of trees and buildings, was threaded by a river and bordered by distant hills. This must be the top of the world, he thought. Only the church spire reached higher into the sky, and he felt immensely happy for the first time since he’d been on his own. Nothing lifted his spirits quite like a good view.

Lights blinked on across the town, and he made a game of trying to guess where the next one would appear, but he couldn’t keep up. He got up to explore a large dome on the ridge of the roof. Banded with small windows all around, through one pane of glass, another cat looked straight back at him.

Marco searched for a way in and found a broken window worked as well as any door.

The air inside was musty, and he recognized the earthy scent of old books. Without stopping to think, he jumped in, expecting to land on the floor. But the dome windows were designed for letting in light, not cats, and Marco was suddenly hanging by his claws on a narrow piece of wood.

He made the mistake of looking down, lost his grip and plummeted towards the ground. A wooden beam broke his fall and from there, he leaped to the top of a bookshelf, unsettling small puffs of ancient dust. As he descended to the floor, he breathed in the rich scent of old paper, leather and ink and the promise of countless stories.

The silence was made deeper by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock. But there was something hiding within—he could feel it—and he moved with stealth through his new surroundings, alert for any sign of danger.

His ears perked up as he caught a quick spatter of voices.

Cautiously, he approached the stacks. The voices spoke, muffled and intermittent, as though waking from a long nap.

Marco could not resist eavesdropping, no matter the risk, and followed them right into one of the dark hollows, its walls made entirely of books. Like vendors calling out their wares, the books began making their pitch.

“I never knew a trail to get cold so quickly,” came a gruff voice from one book.

“Let us carry Sir Gill’s body in honor from the battlefield, lest he be trampled by the horses.” That voice came from a different one.

“If Mr. Boswell shot himself,” a mystery book argued, “there would be powder marks around the wound.”

Further on, a woman screamed, a man shouted, and he heard the clip clop of horse hoofs on brick.

“They are dragging her away!”

A clank of metal.“Good! My sword is at my side. I will defend her at all costs.”

Talking books sure made it easier to find something to read, thought Marco, as he pawed The Three Musketeers off the shelf and settled down on the floor. He liked the hero, d’Artagnan, and as he read, he forgot he was a cat. He became d’Artagnan, rescued several fair maidens, fought evil and injustice, and shrugged off danger as if it were a game.

In the middle of a duel, a faint sound, like the tinkling of bells, broke the story’s spell. He lost his concentration, left d’Artagnan on his own and got up to investigate. A soft rush of air and a wave of motion passed through his body, like the flutter of angel wings. He followed the rustling of energy as though it beckoned to him. What kind of books might possibly be on the second floor?

Chapter 6: The old library cat

At the top of the stairs, the sound of pages turning and a deep, almost human sigh drew Marco toward the farthermost row of shelves. They hid a wall of doors, all closed except for the last. Through the crack in the door, he saw a wall of books leaning against each other like old men.

Marco moved into the doorway. On a long table sat a cat. Not the same as the one in the window. This one, larger and silver-spotted, was hunched over a book. All around him were stacks of books, and he seemed not to notice anything except what he was reading. His tail, laid out to the side, quivered in annoyance.

Marco stood spellbound, half-in, half-out of the room. A soft light moved about, illuminating dust motes and causing shadows to ebb and flow like waves.

Bang! A massive book hit the floor like a gunshot, and Marco jumped a foot off the ground. The room darkened and the grandfather clock downstairs pealed off twelve counts of midnight.

Marco’s heart raced. He stared in wonder at the other cat, who continued his studies as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Marco took a deep breath and chanced a step closer to the elder cat, who remained arched over his book. He crept in, tilting his head to try and read the titles. Something about an atom, another book about visible and invisible light, and one called The Double Slit Experiment.

It was obvious this cat did not want to be disturbed, so Marco decided to leave. But he turned too quickly, misjudging the placement of the door, and thudded against it.

With a disgruntled sigh, the scholarly cat looked up.“What is it? What do you want?”

Marco dearly wished he’d stayed downstairs.

“Speak up. What are you looking for?”

“I’m… I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” said Marco.

“Then how will you know when you find it?”

His mind went blank; he was ready to bolt.

The older cat left his book, his tone softening.“I see you are enjoying The Three Musketeers.”

Marco halted in his tracks.“Well… yes,” he replied. Books were one thing Marco could talk about, and now that he had something to say, he lost some of his shyness.

He started to ramble on about the story, then caught himself, remembering the strange titles this cat had been reading. He wouldn’t be much interested in Marco’s adventure stories.

“I didn’t know other cats could read,” said Marco. “I thought I was the only one.”

“There is much you do not know, young Marco.”

“How do you know my name?” he asked, and then realized he hadn’t told him what book he was reading, either. How had he known?

The old cat ignored his question.“D’Artagnan is waiting for you to come back and give him his voice. The characters are like that sometimes. If they find a reader they like, they freeze until the reader releases them.”

Marco felt deep in his bones that he had already known that, but he didn’t realize he knew until now.

The old cat jumped to the floor and came toward him, limping slightly.

“My name is Cicero,” he said. “I am glad to make your acquaintance. Reader cats are a rare breed these days.”

Marco had no memory of meeting Cicero before, but there was something familiar about him.

Cicero looked directly into Marco’s eyes. “If you would like to learn more, come again tomorrow night.”

Cicero was odd, but Marco was curious and the old cat didn’t seem dangerous. “I’ll be back,” Marco said and turned to leave.

He was already out the door when Cicero called out. “The storeroom on the other side… the window’s always open.”

Marco realized Cicero had given him directions for getting out of the library. When he turned back to give him a nod of thanks, however, the elder cat had vanished.

Chapter 7: Narrow escapes

Marco squeezed through the narrow opening in the window to find the magnolia tree waiting. He made note of this handy arrangement, glad he wouldn’t have to fall through the roof to get back into the library.

He trotted off down the street in good spirits. All he needed was a safe place to sleep until morning. A house where the owner kept cat food on the porch would be especially nice. Oh, and a cushioned chair. He nosed around porches and back yards in his quest for the perfect spot.

Sounds of soft rolling drums in the distance announced a coming storm. The smell of impending rain flavored the scent of dry food wafting between the cracks of a board fence, and his stomach growled a fierce reminder of his neglect. The fence was a lot trickier to climb than a tree, but hunger drove him to success, and he perched for a moment on the top rail to view the lightning flashes. Better hurry before the rain starts, he thought.

That’s when Marco discovered a creature more deadly than stray cats. Without warning, a beast of a dog, the size of twenty cats, smacked against the inside of the fence. The dog jumped up again and again, like his hind legs were made of springs, his fangs slathered with drool.

Marco had never been somebody’s prey. He dug his claws into the narrow rail, his destiny teetering in the imbalance of the wobbly fence. On one of his jumps, the dog’s teeth sank into Marco’s tail, and his fate seemed to edge towards a grisly death. The dog lost his grip on Marco’s slender tail and there was a moment of blessed silence.

Before Marco could start breathing again, however, the dog returned, with renewed vigor. When the dog’s razor-sharp teeth nipped at his hind leg, Marco’s survival instincts kicked in. His powerful hind legs pushed him off the fence, like a swimmer soaring off a diving board.

He flew into the air. Not high, but high enough. His body spiraled and arched into a perfect back flip achieved only by felines and practiced gymnasts, and he made a four-point landing on the safe side of the fence. The dog clawed and barked stupidly on the other side.

Marco didn’t stop running until he reached the safety of a tree. For a long time his heart pounded so hard, he barely heard the thunder. He only noticed when it stopped and the lightning made a brilliant show, turning night into day. Who would guess its delicate beauty masked its true purpose? How could heknow beforehand that the lightning was a warning?

Then thunder cracked its whip, sounding like the world had split in two, and Marco almost fell off the wide branch. He scrambled back up and held on while the skies opened and let everything loose.

Even though Marco had seen rain before, it had been from inside a house, protected by windows. A thick cover of green foliage, which might have sheltered him during a light shower, was taking a beating too, and Marco finished out the night hunched on the branch, wet and shivering, trying to endure.

When dawn finally arrived, the storm lumbered off like a beast seeking the cover of darkness. Marco felt like a sailor, lost at sea. I’m shipwrecked, he thought, wishing he’d finished the book about the sailor so he knew how the story turned out.

The sun appeared and the sky cleared to a brilliant blue, but Marco was determined to stay gloomy. A gust of wind stirred the damp leaves and shook water droplets onto his already soggy fur, which helped justify his mood. That, and the flock of crows that landed in the tree.

Their raucous cawing was the final straw. Marco picked his way to the ground and found a sunny patch of sidewalk, where he started grooming his fur. When he was a little drier, he set off to look for something to eat, still feeling sorry for himself.

“I’m too young to die!”

Marco heard the cry for help, but saw no one.

“Help! Get me outa here!” At the corner of the house, a pipe ran top to bottom, out of which protruded a bushy wiggling tail. Marco pawed it.

“Cut that out!” The invisible creature squealed and struggled inside his enclosure.

Marco had all kinds of questions, but the biggest one involved helping. What could he possibly do? He tried poking his paw inside the pipe, but it agitated the creature more. He scratched at a loose section and got his claw wedged in between the metal strapping and pipe. Now he was stuck. He yanked and pulled until the metal band broke loose from its fastener, freeing Marco. He was licking his wounded paw when the whole pipe split open like a cotton pod and out spilled a creature like nothing he’d ever seen before.

Poor thing doesn’t have any ears, was his first thought. The long willowy creature dashed off like he was leaving, then ducked and rolled into a somersault and came hurtling back towards Marco. He screeched to a full stop and pressed his nose into Marco’s face.

“You saved my life! You’re my hero!”

“I didn’t really do…”

“Man, I thought I was going to die!” He took off running, then came back chattering nonsense and swooped over Marco, nuzzling him like they were old buddies.

“I’m freeeeee!”

Marco was stunned.

“Hey, you’re kind of fat for a ferret, aren’t you?”

“A ferret?” said Marco. “What’s a ferret?”

“I’m a ferret!” the creature declared, bobbing and arching across the lawn like something made of rubber and springs.

The ferret looped his way back.“Hey, you’re awfully quiet. What’s your name? I’m Polo. You wanna see my treasure chest?” He didn’t wait for an answer and disappeared into a hole under the house.

Marco peered inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The ferret was bounding around the small space.

“Stay close to me or you might get lost,” he said and disappeared again.

Marco followed, across wooden beams, around metal pipes and over cardboard boxes. When the ferret reached his destination, he stood upright with his arm pointing to a pile of rubbish.“Tada!” he announced in a grand voice.

Marco walked over to the pile and sniffed.

“Isn’t it great? Hey, I got something I want to show you. Where is it now?” He looked around and then dove into and out of the clothes, sometimes buried and sometimes emerging, just to disappear again seconds later. When his head finally popped up, he had a gold bracelet in his mouth.

“Cooo…huh?” Polo dropped the bracelet. “I shouldn’t talk with my mouth full. Me mum always told me that, but sometimes I forget.”

Marco moved among the piles of clothes and gadgets, mystified by the ferret’s enthusiasm. Some treasure. What kind of creature collects trash and calls it treasure?

Polo sprang to within an inch of his face.“Hey, I just had an idea. We could be a team. You and me. Wouldn’t that be fun! You’ll be the lookout.”

As strange as he was, Polo’s company cheered him immensely. He was, by a long shot, friendlier than anyone he’d met on the streets. Maybe things were looking up.

Then the little creature suddenly collapsed in a twisted heap and Marco dashed over, nudging the ferret to see if he was dead.

Chapter 8: Night watch

Cicero’s room was filled with books, old favorites like Shakespeare, biographies of great men, and the more challenging ones about quantum physics. Their presence filled him with peace, like old friends who read together, not needing to hold meaningless conversations.

Cicero arose and stretched his front legs out on the table where he was reading a book by a man named Einstein. It was time for his regular night watch of the library, not that there was much to lose sleep over in all the years he’d been here. No one would ever find him or the Book in this sleepy little town. But the stiffness in his old bones wouldn’t let him forget he was going to need a successor soon.

Out on the balcony, Cicero overlooked his domain. He had grown very fond of the Angel Springs library, even though circumstances for his transfer here were made under duress. Except for the ticking of the grandfather clock, all was quiet. In the darkened library there was only the soft glow of a large aquarium in the children’s area.

Cicero’s ears perked up at the sound of pages turning. Had the young cat returned as promised? It was critical Marco had kept his word about returning tonight, but Cicero was used to broken promises. He tried to contain his hopes as he searched the first floor and found Marco lost in a book.

The young cat didn’t even notice his presence and Cicero fought the impulse of making a rash decision. He did not want to make the same mistake again, but there was something about Marco. Something besides his choice of reading material and long tail, a sure sign of intelligence.

He had to remind himself that intelligence was only one aspect needed to be a Guardian. Wasn’t it his own reverence for knowledge that had blinded him before? Hadn’t he learned how deceiving appearances could be?

Marco’s slender tail twitched. He was young; all the better for training, but youthfulness had its drawbacks. The vulnerability of youth could be heartbreaking. Cicero sighed. He had enough worries. Why did he always want to add more?

Then he winced. He was getting way ahead of himself. He barely knew Marco. And why on earth did he think it was only the young who were victims of deceit?

Cicero gave himself a good scratching to shake off his fears and exchanged his gloomy thoughts for the cheerful anticipation of a visit to his old friend Akeel. It must certainly be no accident that Marco showed up at this critical time. If destiny was working in his favor, he would have a traveling companion.

To Marco, he said, “I see you are reading about your namesake.”

***

Marco jumped a little, startled by Cicero’s sudden appearance.

“Yes,” he replied.“I… I mean Marco Polo… was being introduced to the Mongol emperor.”

“You enjoy a good adventure,” said Cicero, in a way that could have been either a statement or a question.

“Yes,” Marco answered, flustered by Cicero’s gaze. He had questions. Like how did the adventurer get two names? And what did it mean that he and Polo shared the name of this famous explorer?

But he didn’t ask. The look in Cicero’s eyes stopped him.

“You are free to continue reading about the adventures of others,” said Cicero. “Remain among these common books.” He spoke in such an odd way, as though he were giving and taking something at the same time.

Marco held his breath.

“But I must counsel you,” continued Cicero. “There are worlds far beyond your ordinary imagination, far beyond what you find here.” With that, Cicero turned and headed for the stairs. He paused but did not bother to glance back. “Tonight, you must make a choice. Stay with your safe adventure stories,” he said as he climbed the stairs. “Others’ adventures, I should say…”

Marco felt light headed, then remembered to breathe.

“…or follow me, young Marco Polo, on a true adventure.” Cicero continued up the staircase, in no way resembling heroes Marco met in books. But even when he could no longer be seen, Cicero left a trail of powerful energy in the room.

He tried to shake off the spell, and when he finally did, he was a little offended by Cicero’s remark. Safe? Who does he think he is? And just what is wrong with my imagination?

Marco was getting a little indignant. I travel throughout the human world in their books. Sometimes I even forget I am a cat. What’s safe about my adventures?

He scrunched over his book, but he’d lost his place and couldn’t remember what had been happening anyway. His thoughts were muddled and the air was filled with an electric charge. Even though he tried ignoring it, curiosity grabbed hold of him. Cicero was bigger than he looked, thought Marco, and then wondered what in the worldthat meant.

When Marco entered Cicero’s chambers, the old cat was curled up, sleeping on a long wooden table. His eyes were still closed when he said, “Come in. I’m just resting up for our journey.”

Chapter 9: The last peaceful moment

‘What journey?’ wondered Marco. He thought Cicero wanted to show him a book. What other kind of adventure would be in the library?

“Do you believe in destiny?”

Marco had no idea what destiny was, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He chanced an answer. “Sure.”

“Good. Because I think it is no mistake, your coming here. Especially tonight.” Cicero jumped down from the table and peered deep into Marco’s eyes. “By the way, how did you learn to read?”

Marco backed up from the intensity of Cicero’s gaze. “It… it was a girl. I don’t know if she was intending to. One night, the words started making sense on their own. But it was Lucy who read aloud to me at first.”

“Human transmission. Interesting. Reading is normally passed down from one of your elders.” Cicero paced the length of the table. From a high place, a warm glow appeared. Marco sat on the floor, feeling small and insignificant.

“I want to show you a book. A book that is both here and not here.”

The warm glow strayed from its position, causing Cicero’s shadow to shift and leap onto a wall of books. He looked larger than life in that dark, book-cluttered room.

“But I’m afraid I must delay your introduction to the Book, because there is a human I want you to meet first.”

Then, as if there was no question about it, Cicero said,“Come.”

Spellbound, Marco followed him down to the library’s main floor, up onto an antique hutch that held a display of classic children’s books. They were staring at their images in a mirror.

Marco thought this must be routine behavior for a library cat, but he found it disturbing to look at the‘ghost cat’ in the mirror. He squirmed.

“Be still,” Cicero instructed. “This will be a different kind of traveling. From here on out, be prepared for anything. Things are not always as they appear. This mirror, for instance.”

Cicero and his mirror twin nodded towards the floating light that had followed along and their images vanished. Then the mirror vanished, leaving a gaping black hole which Cicero walked through, as though it were something he did every night.

Marco sniffed the edges of where the mirror had been. He was cautious about going through doors, especially ones which magically appeared out of nowhere. He looked for evidence of the vanished mirror and found none. But Cicero had disappeared and his curiosity pushed him onwards. He gingerly stepped through the frame into the darkness.

Nothing was the same on the other side. He was in a narrow passageway with rock walls, like a cave. Cold stone steps led downwards into more darkness. He peered into the hollow blackness and fought a sense of panic. The opening he had passed through had closed. Marco was trapped.

Cicero called up from below, a bodiless voice in the void.“Don’t be afraid. Think of it as an adventure.”

Marco took the first step. This didn’t seem like adventures he read about in books. There was no enemy, nothing to fight against. No swords, no pirates. Only the soft bouncing light and his jagged shadow on the rock wall accompanied his descent.

When he reached a platform, the walls on one side dropped away. They were in a deep cavern, even darker and more boundless than the stairways.

