A whole section of floor gave way, and the barber backed away, heading back toward the doorframe and stairs that led up to the others, dragging me with.
Oh, to have a second hand.
The nearest bookcases were to my left, and I had only a right hand.
I could draw the Hyena, but what good would that do?
I twisted, striving to grab at something, anything, but my feet were too high up off the ground, and there was nothing in reach to my right. My head snapped sharply from far left to far right, until I thought I might damage branches or spine doing it, just trying to avoid looking at him. Simply closing my eyes would be admitting defeat, giving up any and all chance of spotting some clue or tool I could use.
The noise in my head was getting worse. Chaos, noise, blood, pain. I felt like every chip of bone that was dancing against my brain or whatever things surrounded my brain was producing a dozen televisions worth of maximum-volume static.
My dangling wing scraped something. The chain at my middle.
I reached down, and pulled it free. The barbed wire caught, as if the goblin was spiting me.
Bringing one leg up, I managed to hook my toes on the end, and kick it down and away. I let it spool more.
It caught. We simultaneously jerked, the Barber’s retreat from the gaping maw of the abyss temporarily halted.
He tugged me, and the tiny hooks that had latched on wood broke or bent.
Change of tack, then.
Still holding the end of the chain, I quickly reached down, and grabbed more before it could fall. A loop. I threw the loop over the Barber’s arm, then reached under and caught the end.
Rusty bits of metal and hooks of barbed wire caught on his flesh. It parted like burned plastic wrap, immediately oozing pus and wriggling things I couldn’t make out in the dark.
I tugged harder, but the damage remained superficial. I’d wanted to set the metal into his flesh, or verify if he could be hurt at all.
The chain ran along my right leg, and I struggled, while the Barber dragged me, to get my foot in the right position, the chain against the long side of it.
Timing-
We reached the stairway. He paused to reach forward and shove one section of bookshelf away. His frame was slightly too large for the narrow corridor, lined by books, on either side and above.
I kicked out, kicking the chain, so it struck the doorframe and neighboring bookshelf.
It wasn’t a firm wrap, certainly not a knot or anything binding.
But when he ascended, pushing again to destroy surroundings and make room for, himself, the chain around his arm bound him to the doorframe, and he was momentarily halted.
He hauled his arm to one side, hauling me with it, my body striking the bookshelf, and links broke, though the barbed wire only stretched a fraction.
It put him in an awkward position, facing down to the bottom of the staircase.
Until he reached out and clasped the chain.
Passing some kind of energy into it. Or taking something out.
The chain disintegrated, and I could hear an echo of a goblin’s scream, in the noise it made as the pieces scattered.
Tk.
Evan flew past. A reckless dive, a perpendicular direction to the angle of the stairs. Veering wildly just as he reached me, passing me, to fly off into the empty void.
A shove. Pushing me down.
Branches on either side of my neck broke away as they scraped against the Barber’s fingertips and thumb, and I was driven face first into the stairs. Barber to my right, bookcase wall to my left.
I pushed myself back and away. Off to one side, into empty darkness.
Void, shadow. Nothingness.
I turned over in the air, still reeling, thoughts distorted, before I remembered to unfold my wings.
Evan joined me.
“Little hero,” I said.
He might not have heard me, because he didn’t respond.
The Library was still coming together all around us, but for the time being, it was a twist of architecture suspended in shadow. I couldn’t know for sure if anything lingered in those shadows, or if there were any buildings or features, but the flying seemed unimpeded.
Far below, now, I could see the Barber, ascending the long staircase, periodically destroying what was in its way.
Further up, much further up, I could make out the others.
Rose had recruited a bogeyman. A pale man with newsprint on his skin and a great paper-cutting knife.
They were making headway. Covering ground.
The barber, shears in hand, covered half the distance between himself and the others, traveling into a broken picture frame, then stepping out of it.
Catching up.
I got to a point where I was just above the others just as the Abyss decided to step in their way.
Light flared, showing around the edges and bottom of a set of double doors, leaking through a window. It was as if the tunnel and door had always been there, without the light. Which it hadn’t, but the darkness played tricks.
The main group was tense, ready for trouble, when the doors opened.
Children. Boys and girls in private school uniforms. Gaunt, pale, their eyes more dark shadow than eyes. Some held flashlights.
One threw a flashlight forward, toward the others. It hit wooden floor and span violently.
On each pass, the beam briefly illuminating the group of students, there were a different number. Seven, six, seven, three, six…
On the final turn, there was a woman, following the group.
Horn-rimmed glasses, a corset taken to some terminal extreme, leaving room for only spine, and floor-length dress that didn’t reveal her feet. She didn’t walk like she had legs. She flowed forward as if she were carried aloft by beetles or impossibly tiny, quick feet.
She was talking, making grand, sweeping gestures. With each gesture, the children around her flinched.
Teacher, students.
Was there a section of the Abyss that was a school?
Newsprint-face, now the students and teacher. The Abyss was pulling together Bogeymen and Abyss-residents with a theme.
I did what I could to land as gently as possible. I didn’t want my landing to make the floor start breaking down.
The teacher collected a book, lifting it free of the shelf. She opened her mouth to speak, gracing us with a view of something that looked more like the inside of a worm’s gullet, studded with hooks and teeth, then raised a finger. Wait.
Everyone but the teacher was knocked clean to the ground, many sprawling precariously close to the edge, as things moved.
Great pillars and blocks of stone rose from the abyss. They were dark gray and black, but they were textured enough that I could see the dappled tone, the cracks, the doorways and tunnels that marked the surfaces.
One pillar struck the underside of the platform, and only quick moving on Ty’s part saved Tiff from falling.
Evan flew over to help the rescue operation.
The teacher remained rooted where she was, looking down on us all. I eyed her, wary, but speech was impossible, and even standing was risky, as the Abyss insisted on shoring everything up.
Ty and the others managed to rescue Tiff before the renovations continued.
With the last set of rising columns and slabs came bookcases. Returning that which had fallen, adding more.
A bookcase with a glass front rose to our right, breaking the bridge that led to the Academy. It continued rising, a regular bookcase beneath it, then folded on some great hinge, right over top of us. A candleabra that had been on a shelf fell, flames flickering as wax pooled against the glass.