“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 Café 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 Café 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.”