But Cicero wasn’t looking out through the railing into the cavern. Marco turned to face the rock wall and found there was a door, just a regular door. For some reason, this small bit of familiarity comforted Marco.

The door creaked open. The floating light led the way, and this time Marco did not hesitate to follow.

The room was nothing more than a small cave. Marco explored its nooks and crannies while Cicero waited, but the room was occupied only by a single wooden table. Why did Cicero bring him to such a strange place? He jumped up to join Cicero on the table and saw what he couldn’t see from the floor.

“You must not tell anyone about this,” Cicero said.

What was there to tell? There was a box. Sitting on a table. It smelled nice but that was about it.

“Don’t think that this is an ordinary box,” Cicero said. “Why do you think it is hidden in such a place?” he asked, then answered his own question. “Only something of value needs this kind of protection.”

Marco wondered what was in the box, but he didn’t ask. Cicero seemed to be asking all the questions. “Do you know what a sentinel is?”

“Um…” Marco started, but had no answer.

“A sentinel is like… a soldier.” Cicero paused, then smiled slightly and nodded. “A quiet soldier. Yes, I like that description,” he said, obviously pleased with himself.

“Cats are sentinels…” he continued. “Foolish humans, the ones who don’t understand us, think we do nothing but sleep. What they do not know…” his voice trailed off. “They are a full time job, this responsibility of human caretaking.”

Marco didn’t know it, but this wouldn’t be the last time Cicero would ramble on about his theory of humans and other favorite topics.

“They are well disposed—humans who take us for a friend. We are ever alert, even when we appear to be napping. We do not sleep in the manner of dogs. Our ears are attuned to frequencies beyond this world.”

Marco wished Cicero would explain why they were so far underground, but Cicero wasn’t through explaining other things.

“It was natural that we were chosen to be sentinels, or guardians of the books, as well. Not only ordinary books, but now… Now, I must show you the real reason why I am the library cat.”

Cicero lowered his voice, even though no one was around.“I must take you on a journey. To another place. Another time. There you will meet the original Guardians.”

Cicero brought his attention full onto Marco.“Are you ready?”

“Sure,” agreed Marco. Cicero was eccentric, but he wasn’t dangerous, like the alley cats, and Marco was curious to see where Cicero would take him.

“All right then. Close your eyes,” Cicero directed. “And whatever you do, don’t open them until we get there.”

They were sitting on the table, like bookends, their noses close enough that Marco felt warm puffs of Cicero’s breath. A soft humming stirred the air. He had to peek.

“Keep them closed!” ordered Cicero.

Marco slammed his eyes shut and tried to copy Cicero. He didn’t know what to think about, so he pictured Lucy. Something fluttered above his head and the soft humming grew distant. Something was quivering, but it was hard to tell if it came from outside or inside of him.

“Alaniah, I believe we are ready,” Cicero called out to the darkness.

Marco felt a tingling, then an odd sense of floating, as though he’d left his body. It was an unusual, but not unpleasant feeling. He wondered if they were on a boat, rocking on ocean waves. The rising and falling made him drowsy. It was the last peaceful moment of their trip.

Chapter 10: Falling through time

Without warning, a tremendous force grabbed hold and sucked Marco downward. He did not know he was in a vortex. All he knew was pain, like something was exploding inside his head. He opened his eyes to try to get his bearings, but that only made things worse. Light was rushing past him on all sides. Not just everyday light, but weird, all stretched-out-of-shape light, whizzing past like he was sitting in one place and the entire universe was in motion. His stomach lurched and he came close to throwing up.

Stop! He wanted to scream, but nothing came out of his twisted mouth. On and on he spun, falling and spinning faster than the speed of light. Then abruptly, as though he’d been propelled into a dark void, the noise stopped and he was floating. He saw nothing. He heard nothing, not even faintly, and he could not feel his body anymore.

I must be dead now, he thought with a strange calmness. In fact, he was deliriously happy. Even though he couldn’t move, it didn’t seem to matter.

Then life returned to his body. But life meant feelings. At first, there were just prickly sensations, but that quickly passed. His legs were trembling. Then his whole body shook and the shaking became tremors and soon his entire body convulsed out of control. The last thing he remembered was wishing he were dead.

Chapter 11: The sound of the scribes

The gurgling, watery sounds were pleasant enough, but Marco was reluctant to open his eyes again. However, he couldn’t resist a quick peek. There was a winged horse, frozen, but looking as though it were about to take flight. Marco supposed it wouldn’t hurt to open his other eye. He was sitting on a stone wall surrounding a large pool of water. The winged horse was in the middle of the pool, and all around him sprays of sparkling water rose and fell. The sun shone as if it were a normal spring day.

Cicero sat on the wall next to him, licking his fur.

“Are we dead?” asked Marco.

“The first trip is the hardest. I told you not to open your eyes, but it’s hard not to. Don’t worry. It gets easier.” Cicero was washing his tail. “It always takes me a while to recover.”

The first trip? What was he talking about? And how could Cicero be so casual? Marco had enough. It was time for answers.“What did you do to me?” he demanded. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

Cicero continued grooming, and Marco thought he was avoiding the question because it might be true. What had he gotten himself into?

Cicero completed putting his fur in order and then they were both gazing at the winged horse who was reared back, his front legs pawing at the air.“Time traveling is always risky, and this trip is especially difficult,” he began. “We had to come a long way to get back to the fourth century. Over sixteen centuries.”

Marco had no clue what he was talking about.

“It’s a bit challenging for your first trip, but it couldn’t be helped. Then, of course, we had to move through space as well. When you add both aspects together like that… Well, you see, if we were simply traveling into another dimension, we could have used a portal. Those are easy, but one never knows where they’ll end up. Portals are no good when you have to pinpoint an event.”

Marco wondered how he was going to find his way home. He got up on all fours and almost fell into the pool.

“Give yourself time to adjust,” said Cicero. “You’ll be fine.”

Marco sat back down. He surrendered for the moment and took to licking the fountain’s mist from his fur while Cicero droned on in the background.

“There’s no way to explain time travel. Even if you’ve read about folding space, wormholes, black and white holes, you’d have no better idea of what to expect. I’ve been studying for years and I still don’t understand how it all works.”

Marco thought a wormhole should be for worms, not cats. As for traveling, until now his longest journey had been to the town library. When he looked at Cicero, there was two of him. Clearly, things were not becoming clearer.

“You mean to tell me you don’t understand how we got here?” asked Marco.

“I’m beginning to. But I wouldn’t travel without a guide. We’d probably end up getting sucked into a black hole or stuck forever in some time warp, never to return.”

This was hardly reassuring.“Then how did we get here?”

“I’m terribly sorry. You haven’t met our guide yet, have you? Alaniah. She seems to have fluttered off somewhere. Visiting friends, most likely.”

Marco looked around, beyond the fountain and his puzzling companion. There were flower gardens and more fountains. There were orange and lemon trees with benches under them. There were plenty of humans, all in strange dress. Most were reading. Maybe not so bad, he thought.“What is this place?”

“Ah, a question with an easy answer. Welcome to the Library of Alexandria.”

“A library? It looks more like a park.”

“Your vision is limited, Marco. Look further,” said Cicero.

Marco stretched his neck. Buildings surrounded the gardens, enormous structures even from a distance.

“Which one is the library?” he asked, dazzled by the immensity.

“All of them. Every one is filled with books and scrolls, paintings and art.”

“All of them?” he asked, wishing he didn’t sound so daft.

“Come on, let’s try out our legs.” Cicero jumped down from the ledge and Marco followed, wobbly as a newborn kitten.

“Better to walk it off,” Cicero said as he set off on the wide pathway.

They meandered through gardens, people watching. Some sat on benches, others sprawled on the grass. Some were reading and others sat at tables littered with books and tea cups, men animated by lively discussions.

Cicero explained as they walked.“This library was designed to be the greatest center of learning ever built, to be more than simply a building that stores books, but a place where humans would discuss the ideas in them. What a grand idea come to life!”

They passed a small gathering of people debating whether the earth was flat.

“They say there are over a half million books in dozens of languages here,” Cicero continued.

Out of every people-cluster Marco passed, he heard snippets of spirited conversation about heaven and earth and various names—Copernicus, Hypatia, Ptolemy and Plato.

There were cats too. They sat on laps or under benches, but none of them paid any attention to them. After this leisurely stroll, Marco’s legs felt sturdier and they had reached one of the buildings he’d seen from a distance. The massive stairway was as wide as the building. The doors were almost as tall and Marco craned his neck to see the writing above one of them. He had only read, “The place of the cure of the soul… ” when the doors swung open and a group of young men burst through, their arms full of scrolls.

“Now’s our chance! Hurry!” commanded Cicero. He swiftly scooted between a tangle of legs and disappeared into the building. Marco was too busy gawking, and the doors closed with a thud. Alone on the covered portico, he wandered the wide, now empty space, feeling insignificant in the presence of such immensity.

After what seemed like forever, the door opened narrowly and a young boy squeezed through. Marco took his chance and darted into the slit, his tail caught by the closing door. He yelped as he shot into the building and almost missed Cicero, who was resting under a bench.

Marco washed his bruised tail, which did not hurt as much as his injured pride.

“Keep up with me,” Cicero ordered. “If you dawdle or wander off, we may never find each other in this place.”

Marco kept silent. Instead he considered the library building as he trotted along behind Cicero. Light streaming in from lofty windows on the pale blue walls gave the impression they were still outside. Clay pots and baskets invited him to investigate. Giant marble columns drew his attention upwards to a ceiling dotted with domes and skylights. A pool of clear running water called him to drink, but he didn’t dare stop. Cicero was moving at a good clip.

Passing through a towering arched doorway, they entered a room full of long high tables where young men stood, busily engaged in something Marco could not see. They were not discussing the stars or navigational charts, but their intense, focused energy saturated the room.

“What is that strange sound?” he asked Cicero.

“Books were hand printed in the fourth century,” Cicero said. “That is the sound of many reed pens put to papyrus—the sound of the scribes.”

Young boys carried bundles of rolled papers in and out of wide interior doors. Their conversation, muted and sparse, drifted upwards. Marco yawned and thought fondly of a nap.

Suddenly a group of men burst through the doors and several young boys rushed over to receive armfuls of rolled papyrus. With practiced efficiency, the young attendants distributed them to the scribes.

Marco and Cicero had sought refuge from the hustle and bustle, observing the surge of activity from under a bench.

“A boat has come into port!” Cicero declared. “I love the harbor. We must go down there sometime. They are always plenty of fish heads for the taking.”

The mention of food made Marco hungry, but he asked,“What do boats and fish heads have to do with the library?”

“Boats bring books! Merchants brought their books and scrolls with them on their long journeys. Even the new Roman codices found their way here. Alexandrians valued them even more than merchants’ goods, because all scrolls and books were taken before their owners were even allowed to disembark.”

As if illustrating his story, hundreds of papyrus scrolls were being rolled out in the hall.

“You see, the scribes waste no time,” Cicero said. “When they are finished copying, runners return them to their owners still on the ships. I’ve heard rumors, though, that the original books often stay here, and their owners only got back a good copy.”

Cicero scooted out from under the chair.“Come. Now I want to show you something really interesting.”

Marco was perfectly content to stay under the chair. Why leave this beautiful dreamlike palace full of books? He began purring himself into a nap and allowed his eyes to close.

“Suit yourself,” said Cicero.

Even with his eyes closed, Marco felt Cicero’s absence. He opened one eye in time to see him heading towards one of the doors.

For a brief moment, he thought of the advantages of being on his own. Without this mysterious companion who seemed bent on leading him into stranger and stranger territories, he would be free to plant himself right here. As appealing as the idea was, something made him get up anyway.

Curiosity and Cicero’s magic. They drew him like a magnet.

Maybe I’ll just see where he’s going. It can’t be any stranger than time traveling.

Chapter 12: Strange passage

Marco had to scurry. He almost lost him when the old cat disappeared in a tangle of legs. Marco maneuvered his way through the crowd, barely catching sight of the tip of his tail, when Cicero made yet another swift turn. Marco broke into a run, dodging library patrons and scribes.

Cicero was disappearing down a long gloomy hallway. No more spacious, sky lit rooms, or the hustle and bustle of activity. Another turn and Marco was following Cicero down a dim stairway, one that seemed to be plunging them deeper and deeper under the great main hall. With each step, the passageway grew darker. With each turn of direction, Marco felt doubt and anxiety turning his stomach.

Why was Cicero always taking him down dark stairways? Once again, he bemoaned his decision to follow this cat. He swore that, if he ever escaped, he would go home and take his adventures from books—and only from books.

Grumbling to himself, he ran headlong into Cicero. The absolute darkness of the place made it impossible to see, even with his exceptional sight. Cicero sat immobile, like a statue, but unlike a statue, warmth radiated from him.

Marco took comfort in this, in spite of everything. What on earth was Cicero waiting for? And why did they need to come to this black hole of a place when there was a perfectly lovely library upstairs?

The dense silence was suffocating. A stab of fear gripped him, and he would have bolted if only he could see where he was going. He hated total darkness. The way it closed in on him… the way it grabbed him. His throat tightened.

A sound broke his morbidity; a sound so bizarre it would have frightened him except it was so fantastic.

It was the sound of laughter.

Wisps of flickering light bounced wildly around the hard stone walls, growing brighter, but not in a gradual way. Light and laughter moved down the stairs in bits and bursts. Things could not get any stranger, thought Marco.

“It took you long enough to get here,” Cicero said to the still-invisible being.

“I found some old friends.” The voice reverberated out of the darkness. “It’s been centuries-uries,” she said in an echo-y voice.

“We have no time for visiting, Alaniah. Not this trip.”

“Patience, my dear Cicero-ero-oh… We have come such a long way-ay-ay… You can wait a moment longer.”

The creature emerged from the darkness and fluttered into the stairwell. Marco was certain he’d seen everything by now, but hovering above him was a shimmering creature with iridescent wings. Its voice sounded like nothing he’d ever heard, sort of singing or laughing. No, maybe it was like bells. Not the big ones, but the small silvery ones.

“I think he sees me now-ow,” she lilted.

“A good sign,” said Cicero. “Marco, this is Alaniah, our tour guide.”

Alaniah flew around his head, inspecting him. “He’s very young,” she said to Cicero as though Marco couldn’t hear.

“Yes, but I believe he’s the one,” answered Cicero.

“The last one, you believed in him as well-ell,” she said.

Distracted by her beauty, Marco paid little attention to their words.

“Yes,” Cicero continued. “And I wasted too much time on him. Time is not something I can squander now.”

“A bit grumpy aren’t we, Cicero-ero?”

“Dear Alaniah, you know I am getting on in years. Even with your gifts to me, you must remember I am a mortal creature.”

Alaniah responded with a haunted sigh.

“Oh, Alaniah,” breathed Cicero. “I wish not to be the cause of your sadness. Your light expanded my life, and when I have ‘shuffled off this mortal coil,’ as Shakespeare said, I will have no regrets.”

“I do not know the meaning of regret. Explain, please.”

“How can I tell you about something only mortals suffer?”

“This one. You feel he is trustworthy-orthy?”

By now Marco realized something was up, and that something was about him.

“We will discover the truth soon,” said Cicero. “Now Alaniah, please let us in.”

“By all means, as you are fond of saying-ing.” Then Alaniah folded up within herself, not unlike a morning glory folding up for the evening, but a soft glow still shone through her translucent wrapping.

Then Alaniah burst open, transforming the dark dungeon into something almost festive, showering them with light glitter like it was the Fourth of July.

“A bit extravagant,” teased Cicero. “Showing off for your admirer?”

“Just being practical, Cicero. Now we can all see.”

It was true. Alaniah hovered in front of an elaborately carved doorway. The doorknocker, a heavy bronze ring, creaked and rose on its hinge as though an invisible hand lifted it. Then the ring fell.

The tiny space reverberated with an earsplitting, echoing sound like the peal of a church bell from inside the tower. The door shattered and fell at the same moment, sheets of small particles cascading into a heap on the floor.

When the dust settled, his ears were still ringing, but Marco could not believe what was on the other side of the door. Now he must surely be dreaming.

Chapter 13:“More things in heaven and earth… “

On the other side of the door was a massive room, although‘room’ was too small of a word to describe the space. As large as one of the enormous halls above ground, it was certainly not what Marco expected to find at the bottom of some dark, dank stairs. Illuminated by orbs of moving light, which Marco discovered were hundreds of creatures like Alaniah, it was hard to tell where the walls or ceiling began or ended.

Cicero breathed a deep sigh of contentment and stepped over the pile of debris that had been the door. Alaniah fluttered through, and Marco barely made it before the door began magically reassembling itself.

They descended marble stairs into a vast cavernous hall.

“Welcome! Welcome!” Approaching them eagerly was a young olive-skinned man in a green tunic, accompanied by a gray cat.“Welcome Cicero, Alaniah!” He reached down and petted Cicero lovingly. “It is always too long between visits, isn’t it? I trust your journey was pleasant enough, yes?”

“It went well, yes,” Cicero said.

“And who do we have here?” asked the young man, smiling down at Marco.

“Introductions, Cicero.” Alaniah bubbled rather than spoke. Marco loved listening to the fairy-like creature, who seemed to take nothing seriously.

“Of course,” said Cicero. He scratched his head, and Marco recognized his action as cover for his embarrassment, but Cicero quickly returned to full posture and spoke clearly.“I’d like to present to you the Keeper of The Book of Motion, a noble Librarian, Guardian of the Guardians, Keeper of the Sword of Knowledge—”

“Greetings, Marco,” the man, interrupted, holding his hand up to stop Cicero. “Cicero gets a little carried away sometimes. My name is Akeel.” He reached down and scratched Marco’s head and neck. “Welcome to our Library.”

“You have a new addition, Akeel,” said Cicero, nodding at a spiral stairway. The stairs were transparent and reflected the colors of the room. They were also not attached to each other—or anything else, for that matter.

“This is our latest addition. I am most excited about it. Come. I will show you,” Akeel said, walking towards the far corner where the stairs began. “They were designed by one of our brightest new mathematicians. It is based on the Golden Spiral, and the invisible support structure is established on principles that would take months to explain. We have been studying Sacred Geometry, and this project was the result of our studies.”

The crystal blocks formed a wide, sweeping curve from the floor. As they rose higher, they turned inwards on themselves in a small circle. Two people stood halfway up the ramp; one, a young boy and the other, an older bearded man. Marco reached out to touch the luminous step.

“They’re made of crystal,” Akeel said in a voice close to reverent. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Marco, who couldn’t contain his curiosity, began climbing the steps, but Akeel called him back.

Marco reluctantly obeyed, but he kept looking upwards to see where the stairs ended.

“You are observant Marco, but there’s a reason you cannot see where it goes,” Akeel said. “The Golden Spiral stairs have no end. They continue into infinity. When a climber reaches a certain point… well… they pass into another dimension, but that’s a trip for another time.”

Marco felt light headed just thinking about what Akeel said.

“Come. There are many things to see in the inner Library, and I would love to give you a tour.”

Akeel led them down a hallway of towering doorways and Marco imagined the closed doors hid wonderful secrets. Through one of the opened doors, Marco observed men and women moving in slow, dance-like motions. Through another, he saw bearded men on low cushions, reading or dozing. Several rooms were full of children busily engaged in reading or playing. Marco had to run to catch up with Akeel and Cicero.

Akeel talked as they walked.“Above ground are the treasures of the world, the great discoveries and inventions made by humans. They are looked after by, how do I say… by our more conventional Guardian Librarians.”

“Here below is the Library within the Library, which holds treasures from a higher realm. Books holding knowledge from beyond this world. The humans you see here are in training to be Guardians of these Sacred Texts.”

“They must go through rigorous training before they are accepted as defenders of these treasures,” Akeel said. “Hey, Chuluum, there you are.” Akeel reached down to pick up the gray cat Marco had seen when they first arrived.

Chuluum smugly examined Marco and Cicero from his elevated position in Akeel’s arms. He began to hiss, but Akeel was too quick.

“Be nice, Chuluum. They are my friends,” Akeel said, chuckling at his petulant cat.

Akeel motioned for Marco and Cicero to follow and led the way into a room full of books and dozing cats. But they passed through until they reached yet another door. Marco had never seen so many doors in one place.

“Do you think he’s ready?” Akeel asked Cicero.

“I suppose it’s time to find out,” Cicero answered.

Akeel dropped Chuluum out of his arms and opened the door to reveal what looked like a large closet. Alaniah entered first, casting light in the small space, empty except for a single table.

Akeel waited until they were all in and approached the table. Marco hadn’t noticed the wooden box until Akeel leaned over and blew on it. The box disappeared, dissolving into a cloud of fairy-like dust, which settled into piles. The disappearance of the magical box exposed a fairly ordinary book. Akeel blew more dust off as he picked it up.

Cicero was on the table, nuzzling and purring against Akeel’s arm.

“This is the reason we came,” Cicero said. “You needed to see the book in its original time and place.”

Skeptical but curious, Marco jumped up to join the others. There was nothing special about the book that he could see, but Alaniah was creating a distraction by flitting back and forth like a hummingbird.

“Alaniah, please hold still,” Akeel requested.

They waited until she calmed down, hovering above them in more or less the same spot.

“The Book of Motion!” Cicero announced to Marco in a grand manner, as if he were announcing the arrival of a noble prince.

Marco was perplexed. He knew he was supposed to be impressed, but it was a long way to come for a book. What was the big deal about motion? Waking from a nap and walking to the food bowl or stalking a mouse. That was motion.

Then Marco wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. The book seemed to quiver and sort of exhale like some kind of living, breathing thing.

Okay, maybe not such an ordinary book, Marco thought.

Cicero tried to explain. “Motion can be as simple as getting from point A to point B, but it can have far deeper implications. The modest title is a bit misleading, but I think it’s to protect the importance of what’s inside.”

“You are right, Cicero,” said Akeel. “We are talking about motion on an entirely different level—the subatomic scale, which no one can see, even with special instruments…”

“Speak for yourselves, poor earthlings,” Alaniah interrupted.

Akeel glanced up and smiled, but didn’t miss a beat. “…where things move very fast. Did you know the velocity of electrons can reach up to two million meters per second?”

“Um…”

“Even faster,” Cicero added. “Some travel three hundred million meters per second… the speed of light.”

Marco cocked his head, trying hard to look like he understood.

“Of course, this will not become common knowledge until your time.”

“Of course,” replied Marco, feeling it to be a safe response.

“In your time,” continued Akeel, “scientists will begin to grasp some of the ideas in this book. That door will open for them, but unfortunately, some will lack good judgment in using it—being responsible with its power.”

Akeel paused, looking a bit distressed.“And they will have learned nothing without this insight. Even quantum physics, quarks and all, cannot explain the whole picture. Only this small book, The Book of Motion, holds the key to understanding the grand scheme of things.”

Marco sighed, suddenly overcome by a wave of homesickness, wherever home was.

“I’m sure you wonder why I have brought you here,” said Cicero. “And while you might not understand, you will have to trust me—trust us.”

If that was supposed to soothe him, it didn’t help, because Marco thought it highly unfair. A sudden itch begged to be scratched and he took his time in order to gather his senses.

Cicero and Akeel paid no attention, absorbed in their discussion. They seemed to be sharing threads of the conversation as though they possessed the same mind.

“Everything is in constant motion,” Cicero was saying. “Electrons whirl like dervishes around their nucleus, planets whirl around their sun and stars whirl within their galaxies. This book is simply the ultimate guidebook to understanding everything in its natural state of motion.”

Marco had no idea what an electron, a nucleus, or a dervish was, but he did know something about the stars.

Akeel set the book back on the table.“No one knows its true origin, but it appears to have come from some other world. The Book of Motion is the most amazing book in the library; unlike most scientific explanations of life, this one leaves room for God. No, that does not do it justice.” He tried again. “The Book of Motion is more like an affirmation, as though sent by a Higher Power to show us what is possible.”

Akeel rubbed his hands over his face.“I’m afraid I am not explaining this well and I know the Book better than anyone.”

“You are troubled Akeel, and not just about explanations.”

“Yes,” he replied as he began pacing the room. “It’s about the reports I’ve been getting. There have been burnings and lootings in distant village libraries. A new force seeking to gain power is creating disturbances, spreading rumors about us, about the Library. I fear that they would like nothing better than to see us buried for good.”

Akeel sighed.“The Guardians have already been driven underground in order to protect these treasured books.” He looked out through the open door towards the other rooms full of books. “But what will become of all those who openly thirst for knowledge, both worldly and divine? This small but ill-intentioned group sees everything as black and white and they are forcing their views on others. They even perceive God in this limited perspective, as if He were some trifling old man who exhausted himself creating the universe and has been taking a long nap ever since.”

Akeel was clearly agitated.“They spread black clouds over people’s minds so they can carry out their dishonorable deeds and seize power under the cover of darkness. Even worse, they believe they can blot out our memory of the mysterious, our divine origin! How is it possible that others believe these pitiful notions? Buttheir influence is growing, and I fear this grand idea which has become the Library of Alexandria has reached its zenith.”

A deep sigh escaped from Cicero and resonated like a wave through the room. Marco could not help joining the sigh. Cicero moved to Akeel’s side and nuzzled his head against him. This was a softer aspect of Cicero that Marco had not seen. At home, the old cat rarely interacted with the librarians, preferring to keep to himself and his books.

“Yes, I see why it needs to be guarded,” Marco said, thinking he was starting to understand and wanting very much to contribute to the conversation.

“But you don’t,” said Cicero, a little harshly. “Not yet, anyway.” The old cat jumped down and began pacing in step behind Akeel. “There is something worse that can happen to it…” Cicero glanced up at Akeel’s back. “The very people who want to suppress knowledge are the ones whoknow how powerful it is. They foolishly believe it is something they can own. Something they can hoard away like gold.”

Marco sighed quietly. He sat alone on the table watching man and cat pace in sync around the small room.

“I do not know yet whether they seek to destroy us or dominate us, but if they ever acquired The Book of Motion…” Akeel dropped his head into his hands.

“What?” Marco couldn’t help asking, even though he figured it was a dumb question.

“Marco, the most important thing you need to know is that The Book of Motion was a gift…” He paused. “Bestowed upon humankind for our understanding and benefit. But like anything, it can be used according to the intentions of its keeper. Take a carpenter’s ax for instance. It can be used to fell trees and create, to build dwellings for families. Or it can bludgeon the life out of someone.”

Alaniah darted about the small room.“Cicero! Akeel!” she sputtered, showering them with microscopic light crystals.

“Yes, Alaniah? What is the matter?”

“Get on with it!”

“What do you mean?” Both Akeel and Cicero looked perplexed.

“Too much talking-ing.”

Cicero and Akeel looked at each other, then at Marco. Brilliant minds suddenly clueless.

“Oh, mortal beings, you are so dense.” Alaniah whirled in front of them. “You must show him the Book! Isn’t that why you brought him here-re?”

“You are right, Alaniah,” said Akeel. “We have been caught up in our own thoughts. Poor Marco.” Marco welcomed Akeel’s quick caress and stretched out for more. Instead Akeel stepped over to the book, leaving Marco lying on his back.

He scrambled to get up as Akeel said,“You have traveled far, my young friend. I will make it worth your effort.”

Akeel collected himself by closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. He spoke in a language Marco didn’t understand, and with both hands, gently opened the book.

A magnitude of light came bursting from inside the book, like water liberated through the turn of a spigot. It filled the room, transforming the walls into a kaleidoscope of radiance. Constellations, algebraic formulas, and whirling dervishes swirled together. Marco grew dizzy watching the wall of revolving images, vaguely reminiscent of his time travel experience. Many of them were little more than a blur, except for a few strange ones—wild horses racing across desert sand and a young monk in a bare candlelit room, writing at a small desk.

How did all this come from inside the book?

Marco went over to look at the open pages of strange script. He thought he’d seen a lot of books, but never anything like this. The pages were made of some material that reminded him of the crystalline spiral staircase, only paper thin. It appeared to be alive.

Gradually the marvelous show subsided and the room returned to normal. But nothing was really what Marco would call normal anymore.

“I will now give you a simple demonstration of its power,” said Akeel, pulling out a knife hidden in the folds of his tunic. In one smooth movement, he sliced his hand. Bright red blood seeped from the cut.

Chapter 14: The right frequency

Akeel held his right hand over the book as blood pooled in his other hand. Marco thought Cicero should be more worried, but he acted like he’d seen this before. Akeel moved his right hand in a circle above the wound. The blood and the cut both disappeared, as though it had never happened.

Marco was speechless.

Akeel smiled.“This was merely a parlor trick… to show you its healing power. But you asked why it needs guarding. That requires something a little more novel.” He assured Cicero, “We will keep it simple and not too showy.”

Akeel picked up Chuluum and placed him on the table. The cat tried to bolt, but Akeel was quick. With a few words and a wave of his arm, Akeel transformed Chuluum into a small squirming gray ball.

Marco could hardly believe his eyes. Chuluum was gone and a mouse had taken his place.

Alaniah flew in jittery circles above their heads. The mouse jumped out of Akeel’s grasp and Cicero pounced on him. The squirming cat-turned-mouse went limp and Marco feared he was dead.

“Here, let me have him,” Akeel said. “I don’t want him scratching you when I change him back.”

Akeel cupped the mouse in his hands and blew gently. Suddenly Chuluum became his old self and tumbled to the floor. His fur ruffled and his whiskers twitched with humiliation, but he puffed out his chest and glared at Marco like it was his fault. Then he high-tailed it out of the room.

“Poor Chuluum,” said Marco. Five minutes ago he thought the cat was arrogant and annoying. Now he was a little sorry for him. “Will he be alright?”

“He’s fine. He won’t come out of hiding for a while, but he’ll forgive me. He knows I mean him no harm. But you can see why the Book’s power is not to be played with. I needed a quick way to show you what some people call magic and others call God—and why they will go to extreme measures to try and possess it.”

Alaniah had calmed and was floating above. Strains of music drifted in from a distance, or maybe it was coming from her. Marco couldn’t tell.

“Few cats are able to hear the music,” Cicero said.

The sound grew more intense until it reverberated throughout his body. Like a magnanimous purr or the roaring of Niagara Falls. Or the singing of angels.

“How come I can hear it?” Marco asked Cicero.

“You have to be tuned to the right channel. Most cats don’t operate on that frequency.”

“It’s a good sign. You’ve done well picking this one,” Akeel told Cicero.

“I’m thinking he picked me.”

“Could be,” said Akeel. “More likely, it is the hand of destiny.”

Akeel went over and stroked Marco on his head.“We will put the book away for now. It’s time to tell you more of the story.”

Marco burrowed into Akeel’s hand and Akeel picked him up, embracing him as he closed the Book. He blew on the dust particles and they rematerialized to their former state as a box.

“Let us go elsewhere, where we can make ourselves comfortable.” Akeel led them out of the small chamber into a room plump with books. Delightfully disordered, shelves were bursting with books which overflowed onto low tables and sitting cushions.

People who were reading or talking paid them no mind as Akeel cleared a space on a low cushioned platform and settled cross-legged on the divan. Chuluum, still ruffled, glared at them from his hiding place between piles of books across the room.

When they were comfortable, Akeel turned to Marco.“You have a lot of questions, no?”

“No? Oh, but yes,” said Marco. “I don’t even know where to start, except I have one for Cicero. Why did you bring me here? I mean, why me?”

“That will become obvious,” Cicero answered. “But not yet. There is more to learn and…” Cicero’s eyes pierced his soul. “You must be found worthy.”

Marco shuddered and the conversation died. After a moment Akeel spoke.“You see all these men and women around you? They may look like casual readers enjoying a pleasant afternoon in this small library room. But do not let appearances deceive you. They are warriors of the highest order, Guardians of knowledge.”

They didn’t look like warriors to Marco. He’d read plenty of adventure books and none of the heroes sat around reading.

“They must pass many trials before they arrive here. Many do not make it for various reasons, but even if they pass all the others, the problem comes with the test of power.”

While Akeel explained, Cicero got up, stretched and began to pace.

Akeel talked as if remembering.“In the beginning, the taste of power is sweet, savored on the tongue, like fine wine. It whispers promises in your ear and pretends to be your friend. It is easy to become addicted to this feeling.

“If you do not resist the lure of power, you become hooked. Then you begin to gather small crimes, in layers, like thin cloth, one covering another. Insignificant things, they must seem at first. A little dishonesty. Perhaps the implication of an innocent person in some misdeed. Lies, pretense and betrayals wrap themselves like a cloak and the imposter becomes nothing more than an actor in his own play.”

His brow furrowed.“If it were only that uncomplicated. Everything we do affects the molecules around us. Just being here changes things in ways we cannot see.” Then he made a strange statement. “But when duplicity is disguised behind a mask of honor, the consequences ripple like waves throughout time.”

Cicero stopped pacing.“I have been trying to remember something I read, a quote by a famous man.”

Akeel’s strained face relaxed. “You are always full of good quotes, Cicero.”

“It was spoken by a man named Abraham Lincoln. He said, ‘Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.’ I always liked that one.”

“A wise observation,” said Akeel. “He must have been an honorable man. Maybe a Guardian as well.” He paused, reflecting further. “A man with power will show his true character. Eventually. But many spend all their time making themselves more clever, concealing their intentions.

“I have met with this kind of deception, Akeel,” Cicero said sadly. “I fear that I have not been a wisest of Guardians.”

“Do not blame yourself, Cicero. We have all had encounters with betrayal and treachery.”

Marco had a question forming in him that seemed to have nothing to do with Akeel’s speech. Nothing and yet, everything. Only a short time ago, he longed to regain his former life. Now he felt an even stronger attraction to being here, to the Library and Akeel. In fact, he never wanted to leave. “Would it be possible for me… to stay?” Marco blurted out.

“Dear Marco,” said Cicero in a rare moment of grandfatherly affection. “Be careful what you ask for.” Cicero then climbed into Akeel’s lap. “But I know exactly how you feel. I would stay forever too, if it were my choice.”

Akeel looked at him curiously.“Hey Cicero, I have never known you to be so affectionate.” He stroked Cicero’s head, and they sat together for a moment.

Suddenly Chuluum darted out, aiming straight for Akeel. Cicero sorrowfully, but graciously surrendered his spot to its rightful owner. Marco had a newfound respect for both cats.

“Cicero?” Marco asked, realizing that the humans in the room had never given them a glance. “I think that nobody else knows we are here. Only Akeel and Chuluum.”

Cicero answered with nothing more than a cryptic smile. At that moment, Alaniah flew over to join them.

“Enjoying your visit, Alaniah?” Cicero asked.

She answered by flying in wide, ecstatic loops over their heads. Trails of colored crystalline sifted downwards and Alaniah disappeared amongst the others.

“What is she?” Marco asked, after licking the fine dust that glowed momentarily on his coat.

“Alaniah is a creature of stardust,” Akeel answered. “She’s a Losring.”

Marco tried spotting her in the swirling radiance high above them, then she was suddenly right in front of his face, like a glowing butterfly.

To Cicero she said,“Shouldn’t we show him coming events?”

Chapter 15: The spiral staircase

“I’m not ready,” Cicero answered heavily. “Because I know what’s coming,”

Alaniah hovered over her earthly charges.“He must see for himself,” she insisted gently.

Cicero sighed.“For that we need to take another trip.” He closed his eyes.

“Dear Cicero,” said Alaniah. “We will try a new means of travel, very easy. Follow me.” She raced off. Marco and Cicero both hung back, not ready to leave their friends. Akeel bid them farewell and Chuluum, who had recovered his dignity, came over and ‘nosed’ Marco goodbye.

Alaniah led the two cats into the grand hall, where they had first arrived. The room glittered and she glided among the others, as if they were all exotic sea creatures.

“Okay, Cicero,” she said, startling him as she landed on his head. “Are you ready?”

Cicero wiped his paw over his eyes, as if brushing off worrisome thoughts.“Show me this new method of traveling.”

“We will use the Golden Spiral.” They had arrived at the foot of the staircase and turned to look at the transparent floating steps winding from the floor in an enormous curve upwards to ever-narrowing circles.

“Most unusual, Alaniah,” Cicero said. “I have seen spiral staircases, but none like this. Why is it so oddly shaped?”

“Odd? I think it’s beautiful-iful.”

“I’m wondering why they are so wide at the bottom and so narrow at the top.”

“Oh earthling, this is a transition spiral, used for mortals. Mostly human, not cats. But then, you are not a normal cat, are you?” Alaniah whirled. “Are you trying to delay this journey, Cicero?”

“No. No. We’ll be on with it, but I am curious about the staircase.”

“Like Akeel explained, it is a means to let humans experience what they are too dense to see. It’s also a doorway from your limited earthly world to… well, to other worlds.”

With that, Alaniah twirled upwards, disappearing in what would normally be a ceiling, but nothing was quite what it appeared to be in this library. Then she spiraled downwards and came to face them, hovering in her rippling nature.

“Come, follow me.”

They followed Alaniah up the floating staircase, rising and turning with each step, making Marco light headed, especially when he made the mistake of looking down.

“Keep your head up, Marco,” counseled Alaniah. “Mortals who climb the Golden Spiral get… what do they call it? ‘Dizzy,’ I think. What a funny word.”

Marco grew dizzier as they approached ever-smaller circles of the higher spheres. Cicero kept close to his side and Marco wondered how he, who loved the highest branches of the trees, even when the wind swung him to and fro, could be having difficulty climbing these simple steps.

“This is as far as we can go. Even cats are not advanced enough to travel higher. Please sit and observe,” Alaniah commanded. She raised one graceful wing and pulled back something like a gauzy veil, which had been invisible until then. She held it open so they could enter.

Then Alaniah flew through, and the veil closed behind them.

Chapter 16: Paradise Lost

Alaniah took Marco and Cicero forward through time in their journey into the past. It was a unique placement, between past and future, but not in the present, and only beings like Alaniah could successfully navigate this realm.

“Now we will see what became of the great grand idea called the Library of Alexandria.”

They were in a vast arena covered by a dome the color of a pre-dawn sky. After a small flicker of light, the dome filled with images, all spinning around him, making him slightly dizzy. Gradually they slowed until the same room where they had left Akeel and Chuluum came into view, but Marco hardly recognized it. People who had been quietly reading were now sweeping books and scrolls off the shelves, stuffing them into bags.

The library, which had been a place of calm, was filled with chaos and confusion. Alexandria, where earth-shattering ideas were born out of the very atmosphere which people breathed, had been attacked. Even viewed through the filter of this cosmic display, Marco smelled panic and knew he was witnessing the birth of tragedy. Paradise had been invaded.

Akeel was there, in the middle, like a well-anchored tree in the midst of a storm. He urged them to take as many books as possible.

Marco flinched when the banging began, angry pounding from somewhere he couldn’t see. Akeel shouted, “The tunnel! Go! Now!” He was shepherding everyone towards the back. “Leave the rest!”

The men and women, toting leather bags heavy with books, stumbled over each other in the mad rush to escape the assault of invaders.

The main door, battered by brute force, splintered open. Shouts of the soldiers were harsh and quick, like knife jabs. There were perhaps a dozen of them, their faces hidden behind metal helmets with black holes in the headgear where their eyes should have been. Marco shivered at the sight of them.

Akeel, after ushering the last of the guardians out, grabbed his bag and Chuluum. But the helmeted men were at his back, and the foremost soldier drew his dagger. Akeel swung around, dropping the bag and cat in one smooth motion. He moved through the hooded men as though his body was his weapon, with fluid movements that resembled a dance more than a fight.

One after another his attackers fell. Metal clanged as soft-bodied men in their exoskeletons of armor collided with each other. Akeel had no armor that Marco could see, but his defense appeared effortless, as though he had some invisible shield around him.

When the turbulence died, Akeel opened the tunnel door to join the exodus of librarians. He did not see the lone black figure creep out from the shadows, dagger aimed at his back. Marco jumped up, certain that Akeel was about to be killed, and here he was, helpless to do anything. Again. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t keep from it either. The man’s blade plunged. Marco cringed.

In the microsecond before the knife pierced Akeel’s back, a shower of crystalline light exploded in the face of the assassin and his hand missed its mark. A cluster of Losrings had intervened. They aimed their blinding light on the killer, relentlessly driving him backwards until he turned and ran.

The screen went black, plunging them into darkness. Marco was practically beside himself, wondering what had happened, when the screen appeared again. Now Akeel and the others were crawling through a crude tunnel, heaving their bags in front of them, struggling on hands and knees with their cumbersome loads.

There was light at the end of the tunnel, but it did not come from the sun. Marco’s view of what awaited them outside was blocked by the scuffle of librarians pulling themselves and their bags out of the tunnel, silhouetted against a bright orange blaze behind them.

A clear view showed not one but many huge fires lighting up the Library’s concourse. A dozen or so bonfires burned in perfectly straight lines, as if they had been planted in an orchard. Black butterflies skipped through the air above the fires, people were celebrating, and Marco thought it was a frightening but glorious sight.

Akeel called to the others to follow him as he ran behind a small building and ordered everyone to stay. He moved towards the fires, keeping low to the ground. Marco had never seen a human look like he was stalking prey. Then the light from the flames revealed a look of horror on Akeel’s face.

Cicero would not speak, so Alaniah tried to explain. She told him that the soldiers had drained the water and filled the fountains to the brim with books, poured oil over them and lit them with torches.

Alaniah’s account of what was happening made him angry at her for suggesting such a dreadful idea.

“You’re lying!” he shouted at her. Alaniah’s crisp retort was in some language he didn’t understand. Marco sat for a moment, trying to absorb the impossible concept.

“But…” He hardly knew what to say. “Books? Why would they want to burn books?”

“I do not understand the ways of humans,” was her bleak response. After that, Marco sat in silence with Cicero hunched next to him. He had to remind himself that what was happening was real because it seemed more like a bad dream.

In a carnival-like atmosphere, women sat eating, while their children played at the perimeter of the fire’s light. Books and scrolls were piled in heaps like burial mounds around the fires. Men joked and laughed as they threw the books in.

Marco heard a man say,“Fire is such a beautiful thing.” It was at that moment he realized those weren’t black butterflies he’d seen—they were fragments of scorched paper.

“Brilliant, I’d say!” said another man.

“This’ll teach those big heads a thing or two.”

“Librarians,” said another, spitting on the ground.

“Intell-ect-u-als. Think they’re so smart. So high and mighty.”

The reflection of fire on the men’s creased faces made them even more hideous.

“Common thieves, that’s what they are. These books are all stolen you know!”

“Jail would be too good for these criminals!”

One man tilted his head back and took a swig from his flask, then poured the rest of its contents on the fire.“You need this more than me,” he said to the fire, which responded with a flourish of deep orange. There were shouts of approval.

A man pushed forward through the crowd.“Stop! This is crazy! Think of the children! How will they learn about history? About the heavens?”

Somebody grabbed the protestor and shoved him to the ground.“Who do you think we’re doing this for? This is about our children!”

The dissenter tried to get up, but another man pinned him to the ground with his boot.“These books are brainwashing our children.”

“Yeah,” agreed one of the arsonists. “Our kids think they’re smarter than us. My son, he’s twelve and he thinks he’s too smart to work in the fields. Too smart for his own good, I tell him. But I know how to knock sense into him.”

The dissenter moaned as one of the fire men, as Marco thought of them, kicked him in the groin.

“We knew it was time for action when we caught our kids sneaking off to the library. These new-fangled ideas are dangerous.”

Someone in the back of the crowd shouted,‘Save the children!’ and the others took it up like a battle cry. The ones closest to the fire, reinvigorated, lobbed armfuls of books on the blaze.

Chapter 17: Barbarians at the gate

Akeel crept backwards, making no sound even as he stumbled over Chuluum, who suddenly appeared at his side. He headed back to where he’d left the others, but they were gone.

Akeel heaved his bag over his shoulder, picked up Chuluum and turned from the burning landscape out towards the darkness, hiking through wild scrub and rocks under a moonless sky. He did not stop until he reached a massive stone wall far from the main city.

Akeel put the cat on the ground.“I can’t climb the wall with both you and the bag. You’re on your own.” He started climbing.

When Akeel reached the top of the wall, he stopped and turned. Chuluum was still on the ground, a silent meow pleading for help, but Akeel scolded him instead.

“Chuluum! This wall is no great challenge for you.” Akeel sighed. “Don’t you understand? I am sick at heart. Look behind you. Hundreds of years of collecting destroyed in one night.” Akeel dropped his head. “I didn’t think they would take it this far.”

Akeel lowered the heavy leather bag where it was within the cat’s reach, but Chuluum just sniffed at it.

“Chuluum! You are being one difficult cat. Come! We must go find the others.” This time Chuluum grabbed hold and Akeel lifted him to the top of the wall.

Hoisting the bag over his shoulder and tucking his cat inelegantly under one arm, Akeel leaped. He landed on both feet.

The boundary wall of the city, which afforded relative safety, was behind them. They were now in territory that belonged exclusively to thieves and barbarians. Chuluum immediately ran off into the darkness.

Akeel moved toward a shapeless form on the ground.

“Sirus!” He cried out, dropping down next to his friend, whose head was soaked in blood.

“You missed all the fun,” Sirus said hoarsely.

“Barbarians at the gates! Why didn’t I see this coming?” Akeel wiped some of the blood from around his friend’s eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Sirus said. “Who could imagine such brutality? We lived in a dream world, I think.”

“We have been awakened by mad men,” Akeel said. “They’ve stolen our life, our books… our dreams.”

“Not as long as you carry some of them with you.” Sirus closed his eyes and struggled to speak. “Don’t give up. Escape now.” His voice faded to a whisper. “I just don’t know how you’ll manage without me.”

Akeel shook his head.“Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.” He looked out at the desolate landscape that merged into nothingness, a black void.

Sirus stopped breathing. Akeel shook him.“Don’t, Sirus! We’re companions. We always travel together, don’t we?”

Sirus recovered a breath, but Akeel barely understood him now. He was only able to make out,“…a different kind of journey.”

“You traveled just last month. No more days off.” Akeel tried to laugh. He thought as long as they could share a joke, his best friend might recover and he would not lose him along with everything else.

Sirus was still struggling for each breath, but he seemed to revive enough to rekindle Akeel’s hopes. The dying man grabbed his hand with a surprisingly firm grip and said, “I think you’re going to actually miss me.”

Sirus reached inside his tunic and handed a book to Akeel.“Leave this graveyard or your fate will be the same as mine.”

Akeel squeezed Sirus’s hand and stared into his face, as though his will would keep him alive.

Sirus’s next breath never came.

A pale sky-blue mist seemed to radiate from his body. For a brief moment, it pulsed like a heartbeat, then dispersed and drifted upwards, merging with a milky white light.

The clipped sound of voices from a distance broke through the fleeting moment of grace. The barbarians were getting closer. He closed his companion’s vacant eyes. Sirus’ body, unoccupied by his spirit, appeared as spent as an extinguished campfire. He pressed Sirus’ book into his bag. There was no time for mourning, but Akeel couldn’t leave him lying out in the open. He began to drag his friend towards the dubious shelter of the fortress wall. On the way he stumbled over another body. Akeel released hold on his friend and stood straight to survey the dark terrain. Now he saw that what had looked like scrub brush under the moonless sky was actually dead bodies.

Enemy voices punctuating the darkness reminded him of his fate if he lingered. He would be forced to leave his friends without a traditional burial or even the simplest tribute.

A waning gibbous moon was rising, making the landscape more surreal, like the empty space between his past and future.

He had to move quickly, he knew, but his feet seemed rooted to the ground. He was now a fugitive in no-man’s land, severed from home and friends. Even his cat was gone.

As if on cue, a line of silhouettes emerged from behind a desert scrub—shapes that moved like cats. They wandered through the landscape of corpses, touching each with a gentle nudge. They grew closer, and it became clear that Chuluum was leading the other cats on their sorrowful homage, giving the fallen librarians the honor they deserved.

A flame sprouted up not five hundred feet away. Triumphant voices congratulated themselves. Akeel did not have the luxury of time or sorrow. The best tribute he could pay would be to save the book each of his companions had hidden under his tunic.

With the troupe of cats following him, Akeel trekked across the barren land until they reached the river. He viewed the wide expanse of water and tightened the closures on his bag.

Then he stepped into the cold current and spoke to the cats.“If you want to survive, you’ll have to get wet now.”

Reluctantly the cats climbed onto the bag. Chuluum clung to his shoulder and the whole crew slipped quietly into the freezing water.

Chapter 18: Forever changed

Marco remembered to keep his eyes closed on the trip back, but he was forever a changed cat.

They returned to the small cave-like room under the Angel Springs Library, facing each other as though they had never left.

Cicero opened his eyes.“It’s good to be home again! That was a bit easier, wasn’t it?”

“Some,” said Marco, grumpy. The transition back to present time had been easier, but other things bothered him.

“Yes,” said Cicero. “I always found traveling forward through time rather pleasant.”

Marco only half listened as Cicero and Alaniah discussed the finer elements of time travel—surfing on light waves, the directional flow of energy, portals and wormholes. He was angry at the nonchalant way they were behaving. Marco’s safe world of off-the-shelf adventure books was over.

“How can you act as if nothing happened?” he demanded. Still caught between worlds, Marco asked, “Where’s Akeel? Where’d he go?”

“Ah, that was many years past. Centuries ago. Although in reality, there is no time…” Cicero said, licking his paw, which always indicated he was about to plunge into one of his esoteric lectures.

“Tell me what happened to him,” Marco demanded, before Cicero could start his monologue.

“Oh, he made it out. Not without plenty of difficulty, but he made it.

“And the cats?”

“Yes, the cats as well.”

“And the library? And the books? All those books…” Marco trailed off. He was afraid he already knew the answer.

“Very few of the books were rescued. We don’t know how many exactly, but Akeel saved The Book of Motion and the other sacred texts his companions had hidden inside their tunics.”

“They burned,” he gulped, “… all the rest?”

Cicero’s silence was enough.

“But who would want to destroy a lot of harmless books?”

“Ahhh, now it is time to explore the deeper meaning of things,” said Cicero.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Why do you think books are harmless?” challenged Cicero. “Books are not harmless! Books are full of ideas! And ideas are powerful things.”

Marco sat up straighter, straining to follow Cicero’s explanation. “Watch people when they come in the library. They read and think. They leave and they do things with the ideas they’ve read about. You see, a human’s world is very different than ours, Marco. They are complicated.” He paused. “And so mysterious.”

“Yes,” said Marco. That was one thing they could agree on.

“I have seen the look in their eyes when their minds open, like they are being released from prison.”

Marco thought pleasantly of the new worlds he’d traveled through books.

“I am not talking about fiction here!” pronounced Cicero, as if he’d read his mind.

“Ideas begin their life as small seeds, so light they may drift through the air like dust motes. If a human is fortunate enough to catch one, when the light is right, it can be planted, just like a seed. With fertile soil, it may grow into a flower or tree, which will re-seed, thus producing a whole field or forest.”

Marco wasn’t sure what Cicero was talking about. How did an idea become a field of flowers? He was beginning to think humans were simpler than this strange old cat, and he’d never thought humans were simple before.

Cicero kept on.“Humans have invented wonderful things from the smallest germ of an idea. Like Gutenberg’s printing press. Without him, we would have no books. Then came the telescope. That’s when humans could see things cats have always been able to see—stars and the outer realms of space. And how about the light bulb?” Cicero interrupted himself. “Did you know people can’t see in the dark?”

“No,” answered Marco, surprised. He’d always thought lamps and such were decoration.

“Let’s take Isaac Newton. Sir Isaac, they called him. He was a most fantastic human. He thought about ideas all the time. He thought about motion and gravity and light and discovered more about them than anyone else in his time. And he generously shared his ideas with the world,” said Cicero.“But he also gave them a warning.”

“A warning?”

“More like advice to scientists. He cautioned them against using scientific laws to view the universe as a mere machine, as matter only.”

Did Cicero really think he understood all this? Cicero, who was forever pulling him off into strange new worlds. Marco sighed and turned his attention to Alaniah. She was sleeping on the top of the wooden chest, looking as though she were covered with a translucent cloak, her luminous colors pulsing inside like a beating heart. Marco always felt better just looking at her.

But this stuff Cicero was talking about—he was off in a world even more remote than Alaniah’s.

“Cicero, why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with the Library? I still don’t know why you took me there, and now you’re talking about ideas and seeds and warnings.” Marco began pacing.

Cicero stopped his own pacing and studied Marco.“Forgive me. It is a shortcoming of mine. I tend to get carried away by ideas myself. You see how a perfectly good idea can become unmanageable. Ideas are anything but harmless.”

“I never thought of an idea as being dangerous.”

“That’s because you are a pure soul. You intend no harm to anyone.” Cicero’s eyes followed Marco as he took to pacing.

“But how can an idea be dangerous?”

“It is the other side of the coin, so to speak.”

“Coin?” Marco asked, looking up at Cicero in wonderment. He wasn’t even quite sure what a coin was. He felt lost—in some ways more lost than when he was homeless or even time traveling.

“Forgive me, for I must spoil your innocence.” Cicero took a moment to wash his face. “Ideas are risky. Think of it!” He commanded. “How do you know where they will lead you?” Cicero looked pointedly at Marco, who could not turn away from his gaze.

“An idea by itself is impartial. Whoever nurtures an idea, however, becomes its caretaker. If it is a person of good will, the idea will flower into something beneficial, making life better, easier, happier for many others.

“But if there are ill intentions in the mind of its master, the idea will be contaminated by that. A dark creature with powerful knowledge keeps their ideas… almost as though they were a prized pet. They feed it rich food and watch it grow. Without taming… without considering its effect on the rest of the world, they allow it to grow into a monster.”

The steady light glowing within the sleeping Losring flickered, like interrupted current.

Cicero continued.“This wild beast of an idea gone bad waits, pacing like a caged animal, waiting for its time, then demanding to be unleashed.”

Cicero’s tail quivered and Alaniah leaped upwards like a startled butterfly, her light scattering around the cave-like walls of the room.

“Once freed, the wild beast joins forces with its caretaker, but now it has become the master. The person whose idea it was in the beginning is now under its spell and will become its slave.” Cicero stared hard at Marco, as though he were hiding one of these monsters somewhere. “It is a terrible thing to cross paths with a dark force let loose.”

Marco stopped breathing.

“Powerful ideas are best cared for by people not interested in using them for their own benefit. A rare combination.” Cicero walked in a wide circle around Marco, examining him. “True guardians are rare. Human or cat.”

“Is this what happened? I mean, at the library. Somebody got an idea that they should burn the library and all of the books?”

“Yes.”

“How did they come by that idea? Where did it come from?”

“To explain that, I will have to tell you the story of the Arsonists,” said Cicero.

Marco knew he was in for a long story, but he hoped he might finally get some of the answers he was looking for.

“The Arsonists were a small, but well-organized group who wanted power over the people of Alexandria,” Cicero explained. “One of their main tactics was trying to control what people read. But they were clever and did not make their plans obvious. Instead, they used propaganda to persuade people that books were dangerous. Ah, Marco,” Cicero said. “I am stiff from sitting. Besides, we could both use a bite to eat. I will finish the story on our way up.”

Marco’s tummy growled in response. They left the underground chamber and began to climb the rock stairway. Cicero continued, “Where was I? I just started to tell you about the Arsonists. Of course, they didn’t call themselves that. That’s my name for them. When they converted enough people to their way of thinking, they used them to do their dirty work. To their followers, they handed out titles and slogans and called them things like the ‘New Reformists’, anything to make them feel their actions were good and noble. Then it was easy convincing them a thorough cleansing was the only way to rid their land of dangerous books and their gate keepers, the librarians.”

Marco was listening, but he also noticed that the rock passageway appeared changed. Maybe it was him that changed. When he had descended these stairs way back—how long ago it seemed—he had been full of trepidation about passing through the portal.

“When the time was right, the New Reformists, who believed the idea was theirs all along, stormed the Library, taking it under siege. They bound and gagged the librarians, scribes and patrons and dragged them off to prisons… the ones they hadn’t already killed. They drained the fountains of water and filled them with books, fueled them with oil and their narrow-minded passions. The burning went on for days and weeks before all the books were consumed.

“As soon as Akeel realized what was happening, he knew the only chance to save the few books he had was to hide them. All the other Librarians had been killed, so he traveled until he found safe places, a different one for each book. But he could not stay and he would not leave them unguarded. So, everywhere he hid a book, he appointed one of the survivors.”

They had almost reached the top of the stairs.“Now where’s Alaniah? Why is she never around when I need her?”

Marco looked up in surprise.“I didn’t think anyone survived.”

Cicero looked at him.“How quickly you forget, youngling. Remember what you saw at the end.”

Marco shuddered, remembering the horrifying scene of the cats clinging to Akeel as he stepped into the icy water.

“Now you know the story of how cats became the Guardians of the Books.”

Marco thought had he lived in that time, Cicero would have been a Guardian Cat, not just an ordinary library cat. Marco blinked once, then again, as the truth dawned on him. Cicero was a Guardian.

“That’s what’s in the box downstairs!” he shouted.

Cicero kept climbing.

“It’s Akeel’s book, isn’t it?” Marco badgered him from behind.

No answer.

“Come on, Cicero. Take me back down there to see it.”

“Patience, Marco. My bones are weary and I need to rest. I must warn you, however. This has to remain secret. You can’t tell a soul.”

“The book can’t be in danger now. Not here.”

Cicero stopped and turned again.“The Professor is one who will never give up his quest for power. Hope that he never finds his way here.”

Professor? What Professor? It seemed like all of Cicero’s explanations only raised more questions.

Alaniah fluttered around their heads.“Silly cats. I am never far away.” She opened the portal and Marco breathed the welcoming smell of books as they stepped through the mirror into the library.

“I am going to go rest now, but I would like you to meet the others.”

“Others?”

“I haven’t told you about the other readers, have I?”

“Readers? You mean reader cats?”

“Midnight tomorrow, behind the Caf? Ole. Come to a meeting of the Dead Cats Society.”

Chapter 19: Dumpster Cats

It was the dead of night in the parking lot behind the Caf? Ole. The lot was empty. So empty, that for a while Marco wondered if he had the wrong place or the wrong time, but gradually a few strays straggled in.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” accused a wind-blown cat with bug eyes. Marco tried to hold his tongue.

“Speak up, stranger! Make yourself known,” the hostile cat retorted.

“Easy there,” said a sleek gray cat, just coming in.

“You causing trouble again, Skitzo?” asked a scraggly tom missing one eye.

“Everyone knows the rules. We have to be careful who we let in. And don’t call me Skitzo. It’s not my real name.”

“What is your real name, Skitzo?” asked the biggest cat Marco had ever seen.

Skitzo mumbled something no one could understand.

The big cat, a Maine Coon, turned to Marco.“Skitzo tells us his owner inserted a chip in his head.”

“Former owner, thank goodness. But it’s true! They’re using it to track me.”

“Why would they want to track you, Skitzo? You’re so mean.”

The aristocratic gray introduced himself to Marco more formally.“Excuse our bad manners. My name is Bait. It’s short for Baitengirth, but I rarely use my royal name.”

Marco had never met royalty and liked his polished manner. Better than the others, he thought.

“You got something to hide?” asked Skitzo, not wanting to drop his challenge. “Out with it.”

“Show some manners,” said Bait. “We should treat our guests more graciously. Now, how about a civilized introduction. You are…?”

“I’m Marco.”

“Marco,” muttered Skitzo. “Wasn’t he some kind of spy?”

“Boy, you should read more, Skitzo. Marco was a famous explorer, not a spy,” said the scruffy tomcat.

“Well, Marco, you know who Skitzo is,” continued Bait. ”This is Tweezer, that’s Pudge and over there is Gypsy with her kittens.”

A long-haired white Persian sauntered in.“Anyone seen my book? I stashed it here last meeting. Now I can’t find it anywhere.”

“You mean that stupid fashion magazine, Caffeina?” asked Tweezer. “That’s not a book!”

“Well, it’s a lot better than your biker magazines.” The white cat swished her tail in Tweezer’s face and strolled off.

This is not what Marco expected. Was this some kind of joke Cicero was playing on him?

For all their grumbling, the arguments didn’t get physical. They scattered out and a few of them disappeared into a large dumpster to search for food scraps from the restaurant.

Marco investigated the surroundings. Metal trashcans and empty food boxes lined the back of the brick restaurant. He sniffed lettuce, rotten bananas and dead potted plants. It seemed a waste of time, and he decided to leave.

“Seize the day!” cried a familiar voice.

Marco jumped, along with the others.

Cicero had arrived unnoticed and taken his place on the wooden crate he used as a podium.

“Greetings, fellow Readers,” he announced, unable to hide the fact that he was enjoying the small bit of drama caused by his arrival.

But the drama was short-lived. Now they just seemed bored, licking French fry grease off their paws.

Chapter 20: Stage fright

Cicero sighed. He was well aware his passion for sharing Guardian stories was met with mixed enthusiasm. While they found the idea exciting and a few even dreamed of someday becoming a Guardian, none of these cats had what it took. Still, it was part of his duty to maintain the tradition of the Dead Cats Society as—what was that strange term? Social outreach?

Cicero gave the cats time to finish their grooming. All were homeless, although they didn’t think of themselves as strays. They’d had humans somewhere in their past, for better or worse.

All were tough survivors, though. Tweezer was a drop-off at Mrs. Wilcox’s Cat Rescue Mission, and Gypsy had strong barn cat lineage. He knew Skitzo stayed on the move, lurking behind markets and caf?s, skittish of human contact, but Pudge was only too happy to have the caf? owner for a friend. Marco liked to sleep in tall trees or rooftops, when weather permitted.

Then there was Caffeina, of whom he felt some fatherly affection. She told the others she lived at the Fairmont Hotel, and he never let on that it was a janitorial closet at the Sleep N’Go Motel.

He spotted Bait making small talk with Marco. He knew the most about him; a pedigreed Russian Blue, born at a breeding cattery and adopted by a woman who supplied him with pricy collars, toys and food.

Bait was proud of the awards he won at cat shows and how well he’d learned to read in the long hours he spent alone at home. He favored psychology journals. A strange choice, thought Cicero, but then Bait was a strange cat.

Bait told him he grew bored with the cat shows, and shortly after, a white Persian kitten appeared in his house. They despised each other from the start. When Bait drew blood on the kitten’s face, the woman threw him outside, and that was that.

The important thing was that somewhere along the way, this little group had all acquired the ability to read. It was rapidly becoming a lost art, and so, even if they didn’t read the best stuff, they came faithfully to meetings.

Gypsy kept him supplied with kittens to tutor, and they were his hope for the future. Reader cats were necessary to maintain the tradition of passing on the Guardian Cat stories.

It was the next Guardian Cat he was worried about. He must be sure this time.

“What’s your story about tonight, Cicero?” asked Lily.

Lily and Sophie, two of Gypsies kittens, were always eager for his stories.

Tonight I will tell you the story of a Guardian Cat named Gadiel. He lived long ago in the frozen steppes of the Ural Mountains. That’s in western Russia.”

“Hey, Cicero,” interrupted Skitzo. “What are you gonna do about this stray? I thought we had rules.”

“Yeah, like you live by the rules, Skitzo,” countered Caffeina.

“Yeah, like you’re not a stray,” said Tweezer, the tomcat.

Skitzo ignored them and pushed his point with Cicero.“The one who calls himself Marco. What happened to security around here? Shouldn’t he at least swear by the Code?”

“We’ll get around to that in good time,” replied Cicero patiently.

“Like…?” pushed Skitzo.

Cicero tolerated Skitzo’s rudeness. He didn’t expect much in the way of manners from the strays, but he did enjoy teasing them.

“Okay, Skitzo. Maybe you’re right,” he said.

Skitzo looked smugly at the others.

“In fact, now is the perfect time. Why don’t you recite it for us?”

Skitzo looked like a deer caught in a car’s headlights.

“Way to go, Skitzo! You stepped in that one,” yelled Tweezer.

“I can recite it,” offered Lily. “I’ve been memorizing it this week. Mum’s teaching me.”

“Okay, Lily. Let’s hear it.”

Skitzo, under his breath, mumbled,“Bootlicker.”

“Psycho,” Lily snapped back and scampered up to the front. In her small, confident voice, she began. “I will now recite the Code of the Dead Cats Society… a society created by our beloved Guardian Cats to help promote the cause of reading and other higher pursuits.”

She took a deep breath.“I swear that I will put the welfare of others before my own…” She trailed off and looked to Cicero for help.

“Interests,” he coached.

“Oh, yeah. I swear that I will endeavor to uphold honor in the face of cor-por-a-tions…”

“Corruption,” corrected Cicero, smiling.

“Co-rup-shun. Okay. Uh, where was I? I will seek to be courageous in the face of danger. I will seek to live at peace with others, but never, uh…”

“Hesitate.”

“Yes, never hesitate to defend the weak and helpless against the forces of evil and injustice.” In her softest voice, she said, “I will aim to be gentle spoken and not boastful of my good deeds.” Then she lifted her head and pushed out her chest, raising the pitch of her voice again. “AndI will remain true to my word and loyal to the ideals and principles of the Dead Cats Society.”

“Well done, Lily! Thank you,” said Cicero. He turned to Marco. “Lily’s mum can help you learn the Code. I’m sure you will have it memorized in no time. Now, we usually have a Reader share something before I begin my story. Skitzo keeps us posted on tabloid news. Pudge reads from Garfield comics and Caffeina keeps us well supplied with the latest gossip from Cat Fashion.”

“Oh. Wow,” said Marco, trying not to appear stunned.

“You are reading an adventure, right? Why don’t you tell us about it?”

“Oh… maybe next time.”

“There’s no time like the present,” Cicero gently insisted.

Marco threaded his way through Gypsy’s newest batch of kittens. She spoke encouragingly to him. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. The first time is the hardest.”

All the cats were staring at him. Marco hung his head. He’d never had to give a book report before.

“A little stage fright? Don’t worry, we’ve all been there,” Cicero said. “How about starting with the name of the book?”

He didn’t think this crowd would be much interested in his book, but he took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “The Three Musketeers,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Can’t hear you,” said Skitzo.

Marco looked at Cicero, who nodded to him.“The Three Musketeers,” Marco repeated in a stronger voice.

“The three what?” asked Caffeina.

“Musketeers. They’re like soldiers.”

“Okay, go on. Tell us what you like about the book,” Cicero said.

“Well, I do like the hero in the story,” Marco began uneasily, and then suddenly, the words came spilling out of him. “His name is d’Artagnan and he lived in the time of the French King, Louis the Thirteenth. He was rather a reckless and bold sort of fellow and managed to get himself into all sorts of predicaments.” Marco smiled, remembering how much he loved the book. “As soon as he arrived in Paris, he was challenged to a duel by three musketeers, and then their duel is interrupted and all of them had to fight the Cardinal’s guards, and…”

“Awesome!” Caffeina was gazing fondly at Marco. The others all had a glazed look in their eyes.

Marco washed his face, stalling for time, but he didn’t have to worry about facing the rude alley cats any longer. Something much bigger had invaded.

Chapter 21: Black masks and attitude

They had black masks and attitude—raccoons, they must have been, although none of the cats had ever encountered a live one. There were only three, but their presence was intimidating and the cats had their hackles up.

“Did I say you could eat outta my dumpsta’?” said the biggest varmint, a disreputable looking raccoon with a deep scar on one ear.

The Dead Cats growled and hissed, but no one responded to the senseless question.

Except Tweezer.“Who do you think you are?”

“Oh, excu-use me. I didn’t know we needed intra-ductions. This is my territory, so ya better get used to me, ya mangy felines. Name’s Sting. Don’t forget it!”

All three raccoons had banded eyes, but Sting’s were particularly narrow and his wide mouth flaunted no-nonsense fangs.

Before Tweezer could reply, Lily piped up.“I don’t think so! We eat here all the time, so it’s our dumpster, mister, not yours. Besides, you’re interrupting our meeting.”

Sting was dumbfounded, probably for the first time in his life

“Yeah, pip-squeak? A meetin’? What kinda meetin’ do a bunch ‘a cats have?”

“We are the Dead Cats Society, I’ll have you know,” Lily blurted out.

Jaws dropped and the crowd fell silent.

“Dead cats?” Sting suddenly looked worried. “You’s are dead?”

“No, but you might be if you don’t scram!” yelled Tweezer.

“Right, I’m scared now. How ‘bout you boys? You scared? Tank? Crimmany?” Sting asked his two cohorts.

“We’re shaking in our boots, boss.”

“Sooo’s what do a bunch ‘a dead cats do? Tell ghost stories?” laughed Sting.

“That’s a good one, boss!” said Tank.

Lily explained,“We read.”

“Huh?”

“Read. You know, books.”

“You read what?”

“You don’t know what a book is, mister?”

“I know what a book is!” said Crimmany, obviously the runt of the gang.

“Shut up! Course I know what a book is. You think I’m stupid or somethin’?”

“I think you’re brain dead, that’s what I think!” Caffeina chimed in.

Not wanting to be left out of the argument, Skitzo pushed forward through the cats and declared,“This is a top secret meeting. If you don’t leave now, I’m callin’ the cops.”

“A secret meetin’?” asked Sting. “Ri-ight. You must be undercover cats and this is your secret hiding place… by the trash cans. I’m so impressed.”

“You have no idea who we are,” said Cicero. “So take your buddies and go find another dumpster.”

“And who might you be, ol’ man?” Sting asked. “You somebody I should be takin’ orders from?”

“You leave him alone!” said Pudge.

Bait tried a diplomatic approach.“I’m sure you don’t want a fight. Please let us continue with our meeting. There are other trash bins down the road.”

Sting, undoubtedly the lead gangster raccoon, was never diplomatic.“Boys,” he said, without looking at his co-conspirators. “We gots ourselves a sit-u-a-shun.”

With more grace than one would expect, the jumbo-sized raccoon swooped up Lily, the petite kitten who had so boldly challenged him. He held her out at arm’s length, as if she were a smelly sock. “Hey, kitty. How ‘bout readin’ to Uncle Sting?”

Lily hung limply in his grasp.

“Not talkin’, huh?” Sting yelled, shaking her like a rag doll. “Then I’ll take you home with me. You can read to me there. Come on, Tank, Crimmany. Let’s go.”

The Dead Cats had not been idle—they had positioned themselves for an attack. Four of them leaped directly at Sting. Gypsy, Lily’s mother, bit him on the leg, and Bait tried to block him. Pudge, the only one who came close in size to Sting, succeeded in knocking him briefly on his back.

Marco had climbed up the dumpster to gain some height and used the vantage point to take a nosedive, striking Sting directly in his midsection. It would have been an effective move, if Marco had been bigger. As it was, he simply bounced off the fat-bellied raccoon and landed on the pavement. Marco, who’d never said anything mean, couldn’t help but mutter ‘Fatso’ under his breath. Sting took a swipe at him but missed.

“You morons. You think you can take me on?” growled Sting, still clutching Lily. “You’re nuthin’ more than pets. You should all be curled up on somebody’s lap.” He called out to his crew, “Boys, get a move on!”

“Whatcha gonna do with the kitten, Boss?”

“I’m takin’ it with me. Maybe it’s time ol’ Sting had his own pet,” said Sting.

The raccoons scurried off towards the alley, and in a bold move, Tweezer plunged down from the back of a parked truck and sunk his teeth into Sting’s arm before he could get away.

Lily dropped, coming to consciousness, and landed on her feet. Before Sting could make a countermove, Marco grabbed Lily by the scruff of her neck—not a move that comes natural to a male cat—and awkwardly dashed off, putting enough distance between her and her kidnappers to keep her safe.

Sting left in a huff, hurling a warning.“You’ll be sorry, you scabby cats. Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me!”

Chapter 22:“We are such stuff as dreams are made on…”

Marco’s head hurt from thinking. Mostly he was thinking about the mystery that was Cicero. How could he imagine that time traveling was just ‘a little trip’? Why did he waste his time teaching illiterate strays? Who was he? Sometimes he seemed so old, lost in research that had no real-world implications. Then other times, Marco felt like Cicero was leading him down a dangerous path—one that was very real.

Then there was the annoying side of the old library cat. Cicero insisted he attend the Dead Cats meetings. What a joke. Those cats were more interested in eating and fighting than reading. He could not imagine them spending any time in a library and didn’t see how they could be guardians of anything. Well, maybe Bait. Bait was different from the others.

But then, ever since returning from Alexandria, nothing seemed the same and after his disastrous first meeting, all he wanted was a good book in a quiet corner of the library.

But that was the problem. Here he was in his favorite place, and even though it sounded quiet, it didn’t feel quiet. He blamed Cicero.

Marco quit trying to read and went upstairs. The old cat was busy pouring through the stack of books in his chambers and Alaniah was playing around, doing swoops and dives and generally amusing herself. Marco went in, hoping to get an answer to his biggest‘why’ question, but Cicero kept on reading.

Marco tried to be patient, but the more Cicero ignored him, the more important the question became.

Alaniah swooped and hovered in a holding pattern above Marco.“You ask good questions, fledgling-ing,” she said.

“How do you know my question?”

“I can hear the thoughts of creatures… when I choose. Mostly they are not so interesting as yours.” She looked towards Cicero. “Impossible to get his attention when he’s researching, isn’t it?” She waved several of her wings in dismissal. “You want to know why he didn’t warn them,don’t you?”

“He could have saved so many lives! He could have saved the library,” Marco protested. “Instead, he just let it happen!”

“This is difficult for you, and it is hard for me to see time from your perspective. Worldly creatures, such as you-ou,” she said, her voice rising with a touch of superiority, “observe time as past, present and future. But it is not so simple. Time is such a limiting dimension-ion… but unfortunately you earth creatures are stuck with it.”

Alaniah twirled her ethereal sparkliness upwards and sailed around the room as though even the thought of being tethered by three dimensions was something to be avoided at all costs.

Cicero finally looked up from his books.

“Ah, there he is,” she said. “Now you may explain. I cannot even fathom what it must be like for you, imprisoned in heavy corporeal bodies, plodding along in a time continuum-um.”

“Oh Alaniah, we are who we are,” said Cicero. “To quote a great man, ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on.’” But at least we cats do not face the same limitations as humans. We are able to time travel and see into other dimensions much easier. Well, I have to qualify that. Cats usedto have this ability, but even they are losing it, just as they are losing the ability to read.”

He looked at Marco directly.“But to your question, Marco… about why I didn’t save the library or warn Akeel.”

Cicero had been listening after all.

“All I can tell you is when we travel back in time, we are only observers. We cannot affect what has happened in the past. We cannot even be seen by most of the inhabitants.”

“What about Akeel? He saw us.”

“Akeel and Chuluum were different. They were given the gift to see what others could not.”

“But why couldn’t you give him some small hint? What’s the point of going back if you can’t change anything?”

“There is much speculation about time traveling. Humans are fascinated with this subject as well, thinking that they can change something that has already happened in the past to make life better in the present. However, as appealing as the idea is, it is not only not possible, it would be terribly dangerous.”

“Dangerous. Don’t you think the fire was dangerous?”

“As tragic as it was, changing things wouldn’t necessarily make it better.”

Marco did not see how things could have been worse.

“Careless use of time travel leads to rifts, a tear in the fabric of events. Even the slightest alteration would create an enormous wave that would sweep out over every event, before and after. When a pebble is tossed into a pond, ripples spread out into ever-widening circles. If a boulder were thrown in, a tidal wave of events would change everything around it, not just one small thing.

“No, it has not been granted to us mere mortals to have this kind of an effect on things that have already happened.”

Marco was not sure that Cicero had answered his question. For that matter, he couldn’t even remember the question. He had gotten lost at ‘a tear in the fabric’ and ‘tossing of pebbles into a pond.’

He sighed, thinking he would never understand the kinds of things Cicero talked about, but he couldn’t help asking questions. “Cicero, why are they called the ‘dead cats’?”

Chapter 23: First lessons

Marco’s question made Cicero feel as if he had awoken from a dream. He left his theories and complicated matters and went over to sit beside the young cat.

Marco showed promise as a future Guardian, but it was still too soon to be sure. He was young, na?ve, impulsive and daring. Those qualities, in time, could develop into bravery and courage. He’d need that. But he’d seen how the same traits could be turned into reckless and untamed ambition.

“I’ve been negligent in instructing you—putting the cart before the horse, I believe is the saying. It’s time you learned something about the Guardian Cats.”

They both settled into sunny spots on the window sill.

“I will start with the Guardian called Adelphos. One of the places Akeel found was a deserted farmhouse on the outskirts of a small Greek fishing village. Adelphos was one of the many Guardian Cats there.

“During the day, he wandered through flower and fish markets, keeping their stalls free of mice. The fish vendors and food merchants all saved him special treats, each one thinking that Adelphos loved him best.

Cicero saw Marco was drowsy from the warm sun, but as usual, Marco’s tummy growled whenever food was mentioned, and Cicero was glad to have his full attention.

“Adelphos began tutoring kittens who gathered every day at the markets, telling them stories of past Guardian Cats and teaching them how to read. It had been Akeel’s inspiration to have the Guardian Cats pass on the stories. The tutoring part was added to teach humility to our prideful natures and Adelphos was the first cat who took up the challenge.

“A cat’s only shortcoming,” said Cicero, “is the one of being too proud.” He chuckled at the irony of his own statement. “Community service to the less fortunate was Akeel’s idea as a remedy for curing this weakness of ours. The name ‘dead cats’ was coined by Gaspar, one of Adelphos’ students. If the discussions were getting too serious and he was in the mood for an old Guardian story, he would shout out, ‘Let’s hear a tale about one of those dead cats!’”

Marco’s eyes lit up with delight.

“Some of the others still don’t get the joke,” said Cicero, pleased with his student’s ability to grasp subtle humor.

“But we have more pressing concerns. The raccoons. What will we do about them? I don’t think they will go away peacefully. What do you think Marco?” asked Cicero.

“I don’t think they’ll go away either. In fact, if we don’t take care of them soon, we might become ‘dead cats’.

Cicero couldn’t hide his smile.

Chapter 24: Sting’s Headquarters

From a distance the pickup looked abandoned, but inside were signs of life. The raccoons had taken up residence in the’52 Dodge. The faded orange truck with an additional camper shell more than suited their needs.

Inside, Sting was fuming mad.“Those dirty, rotten fleabag cats! Thinkin’ they can raid our territory and call us intruders?” He paced back and forth in the covered truck bed.

“How is it that a bunch of scrawny alley cats managed to thrash you, Sting? You’re not losing your touch, are you?” Tank asked.

Sting drew his large paw back and sent Tank flying.“Does it feel like I’m losin’ my touch?”

“Sorry, boss. My mistake.”

Sting sneered. Tank looked tough, but he was spineless. A chuckle coming from the outside interrupted them. Sting swung around. A small raccoon poked his head into the doorway.

“What’s so funny?” Sting demanded.

“I was wondering how a mangy tomcat beat up a tough guy like you. And he’s only half your size,” replied the stranger.

“We was wondering about that, too,” said Crimmany, boldly first, before he cringed.

Sting ignored him and glared at the intruder.“You callin’ me fat?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, I envy your fine stature. Allow me to introduce myself. They call me Lazer,” he said. “I’ve been spying on the cats for some time now.” He chuckled. “It’s sort of a hobby of mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Sting started to warm up a little. He hadn’t always hated felines, but the ‘dead cats’ made his skin crawl. Up until now he rarely gave cats a second thought. They always scattered when he took over their territory and never caused him any further trouble. Until now.

“The leader, Cicero, he’s got some special kind of power. The others, they’re just plain mean and ornery. But they’re ‘reader cats’,” said Lazer, scrunching his nose, indicating the cats might have some contagious disease. “It makes them peculiar.”

“I noticed that.”

“Perhaps you’d be interested in where they get their power?” Lazer asked.

Sting smiled. Now here was a brother raccoon that actually might be useful to him.

Chapter 25: No Mercy

On his way to the Lost and Embedded Manuscripts conference at the Library of Alexandria, Professor Chin took his planned layover in Greece. He was not there for sightseeing. A silent man nodded to him at the Athens airport and whisked him off to a smaller airport, where they boarded a private plane to the island of Rhodes. From Rhodes, a powerful skiff jetted them to a small remote island. In hardly any more time than it usually took to retrieve his luggage at Heathrow, he was sitting in the living room of Dr. Warner. He declined the offer of a drink.

He knew everyone here. They’d been meeting for five years and they were the closest to a family he would ever have. But by the end of the meeting, Professor Chin knew he wouldn’t be coming back. He wasn’t looking for a family. These men talked too much; they were too soft. And he was looking to do more than world building; their ideas would never be more than a fantasy. His, he knew, could be real. And people would pay the ultimate price for his world.

He needed men attuned to great leaders, like Hitler. Like Himmler. He would be the Grandmaster. Under his breath, he whispered Himmler’s favorite word, ‘gnadelos’, no mercy.

Chapter 26: The Library of Alexandria

The first thing that surprised Professor Chin about Alexandria was how modern it was. It was a bit disconcerting to be surrounded by foreigners—but what did he expect? He was pleased that everyone knew English, surprisingly well.

The second thing he learned was that, in this Mediterranean coastal city, he was overdressed in his tweed coat. He never went anywhere without his coat and umbrella. Reluctantly, he left both in his hotel room and joined the tour group, feeling slightly underdressed.

The third thing he discovered was that the new Library of Alexandria was jarring to his senses. He didn’t bother to browse the stacks. His love for books wasn’t like the love of a bibliophile. That was something he always had to be careful of at work, not letting on that books were only a means to an end.

The architectural lines of the ultramodern library were at odd angles, which threw him off balance. It’s open, soaring lines made him small and insignificant. In London, he was always surrounded by a sense of the solidness of it. Here, he was out of his element, out of control.

He rubbed one hand over the other, massaging his fingers and wrist, something he’d done to relieve anxiety since he was a boy.

He was so distracted that he almost missed the next exhibit. The tour guide was talking about the historic burning of the original library. They were standing in front of a bronze statue of a young man in a tunic. There were bronze cats climbing all over him.“Nothing remains of the ancient library,” the girl said, “but legends. This is Akeel, the Guardian librarian who, it is said, saved seven powerful mystical books, which were sheltered in secret chambers under the main buildings. He escaped the fire with a handful of books and an armful of library cats. When he found new hiding places for the books, he put the cats in charge of guarding them. As Egyptians, who revere cats, this story holds special charm for us.” She smiled at the group and there were murmurs of appreciation. “The books are shrouded in mystery, but the legend says that whoever finds them and unlocks their secrets will be able to rule the world.”

Professor Chin thought he was going to be sick. He struggled to hear more of what she said about the books, but he was feeling faint.

The thought of having cats crawling over him like the man in the statue made him nauseous. Gypsies believed cats were filthy creatures, if not downright evil. But when he was too small to know better, he had befriended one and always saved scraps of food from his evening meal.

When his stepfather caught him feeding the kitten, he beat him, then forced his mother to drown the cat, making him watch. He still remembered him yelling ‘dinili!’, stupid, and how the cat scratched his mother’s arms and face as she struggled to force the kitten’s head into a bucket of water. “You think we have enough to feed a filthy cat when we can barely feed ourselves?” his stepfather had shouted.

He started trembling. He’d had nightmares about his cat coming back to life to punish him. In one dream, there were a dozen cats climbing all over him and he woke up screaming as one tried to suck the breath out of him.

Now he was looking at this statue of his nightmare while the people around him were obviously enjoying it.

He desperately wanted to avoid a panic attack but it was too late. The tour guide, an attractive young Arab girl, asked him if he was ok as the room started to spin and he reached out for something to hold onto.

The last thing he heard was the snickers of school children. When he woke up, he was lying on the floor and a paramedic was taking his blood pressure, a crowd standing over him. He passed out again.

Later, when he woke up the second time, he was in his hotel room, thankful to be away from people. But he wasn’t alone.

“What was that all about?” demanded the Whisperer.

“Nevermind.”

“Nevermind! What is the matter with you?” demanded the Whisperer.“You’ll never get anywhere falling apart like that!”

“Have a little sympathy,” said Professor Chin. “Maybe it was something I ate.”

“Sympathy! You’re one to ask for sympathy. Am I wasting my time with you?”

“No. I’ll be fine. You heard what she said, didn’t you? You were there?”

“You mean about the books?”

“Of course, I mean about the books.”

“What about them? It’s just a story.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do. These kinds of things exist. You know about the Spear of Destiny, don’t you? It was the tool for Hitler’s power. These books will be my Spear.”

“How badly do you want them?”

“With all my soul.”

“I have my resources,” said the Whisperer, after some considering. “I could have them look for the books. But I must warn you. They expect a steep price for their services.”

“Any price is worth increasing my powers.”

“You would give your soul for a magical book?”

“What need have I of my soul? It causes me only pain. Take what’s left of it. What I need, my soul won’t give me. What I need is power.”

Chapter 27: Polo’s dangerous discovery

“Marco, where have you been?” demanded Polo. Marco was climbing down the wide trunk of the tree next to the ferrets’ home, his usual spot, except for nights when he fell asleep at the library. Cicero had implied that the staff might not want a second library cat, so he always had to scurry out the window when the librarians opened up in the morning.

To be sure, he hadn’t been around much lately, as he was spending more and more time at the library. He hadn’t told Polo about his other life, because… he wasn’t sure why. It was just a feeling, but he figured Polo would want to tag along with him and he didn’t think the library was ready for the likes of asilly ferret.

Still, Marco felt a little guilty about keeping secrets from his new friend. Polo bounced and leaped and ran circles around Marco.“I’ve been looking all over for you!

“What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I missed you.”

“Oh, Polo! I’m sorry.” Marco felt badly about ignoring him. “I’m not trying to avoid you or anything. It’s just that I have things I need to do.”

This statement from his cat friend stopped the little ferret for a moment.“Oh well,” said Polo, shrugging it off. “You’re here now! I can show you my new treasure!” he cried out. “It’s my most beautiful possession!”

He ran under the house and reappeared with a silver keychain attached to a tube of liquid.“Look! It’s got water inside.”

Marco leaned in closer to the tube.“It doesn’t smell like water, Polo. It’s awful.” Marco jerked his head back and crinkled his nose at the biting odor. The red tube was about half-full of liquid.

“That’s disgusting. What do you want it for?”

“It goes with my red jewelry collection. Look here! See the little wheel?”

Marco did not like Polo’s latest stolen good. Lucy’s father had one almost like it. He recognized it by the smell. It was a flame shooter.

Chapter 28: Finders keepers

Marco escaped back to the tree while Polo loped across the weedy backyard, the cigarette lighter dangling from his mouth, and crawled through a fence hole into the neighbor’s yard.

A tire swing swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the promise of hidden spaces lured the ferret. He dropped the lighter and pulled himself up into the rubbery den, exploring pretty much everything there was to see inside a tire. When he heard voices, he stood straight up and looked out through the wide hole. There were three large animals with black masks sniffing their way around a bunch of kid’s plastic toys. He recognized their bandit faces. Raccoons.

“We’re being watched,” said one of them, suddenly noticing Polo. “Look’it that varmint in the hangin’ tire. What is it?”

“Looks like a deformed rat, don’t you think?” said another.

“Who, or should I say, what are you?” asked the biggest one.

Polo felt no obligation to explain himself and ignored their comparing him to a rat. It happened all the time.

“In case you haven’t heard, we own this part of town now. My name’s Sting and these are my two fine young companions.”

Even though a vagabond and a thief, Polo was completely devoid of cruel intentions, and he did not recognize a bully for what he was.

“You deaf or something?” asked Sting. “You gotta be, with those puny ears.”

“Yeah, deaf and dumb,” said Tank.

Polo had had enough. He drew in a breath.“Hey, bugle ears!” he yelled. “You’re hurtin’ my eyes. How come you’re so fat?”

“No one talks to me like that!” Sting said, and before Polo could blink, he was yanked out of the tire by his neck and tossed to the ground.

Polo was undeterred. He raised himself to his fullest height, bared his teeth and challenged Sting with his fiercest look.

Just as Sting was about to take another swipe at him, the smallest raccoon ran up.

“Hey, Sting! Take a look at this!” He handed him the cigarette lighter.

“My, my,” said Sting. “This is interesting.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Polo yelled.

“Shut up,” said Sting. “This here trinket might save your life if you was smart enough to keep your trap shut.”

Polo had no intention of letting it go. He tried grabbing the lighter, but Sting seized him by the throat until his eyes bulged and the lighter fell out of his hand gone limp.

Chapter 29: David and Goliath

Scuffling noises from the ground woke Marco from his nap. Through the tree branches he saw three large animals scavenging plastic kid’s toys in the yard next door.

“Nothing here worth eatin’, boss,” said one.

He recognized them immediately, but he was in no mood for another fight with raccoons. Besides, they weren’t hurting anything and they’d never notice him. He curled up to resume his nap, when all of the sudden, there was Polo in the middle of the raccoons—nabbed right out of a tire swing and thrown to the ground.

He saw Polo rise from the dust and face his assailant, like David defying Goliath.

But Marco knew Polo wouldn’t stand a chance in a battle with these thugs and skittered rapidly down the tree and through the fence hole.

“What the….?” Sting said, shocked.

Marco was quickly flanked by Sting’s two cohorts. They peered at him through their black masks.

“Hey, isn’t he one of those dead cats, Sting?”

“You’re about to be a dead raccoon,” countered Marco. “Let him go!”

Polo was squirming in Sting’s grip.

“Sure thing, buddy. Tank. Crimmany. You know what to do.” Sting tossed Polo aside.

All three raccoons launched themselves at Marco. One bit his tail and Marco whirled around, smacking him with claws extended. Next thing he knew though, he was at the bottom of the heap. He clawed furiously, tasting dirt and blood. Then… pain pierced his body, first his ear, then his nose. He could barely breathe.

His saving grace came from pure instinct, a cat trick he didn’t know he had until he needed it. He jerked his body like a corkscrew, twisting his bones inside his loose skin. Free from the vicious bullies, he darted up the tree and watched the raccoons claw at each other until they discovered he had disappeared.

The raccoons, dazed and confused, rummaged around for a minute.

“I hate cats,” said Sting. “They’re freakin’ me out. Let’s scram.”

“Hey Sting, you still want this?” asked Crimmany, holding up Polo’s lighter.

“Sure, you never know. It might come in handy.”

Chapter 30: Wild disregard for order

For security reasons, Cicero moved the Dead Cats meetings from the Caf? parking lot to a room inside the library—a storage area where the window was permanently stuck open. Not that any librarian could even see the window, let alone get to it.

The room was crammed so full there was no pathway left for people. Wooden card catalogs took up half the space. A large bust of Mark Twain kept company with an ancient manual typewriter on an overstuffed chair. Piles of cardboard boxes, books and magazines looked as though they’d given up their struggle for organization and succumbed to the gravity of neglect.

Cicero thought it was perfect. The room had the right balance of coziness and wild disregard for order.

Already most of the cats had found something of interest. Gypsy browsed through Mothering Magazine while her kittens pounced over her. Skitzo was reading an article in the Daily Observer titled“Missing Baby Found Inside Watermelon!” Caffeina looked bored as she flipped the pages of Cat Diva.

Heads raised as Marco climbed into the room through the narrow window opening, his ear and nose torn, dried blood on his tail.

Caffeina was the first to jump up.“Mee-oow! Marco, what happened to you?”

Tweezer asked,“Who won?”

Marco held his head and tail high, battle scars and all.“I did pretty well, considering,” he said proudly.

“Considering….?”

“Considering the face-off Polo and I had with the raccoons.”

”Raccoons!”

“Who did you say you were with?” asked Skitzo.

“My friend, Polo.”

Tweezer came closer and examined Marco’s injuries. “Did you leave your mark on them?” he asked.

“They won’t soon forget me,” said Marco.

“Who’s Polo?” Skitzo insisted, peering suspiciously at Marco.

“He’s a friend.”

“Do we know him?”

“Not exactly,” answered Marco.

Skitzo circle Marco, inspecting him like an interrogator.“Why doesn’t he come to meetings?”

“I thought it was just for cats.”

“What? He’s not a cat?” asked Skitzo, appalled.

“Well… no,” Marco said. “Polo’s a… well, he’s a ferret.”

Dead silence.

“A what?” asked Sophie, who was never afraid to admit when she didn’t know something.

“A ferret.”

“You have a friend who’s not a cat?” challenged Skitzo.

“You’re repeating yourself Skitzo. A sure sign of psycho-ness. Anyway, so what?” said Caffeina. “No law says we can’t be friends with other species. I have a good friend who’s a dog.”

“You should be careful who you’re friends with, Caffeina.”

“That’s funny, coming from you Skitzo. Since you don’t have any friends,” retorted the cheeky feline.

“Here. Here,” interjected Cicero. “Marco, inform the others about ferrets.”

***

Marco wasn’t sure how to describe a ferret to a cat. “He has fur, but he doesn’t look much like us. He’s long, hardly any ears, and…” What could he tell them?

The cats were waiting.

Then he remembered what he liked most about his friend.“Ferrets are funny. At least Polo’s funny,” he blurted out.

“Oh!”

It was the perfect answer for the cats and broke the tension. For most of them, anyway.

“Funny is overrated,” said Skitzo. “I can’t remember the last time I was funny.”

“That’s because you’ve never been funny,” countered Caffeina.

“You risked your life for a ferret?” asked Bait.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I didn’t stop to think about it,” said Marco. “Polo’s my friend. I had to defend him.”

“Very noble of you,” replied Bait.

“How many did you say there were?” asked Cicero.

“Three. The same thugs who broke into our meeting.”

“You fought all three by yourself and lived to tell about it?” asked Pudge.

There was an admiring squeal from Caffeina.“Three raccoons on your own! You’re a hero!”

Had Marco been human, he would have been blushing.

“I think we should meet this friend of yours,” Bait said. “This one who inspires so much loyalty.”

“Yes! You should bring him to a meeting,” agreed Pudge.

Marco was relieved they were willing to meet Polo, especially since he was waiting outside.

Polo’s head shot up in the window. “Can I come in now? It’s boring out here.” Without waiting for an answer, he leaped through and fell on the floor. He picked himself up and looked around. It didn’t take long for him to decide who was having the most fun, and he immediately joined in with the kittens.

The older cats stared in group silence at the odd creature frolicking with the little ones. Gypsy broke the silence.“Guys. Focus. The raccoons. We can’t keep ignoring this problem by hiding.”

“The raccoons are cramping my lifestyle, that’s for sure,” said Pudge. “They come over every night and raid the dumpster. And would you believe? The human who used to feed me… she thinks the raccoons are cute! Now they get all the scraps. They’re such pigs!”

Cicero tried to calm them down.“Raccoons don’t stay in one place long. They’re drifters, so I believe they’ll move on soon. For now, we need to lie low.”

“Great! We have to skulk around while they terrorize the neighborhood?” Skitzo asked, his voice rising.

“We could turn them in to Animal Control,” suggested Caffeina. “Those guys are always picking up stray dogs in my neighborhood.”

“Oh, you’re so brilliant, Caffeina,” Tweezer said, rolling his eyes. “How are we going to do that? You know some human who understands ‘cat’? ”

Chapter 31: The London Bookshop

The dull ache in his hind leg woke Cicero and the bittersweet memories came flooding back.

He missed Amelia. He missed the labyrinthine maze of books and magazines in her bookshop, the caf?s on London’s narrow cobblestone street behind the store, the treats he always found waiting for him.

He even missed dodging the shoes one merchant threw at him and the excitement of never knowing when a motor scooter would come charging down the alley like some avenging angel.

When he greeted Amelia’s customers, they’d exclaim, “Oh, you’re the cat on the mews!” and laugh hysterically. He never understood what was so funny.

His last day at the bookstore, he had been lying in a sunny patch by the front window. Something in the air changed the moment the man stepped into the shop.

A gray fedora shadowed his face. He wore a tweed coat and carried a satchel which weighed down one shoulder.

“Do you carry rare books?” he had asked Amelia, rubbing his hands together as if they were cold, even though the day was warm. Cicero remembered how his moustache bobbed as he spoke.

Before Amelia could answer, the man was talking again.“Ah, um, I should introduce myself. Where are my manners?” he said, fumbling in his pocket. He handed Amelia his card. “I’m Doctor Chin. But most people call me ‘Professor’.”

Amelia had seemed delighted with his presence, but she was like that with everyone. Cicero followed them as she guided the man on a tour of the small crowded bookstore. There should not be a shadow inside, he knew, but sure enough, one was following this man.

“Lovely shop, yes,” the man said. “And I will browse through that art collection in the back, but I wonder if… I feel a little foolish asking.” He laughed tightly. “Are there any hidden rooms?”

“You mean, like in the movies?” Amelia asked, her laugh generous and natural.

“Well, yes. Exactly. You know, a sliding door or revolving bookcase…”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Professor. This is an ordinary bookshop.”

Cicero moved protectively to Amelia’s side.

“Nothing mysterious here. Right, Cicero?” She picked him up and cradled him in her arms.

The man jolted slightly.

“Oh! I hope you’re not allergic to cats,” said Amelia.

“Oh no, that’s not it. I mean… he just surprised me, that’s all.”

The man’s breathing quickened, but he insisted he wasn’t allergic. They had stopped walking and were standing in front of a collection of children’s picture books. Cicero could feel the man’s loathing for him even as he said to Amelia, “Lovely cat. You had him long?”

“Cicero’s been here since… well, since before I bought the place. Oh my, that’s been over fifteen years.”

Cicero glared at the man.

“Fifteen years! He doesn’t appear that old,” said the man. He had been backing slowly away from Amelia as he tried to keep up the conversation.

“Well, Cicero is an amazing cat. He’s quite a fixture here. Everyone loves him.”

“Hmmm, yes.”

Cicero had never encountered a human who had taken an immediate dislike to him in such a strong way.

“He’s an unusual looking cat. More spotted than striped, like an Egyptian Mau.”

“Oh… I don’t know what kind of cat he is. He’s just my adorable Cicero.”

“Do you know about the legendary cats of Iskandriyah?” The man was nervous, but Amelia didn’t seem to notice.

“What?”

“Iskandriyah. Surely you’ve heard of the Library of Iskandriyah? Of course, you may only know it as Alexandria.”

“Of course.” The sudden stiffening of Amelia’s arms wasn’t the main reason Cicero jumped down. The strange shadow moved apart from the man. It seemed to have a life of its own.

“I think I’ve struck a nerve,” said the man.

“Oh now, Professor. That’s silly. He’s just a cat.”

“Such a nice cat.”

Cicero glowered at him.

The bell over the door jingled, and Amelia seemed relieved.“Feel free to look around while I tend to my other customers.”

Cicero tracked the Professor, who alternated between looking at books and making furtive taps on the walls.

“You look like a cat with something to hide,” he said. “I thought the Guardian Cats were just a myth. Filthy creatures like you are good for nothing more than being a witch’s familiar.”

Cicero felt the man’s struggle between desire and loathing for him. It would have made sense to turn and run, but his guardian instincts had kicked in.

“Is this the right place, this sorry excuse for a bookstore? How ironic that it’s supposed to be in London, so close to home.” The man seemed to be in conversation with someone else. “And why did you lead me here and not show me exactly where it is?” Who was he talking to?

“I paid dearly for this!” the man continued, his voice low and strained. “Don’t even think of short changing me on our deal.” The Professor seemed to be in conversation with the shadow.

Cicero kept his distance and breathed a sigh of relief when closing time finally came.

After Amelia locked up, he scooted through his cat door out into the alley to breathe the night air, but he was greeted with the tantalizing smell of fish.

How could he have known it was a trap? The instant he stepped over the wire, it snapped shut. Cicero went wild, throwing himself against the sides of the cage.

When he realized that an escape was impossible, he hunkered down, ignoring the fish. Out of the shadows the Professor spoke.“I knew you were more than just a sleepy shop cat.”

Cicero hissed. How could this have happened? The Professor took him, cage and all, and put him in the trunk of his car. They drove a short while, the car stopped and the man carried him into a small room, where he was placed on a table.

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to become friends.” He opened a suitcase and picked things out, setting them on the other end of the table.

“This should prove interesting. I’ve never tried this with a cat, but my mother’s magic might have been good for something.” He turned out the lights and lit a candle. Cicero stared at the man, who stared at the candle. First silently, then chanting, sometimes whispery, other times loudly, again talking to creatures even Cicero couldn’t see.

Not at first.

Then one after another, dark shadows appeared on the walls, peeled off and entered the room, finding their places. One came and slithered into the cage, but Cicero hissed and spat so violently it backed off, emitting a snickering kind of laugh.

The Professor did not waver in his incantations. The candle flickered and sputtered, and more shadow creatures peeled off the walls. Then on the Professor’s command, they merged and circled around his cage, absorbing the light.

They closed in on him and he struggled to breathe.

“Now let him go!” commanded Professor Chin, throwing his hands wide. The shadow creatures obeyed and slunk back into their corners. Cicero tried to stop shaking.

“I know who you are. Believe me, your days as Guardian are over. It’s time to let someone have the book who can do it justice.” He moved in close and Cicero took a swipe at him.

“Rethink your position, dear Cicero,” pronouncing his name with disdain. “You can retire with all of your limbs intact. You will be able to sleep with both eyes shut. Your only other choice is to die a martyr’s useless death.”

Cicero resisted with all his might.

“Don’t fight me!” commanded the Professor. “Tell me where the book is and I will let you go!”

For a fraction of a second, and against his will, Cicero’s mind saw where it was hidden in the bookshop. He groaned. How could he have been so weak? He still cringed when he thought of that fateful moment.

“Yes!” the Professor exclaimed.

Cicero had not been able to prevent the Professor from penetrating his mind; it had been as captive as his body in the cage.

“Now show me the entryway.”

Cicero felt his power weakening. Unable to resist the Professor’s black magic, the tapestry covering the door under the stairs appeared as clear as anything in his mind. That was all the Professor needed.

“It’s all coming back to me now. Mother always told me I had the gift. But I will go far beyond this weak gypsy magic. Tarot and tea leaves will not suffice. No one will ever have power over me now.”

The Professor rubbed his hands together. Blocking the candle light, his shadow was thrown on the wall, looming larger than life.

As he talked, he began to unlatch the cage.“What a disgusting notion—cats guarding such a priceless treasure. This is not a book that should be hoarded in some forgotten bookstore by a filthy cat.

“Should I set you free? A gesture of good will, perhaps? I suppose there are men who might do such a thing, but I know the right way to treat a cat.”

Cicero did not waste a moment. The instant the cage door was unlatched he became a wild animal and pushed through, leaping at the Professor and latching onto his neck.

The next thing he knew, he’d been hurled to the floor. All he could remember now from that moment was the numbness in his legs and disgrace in his soul.

After the Professor sped away in his car, a light appeared outside the doorway. Alaniah had arrived.

“Where have you been!” he scolded.

“I couldn’t find you-ou. There was so much interference, my navigation system was thrown off. However did you get to… what is this place? The Tar and Feathers Inn?”

“Never mind. There’s no time to explain. I can’t move, and I fear I’ve lost the book.”

“Poor, dear Cicero. I’m so sorry. Lie still.” Then Alaniah hovered above and showered him with something like warm snowflakes. Soon the feeling began to return to his leg.

“Make me a portal, Alaniah,” he asked, and the Losring transported Cicero back to the bookshop. But it was too late. The tiny room had been ransacked. He went out the back and saw the man disappearing down the dark alleyway.

There was only one thing left for him to do. The power of the book was his to use in extreme circumstances. He hobbled down the alleyway, running as best he could on his three good legs, trying to imagine what in the world he would need to become in order to rescue the book.

As soon as the answer appeared, a wave of power surged through his body. Then his feet disappeared and outstretched wings emerged from his sides, lifting him off the cobblestone street and into the air.

The alley became his runway and he flew over the Professor’s head, trying out his hawk wings. He soared in a wide circle, with the night sky and wind holding him above while he looked down at the earth from this new height.

The Professor left the alley for the street, dark and deserted except for one car and a few scattered pole lamps. Cicero’s hawk eyes picked the target site and locked onto it, as though he’d done this a million times before.

The air whooshed under him as he picked up speed and made his silent, deadly descent. The Professor’s hand was on the car door handle when he attacked, one jab with his beak in the darkest circle of the man’s eye.

The Professor didn’t make a sound right away. He fell to the ground, hugging his head, then let out one of the worst screams Cicero had ever heard coming out of a human. In one smooth motion, Cicero snatched the book with his talons and flew back up into the silent night sky.

Chapter 32: Decisions

Cicero had never quite recovered from that experience. Alaniah had not wanted to take any chances going back to the bookstore and assured him she would find a safe place for them.

Not that he had any complaints about the sleepy Angel Springs library. The librarians let him have his own room where he read to his heart’s content, but there were times when he still missed Amelia and the bookshop. Such are the hardships of a Guardian’s life.

Today, especially, he was feeling his age. Few cats ever lived so long. Only those touched by a Losring like Alaniah. It was good to be blessed by such a creature, but for Guardian Cats it often meant they had not found their successor and needed more time. His pondering was interrupted by voices outside his chambers.

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

Cicero sighed. Why did he find the ferret creature so annoying?

Marco walked into the room and Polo came bursting in behind. He sat on his haunches, trying to imitate Marco.

“Greetings, Cicero,” said Marco. “I brought Polo. I hope you don’t min…”

“Well…” Cicero cut him off before he could finish.

“I want to learn how to read. Just like Marco!” Polo blurted out.

Cicero paused. This he was not expecting.“Hmm.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Cicero did not feel like being diplomatic, but he held his tongue.

Polo did not hold his.“How about a story then? Marco says you tell really good stories.”

Cicero ignored the ferret and turned to Marco.“Please take your friend out of the library. We are already pressing our luck, having meetings in the storeroom, and few are allowed in my chambers. I fear he will get us all kicked out.”

Marco hung his head.“Come on Polo. Let’s go.” He steered the ferret out through the door.

Cicero heard Polo chattering all the way down the hall.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I don’t know why he’s so grumpy, though. Why is he so grumpy, Marco?”

Cicero jumped down from the chair and poked his head out the door.“Marco! After you take him outside, come back in here. I need to talk to you.”

Cicero curled up on a chair and put his head down, weighed by the decision he needed to make. He had to be sure.

The room filled with the radiance only Alaniah could make.

“Ahhh, Alaniah. I need your light right now.”

“Why so glum, Cicero-ero-o?”

“I am feeling the days,” said Cicero.

“There is something more, I think.”

“Yes, Alaniah. So long I’ve been waiting, I’d almost given up. I was too careless before; overlooked too many obvious signs. I fear making a wrong decision again and that’s not like me. I’ve never been a fearful cat.”

“This is true.”

“I must have no reservations.”

“Yes, but you cannot know everything ahead of time. Wherein lies your uncertainty?”

“Marco seems… I don’t know… too young.” He sighed and closed his eyes.

“Weren’t you but a kit when you set foot on this path? Can you not remember your own impetuous youth?”

“It was so many lifetimes ago.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I need to look to the Code to see if Marco is up to the challenge. Why do I not remember these things?” said Cicero worriedly. “So first, does he pass the test for courage?”

“Did he not do battle with three others who were much larger?

“Yes, that might be courage. Yet it might be foolishness.”

“What is foolishness?”

“I often wonder what the difference is… between courage and foolishness. If we knew what we were getting ourselves into, we probably wouldn’t do much but sleep. It takes a bit of madness to jump into the middle of things which might turn out badly. Marco shows a remarkable aptitude for this reckless kind of courage we talk about.”

“Isn’t that what you’re looking for?”

“Yes… and honor, compassion, humility, self-sacrifice. Many things it takes to make a Guardian. Marco did not hesitate to help save Lily when the raccoons had her. That’s the kind of thing I mean. He does jump in when things need to happen. He is good that way.”

They sat in silence for while, Cicero pondering and Alaniah quietly hovering.

“He’s intelligent and I believe he has the other qualities, but I wonder about his judgment,” Cicero finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… it’s his friendship with that ferret. Why does Marco waste his time with him? Polo is such a foolish and undignified creature.”

Alaniah flew up in a swoop and came down to face Cicero.“This is how you measure his wisdom? Dear Cicero, are you not lacking in tolerance? Polo is not an intelligent creature, but he is a pure soul.”

“Oh, my dear Alaniah. Am I being too harsh? I don’t mean to be, but I must look at everything. How can I know he will have the wisdom to be successful?”

“Wisdom, understanding? Where does it come from, Cicero? Why are you asking me? You know the answer. He will make mistakes, like you. Earthlings seem to learn everything the hard way-ay.”

“So true, Alaniah. So true.”

“You are forgetting something else.”

Cicero looked to her to continue.

“Marco hears. He hears the frequency. He hears the music of the Book and he hears me, something that never happened with Bait.”

Cicero nodded. Marco did have all the signs he’d been looking for. Even the one he didn’t mention now, but held as a touchstone, the highest criterion he needed to make his final decision… and that was the connection Marco had made with Akeel.

Chapter 33: Guardian-in-training

Marco knew he was in trouble, but Cicero was being unfair. Like Polo, he wondered why the old cat was in such a foul temper.

Outside Cicero’s door, he peeked around the edge and took a quick sniff to test the atmosphere inside.

Cicero spotted him and called out in a spirited voice. “Marco! What took you so long? Come in!”

Marco’s eyes widened and he stepped in the room. “I’m… not in trouble?”

“On the contrary!” exclaimed Cicero. “My displeasure was not with you, but due to grave matters at hand. Decisions, calling on clear judgment and needing certitude cause vexation to the spirit.”

Marco wondered if Cicero might be apologizing. It was hard to tell.

“Today is a most auspicious day.”

“It is?” Marco asked.‘Auspicious’ sounded like something to worry about, but Cicero was too light hearted.

“Most assuredly. I will tell you now that these past weeks you have been on trial. Not for any crime committed, but to measure your worthiness. Careful observation and analysis of your actions have revealed crucial characteristics required for this post. Being a Guardian Cat demands a high level of integrity.”

Marco had no clue what Cicero was talking about, so he remained silent.

“To put it more simply,” Cicero continued, “when you have reached the end of your journey, how will you view it? Will you be able to say you led an honorable life? Or to paraphrase someone, ‘I have suffered, it is true, as few men… uh… cats… are ever called upon to suffer, but I have been weighed in the balances by a jury of my peers and found not wanting?’”

As usual, Cicero’s long-winded explanations, punctured with quotes, confused Marco even more. Cicero finally noticed his bewilderment.

“Alaniah, would you please convey the nature of this momentous event to our young friend?”

Alaniah floated down from a high corner to join them.“It would be my honor-or,” she sang. “Marco, what Cicero is trying to say is that he has chosen you to be his successor.”

Marco’s breath caught in his throat. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. “I don’t know what… to say,” he stammered.

“You may say yes,’” teased Alaniah. “That would please Cicero most.”

“Yes,” he consented. Then he repeated it with vigor as the realization sunk in.

“Good. I am most pleased.” said Cicero. “Let us proceed to the hidden chamber.”

Marco followed Cicero downstairs to the mirror, thinking about his dream come true. Even though it came as a surprise, it did seem like his destiny. He was feeling nobler already and could hardly wait to tell someone.

As they waited for Alaniah to open the mirror portal for them, Cicero sat looking forward,“You can’t tell anyone!”

Marco jumped. How did Cicero know what he was thinking? It was beginning to spook him. They descended down the dark, dungeon-like stairs once again. This time though, he knew what awaited him at the bottom.

When they reached the door of the underground chamber, Alaniah floated through and disappeared, leaving them in utter darkness. Marco bumped into Cicero.

“Hang on. Sometimes she gets distracted. She also likes to mess with us.”

The door opened and the chamber glowed with light swirling in a rainbow of colors.“I prepared the room especially for this occasion. You may enter now,” said Alaniah.

Cicero allowed Marco to enter first. He felt a ripple of excitement. When he came here before, he’d been so na?ve. Not anymore, he thought.

“Very well, Marco,” said Cicero. “We have no time to waste. Please come and sit in front of me.”

Marco stepped in closer to Cicero. Cicero raised his paw and placed it on Marco’s head. “Marco, as of this moment, you are officially a Guardian-in-training.”

Cicero removed his paw and jumped up to the table.

“Is that it?” asked Marco thoughtlessly. In books, ceremonies were always very elaborate, especially for knighthood, which was how he thought of his new position.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Something… more…” Marco felt foolish putting it into words.

“A celestial being who deems to talk to you, a time traveling journey back to the most magnificent library ever created, a meeting with the original human Guardian, witnessing a major historical event and being here in the presence of the most powerful and magical book in existence…” Cicero said sternly. “What more do you want?”

Reduced to a speck of dust, Marco turned his face to wash a non-existent itch on his back. Cicero would change his mind now, probably throwing him out on his ear.

“Marco, look at me. We are cats. Try to remember that,” said Cicero simply.“Now come up here and let’s have no more foolishness.”

Marco looked up at Cicero, who had made his blunder vanish like a puff of smoke. With this cat, nothing was predictable.

Marco jumped quickly up to the table. Alaniah flew in swirls around the room, in ever-smaller circles, until she landed on top of the box. As soon as she touched it, one side of the box opened up like a flower. Inside was Akeel’s book.

Marco gasped.“It really is Akeel’s book.” He looked around the room, half expecting to see him. “I wish he were here.”

“I understand. I do feel his presence when I am with the book. This is his legacy, however.”

“So… Akeel brought the book here?”

“No, but someday I will tell you the story of how we both came to be in this place.”

Marco started feeling cocky again.“Make it do something. Like Akeel did.”

“Not allowed.”

“What do you mean? You are the Guardian. You can do whatever you want, right?”

“Yes… and no.”

“That’s not much of an answer. Here I am, on my first day of training. So train me.”

He felt Cicero’s glare, but he didn’t feel like backing off.

Finally Cicero gave in.“I will show you one small thing. But understand this. You cannot use its magic except for very serious matters. Life and death. Or to save the Book itself. Its power is addictive and it becomes dangerous to the one using it.”

Marco waited eagerly.

“Marco?”

“Yes?”

“Do you understand?”

Marco was sure the right answer was‘yes’. “Yes, Cicero.”

Cicero looked around the barren cave-like room with only a table and the Book.

“Hop down,” he ordered Marco.

They both jumped off the table. Cicero closed his eyes and mumbled some words, and the table changed shape. In one smooth transformation, the top became a piece of thick clear-cut glass, and the legs appeared to be growing out of the floor like a tree trunk.

Cicero looked pleased.“I may leave it that way. It’s one way I keep in practice… changing the table.”

Marco could not believe how lame this trick was.“How will this help me? What if I’m in some life or death situation? I hardly think redecorating tables will save anyone!”

“You want something more dramatic?” Cicero sighed. “Okay, Marco, just this once I will give you dramatic. You will need to learn the language anyway.” Cicero closed his eyes. “I usually say this silently.” He began to chant in a strange language.

“Fa-taw-lah-nee, rah-ma-la-nee, ma-fa-taw-nee, moon-too-lah.”

Marco had never heard anything so silly in his life. He yawned—and because his eyes were closed for a half second—he missed how the magic happened. When he opened them, a strange human towered above him.

Spooked, Marco turned and ran out the door, but he stopped on the other side to peer back inside. The man was chuckling and holding out his hand to Marco.“Is this dramatic enough?”

“Cicero?”

The man looked at Marco and smiled.“Yes?”

“You’re human?”

Cicero as a man reached down to pick up Marco and scratch behind his ears.“I always wanted to see what that felt like to a human.”

Marco loved being held again.“Will you stay like this?” he purred.

“Oh my, no,” replied Cicero. “Being human is much too complicated.”

Chapter 34: Library Invaders

Sting never hated cats before. He never even thought about them except when they got in his way. What was he doing wasting his precious time stalking this stupid Marco? Hanging out by the library, for pete’s sake. But there he was, climbing a tree with that ridiculous ferret right behind him.

But at least he knew he was in the right place. The strange raccoon had been telling the truth about the cats’ new hideout. He didn’t know what to think about Lazer. He’d never taken advice from anyone before, so why was he listening to this guy?

Oh yeah, something about the cats having magical powers because of a book. And if he was right about the cats, then he must be right about the warehouse full of food. Sting’s mouth watered at the thought of so much food all in one place. More than he could eat, Lazer told him. Hah! Like that was possible.

“Crimmany, go see what he’s up to,” he ordered. “Maybe he’s got the book in there.”

Crimmany dutifully climbed up the tree and looked in the library window.

“Well? What’s in there?” Sting whispered loudly.

“Not much.”

“What are they doing? Readin’?” Sting yelled sarcastically, not bothering anymore to keep quiet.

“Mostly sleeping.”

“Stupid cats,” Sting muttered. “Well, if they’re sleeping it oughta be easy. All we got to do is steal the book and we’re home free.”

“Home free? Whaddya mean, boss?”

Sting couldn’t explain it to these two morons, but he couldn’t exactly remember what Lazer had said either, and it didn’t make quite as much sense now. Oh well, they’d be eatin’ good. That was the most important thing.

“We steal their book and we’ll be smarter and stronger.”

“You told us we already were smarter and stronger,” whined Crimmany.

“Of course we are!” snapped Sting. “But if we have their book, the cats will go back to being normal—like stupid alley cats. That’s obvious, isn’t it? Enough talk. It’s time for action.”

Besides being the meanest, one of the reasons Sting was the leader was his scouting abilities, and this time, too, he was able to find a tunnel that got them inside the library. The raccoons clambered over each other, trying to be the first one through. Sting won, of course. Crimmany came next, but was too slow and Tank kicked him in the backside.

Once inside, they stopped in their tracks, awestruck. They were immersed in a sea of books.

Sting was almost reverent. “This is gonna be a bigger job than I thought,” he said. For a moment, he was overcome by the atmosphere, by things he didn’t have the brain cells or language to explain.

Then he came to his senses.“Figures cats’d hang out in a place like this.”

“Disgustin’ ain’t it?” Tank said.

Crimmany piped up,“Hey, maybe we should learn to read.” He spotted a table with children’s books lying out. “I’ll bet it’s not that hard.” He climbed on the table and opened one. “Oh, cool pictures. Take a look, you guys.”

Tank started to wander over, but Sting nudged him, rolling his eyes and staring at the ceiling.

“It might be kinda fun. We should give it a try,” insisted Crimmany.

“Why would I want to read?” barked Sting. “If I want to know somethin’ I’ll ask a cat!” He wadded up a piece of newspaper and threw it at Crimmany.

“Cut it out!” yelled Crimmany, abandoning the book. He made his own paper wad and ran after Sting. In the midst of the tussle, Sting caught a movement from the second floor balcony.

He froze, even as one of Crimmany’s paper balls struck him on the head. How long had that stupid cat been spying on him? He cursed under his breath.

“Well, look who’s here!” Sting said to Marco, as if he didn’t absolutely loathe him. “I believe we’ve met before. Let’s see, you’re the Defender of Deformed Rats, aren’t you? What are you defending tonight? Must be books, ‘cause that’s all I see here.”

Chapter 35: Pandemonium

Marco glared down at Sting from between the rails of the balcony. Why did this creep keep showing up everywhere? Especially here, his refuge from the world.“What are you doing in the library? You can’t read.”

“You sayin’ we’re not welcome?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Scram.”

“Oh, you’re hurting my feelings. Hey Marco, why don’t you give us a tour? We’d like to improve our minds too. Right, boys?” Sting snickered and looked to the other raccoons.

“Sure thing, Sting.”

“See? They like it here. Come on down and join us.” Sting walked over to some books and started pawing through them. He picked one out at random. The Care and Feeding of Orphaned Kittens. He threw it on the floor.

Marco was at a loss for what to do. Up until now, his encounters with Sting were more like wrestling matches.

“You deaf or something? Maybe you think you’re too good for the likes of us,” said Sting. “Or maybe… ”

Marco could tell Sting thought he was brilliant by the way he strutted about.

“Maybe, you’re hidin’ something,” accused Sting.

Marco’s tail bristled as he prepared himself for another clash with the raccoon, but this time the enemy was on his territory. Now that he had been made a Guardian Cat, he would defend not only The Book of Motion. He would defend all the books!

Scuffling noises from a far corner of the first floor interrupted Marco’s concentration.

“Hey, Marco, there’s a whole stash of granola bars in the desk. Nuts, dried fruit, chocolate.” It was Polo “And raisins, my favorite!” Polo started towards the bottom of the stairs, holding a crumbling piece of granola bar in his paw. “Want some?” Polo offered generously. Marco had explained more than once that he didn’t eat sweets, but Polo never remembered.

Then the small ferret spotted Sting.“Uh-oh,” he said.

Sting sauntered towards Polo—casually, like they were friends. “Well, well. Look who else is here.”

Marco yelled,“Polo! Run!”

Sting grabbed the ferret.“Ha! I’m not lettin’ you go this time!”

Marco had already started down the stairs.

“I see you decided to join me,” said Sting.

“Join you? That’s a laugh,” said Marco.

“Well, at least I know how to laugh. Ain’t never seen a cat laugh.”

“Cats have a sense of humor,” said Marco, moving down each step slowly but deliberately. “But it has to be funny.”

Polo squealed.

“Quiet,” Sting said, shaking Polo by his neck. “Or I’ll make it tighter.”

Marco glared at Sting.“That is not funny.”

“Oh, you’re making me cry,” said Sting, mocking him. “You want him back? I’ll cut you a deal.”

“A deal? What are you talking about?”

We’ll trade.”

“Trade? Trade what?”

“The Magic Book. Hand it over and you can have your mangy friend back.”

Marco’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped dead on the stairs. The magic book? How would a disreputable character like Sting know anything about The Book of Motion? He couldn’t be talking about that.

Sting stood in the center of the vestibule under the dome, dangling Polo in the air.“Hey! Where’s the rest of your book club? Maybe they know something you don’t. Maybe…” Sting paused dramatically. “Just maybe they haven’t told you about the book.”

Marco’s head swirled with questions, but he managed to keep calm. “There’s all kinds of books here, Sting. There’s even a whole section on magic. Why don’t you get a library card and check one out?”

“Ha! I knew it. You don’t even know about the book. You don’t know nuthin’!”

Marco tasted something bitter in his mouth as he felt a fierceness rising in him. He reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Some friends. Looks to me like you’ve been deserted, little buddy.”

Marco lunged towards his adversary. At the same moment Sting shifted Polo between them, using him as a shield. Marco’s claws punctured Polo’s skin and he smelled his blood. Polo squealed louder.

“You should take better care of the one friend you got,” taunted Sting. “Looks like this little rat is all mine now.”

Marco made a second attempt to attack Sting, but everything went black. He took the blow from Tank in his soft underbelly and when he caught his breath, it was filled with the heavy odor of raccoon.

He heard Polo’s cry pierce the air again, and just as suddenly, it was squelched. He squirmed out from under Tank and caught sight of Sting shoving Polo down an open grate in the floorboards, then disappearing down the hole after him. Crimmany was lunging forward, ready to attack.

He tried to block himself from Crimmany’s next move and failed. Not because of his own moves, but because Tweezer, one of the Dead Cats, appeared out of nowhere in a flying leap, colliding with Crimmany and knocking him to the floor.

Tank sprang to attack and Marco met him in a mid-air collision. All four animals were sprawled on the library floor, books scattered everywhere around them. But the impact broke the momentum of the battle as everybody disentangled themselves and jockeyed to an upright position.

The raccoons ambled off, shoving each other and complaining about who was to blame.

Raccoons have no dignity, Marco thought. Then he turned to Tweezer.“Thanks for covering my back.”

Chapter 36:“A shape that means deceit…”

Marco bolted up the stairs, nearly skidding on the landing as he made the turn. He dashed straight into Cicero’s chambers without thinking, but something about the old cat stopped him cold. A large volume of Shakespeare was spread out in front of him. His eyes were half closed, but he was anything but sleeping.

“Cicero,” started Marco, but Cicero sat as still as a stone cat.

Marco thought Cicero should know what was going on, but when he opened his eyes all he got was a grim look.

“Sorry to disturb you Cicero, but I need to tell you… ” How was he going to explain? “We have a problem.”

“Really,” answered Cicero, his voice flat.

“Sting was here.” Marco’s mouth was dry and he suddenly felt more afraid of Cicero than he’d been of Sting. “You know, the raccoon.”

“I know who Sting is.”

Marco plowed ahead with his explanation.“He acts like he knows something about the Book, but he couldn’t possibly know. And he’s kidnapped Polo. What should we do?”

“What do you think we should do?”

“I… I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“I saw the whole thing.”

“Wha…? What do you mean? You saw Sting?”

“I watched from the balcony.”

Marco was confused by Cicero’s odd behavior. “Shouldn’t we do something? At least, we need to rescue Polo.”

Suddenly Cicero was up on all fours, standing on the edge of the table, hunched over and looking down on Marco. For a brief moment, Cicero reminded Marco of a vulture.

“Who did you tell?” demanded Cicero in a roar.

Marco froze. He’d never seen him so angry.

“Did you tell that ridiculous ferret?”

“No, I mean… what do you mean? Tell him what?”

“How would a filthy animal like Sting know anything about the Book?”

Marco wondered the same thing. He also wondered why Cicero was accusing him.

Someone cleared his throat at the door. It was Bait.

“May I enter?” he asked politely. “Or is this a private meeting?”

Marco was relieved to see a friendly face.

“I heard what happened, and I’m here to offer my services,” said Bait.

“What services would I need from you?” replied Cicero coldly.

“Come on, Cicero… you will need me. The raccoons are onto the Book and you will need an extra hand or two protecting it from those thieves.”

Marco thought Bait’s proposal seemed generous and didn’t understand why Cicero had his back arched. He was also surprised that other cats knew about the Book.

Bait seemed calm, considering Cicero’s threatening position. “I’ll bet Marco would help, too. Wouldn’t you, Marco?”

“Sure. Yeah,” said Marco, agreeably.

“See, Cicero. You don’t have to do this alone. You do have friends.”

Cicero backed off and sat down. He closed his eyes. Bait threw a sideways glance at Marco, as if to indicate how eccentric Cicero was.