On Holy Terra, the cradle of humanity, there were a thousand libraries. These vast repositories seemed to stretch out endlessly, filled with the accumulated records and learnings of the God-Emperor’s massive realm. With their typical heavy-handedness, the Adeptus Administratum poured an army of adepts into these towering edifices of information. Pale-skinned men and women spent their entire lives within the confines of the libraries, tasked with the endless responsibility of keeping and maintaining the vast shelves that filled the cavernous interiors. It was a thankless but necessary duty. After all, the Administratum knew that, when unchecked, knowledge was a very dangerous thing indeed.
Among these faceless masses toiled one Adept-Keeper Grade III Barnabas. He did not have another name for he had never known his parents. From the moment he had left the doors of his Schola Progenium, he had laboured diligently in the library, maintaining his section. Each day-cycle, he would receive a data-slate at a small kiosk and head off to fetch and carry a long list of books, data-slates, and more besides. Sometimes there was a stack of items for him to return to the labyrinth of shelves. Occasionally his superior, Adept-Prefectus Archward, would stop by and question him on his tasks or update his data slate with new work. He never stayed long, though, before shuffling off to another section.
It was a lonely life, but Barnabus did not care. He had a purpose and he fulfilled it. He even fancied himself a scholar in the fleeting moments where he considered such things, but he rarely read more than the titles of the things he was transporting. It was the way of things. He was a simple man at heart and he did what the God-Emperor and Administratum required of him. He cared for little more than that.
One night-cycle, as they drifted back to their tiny hab-cells in a dingy central hub, another adept had told him that their life was better than most, that others sacrificed far more for the Emperor out among the stars. Barnabus had told the man he had never seen the stars and that had been the end of the conversation. There was a reason that he never bothered to speak much to his fellows.
Months later, as he chewed his tasteless lump of nutri-gruel in a draughty mess hall, he reconsidered his perspective.
The results were not enlightening.
What did it matter to a man who had never left this library if his circumstances were better than others? Good or bad, it was his life. And one day he would die, back hunched, hands gnarled, and a fresh-faced youth would take his role and carry on. Some other adepts felt comfort in that endless cycle. Barnabus felt nothing.
That night, as he drifted uncomfortably into dreamless slumber, he considered why he cared so little about what lay beyond the library walls. He rolled over on his lumpy pallet to look at the familiar water stain on the wall and considered the obvious. He simply did not know any different. This was all he knew. This was all he needed.
Among the towering stacks, these dreary thoughts intruded less into his mind. It was quiet and dark, more calm by far than even the hushed anarchy of the scholars’ habs. And of course, there were other things for him to focus on.
There was the work, of course. The fetching and carrying and reading. But more so, it was the environment. Outside the lights of his work station, his section of the library was a wild place. Or at least what he assumed a wild place to be. The library was old and vast. Some said it spanned a continent, though Barnabus struggled to conceive of just how big that really was. With size and age came a whole ecosystem that coexisted alongside the keepers. Most of the creatures that skittered among the shelves were driven off with the simple wave of a lumen pole. But not all.
Every adept had heard the legends of what terrors lurked in the stacks. Dust arachnids the size of a man’s hand that swarmed unsuspecting keepers and paralysed them, dragging them off into the depths. Adepts that got lost and became feral, waiting to ambush and feast upon unsuspecting archivists. Massive rats that walked like men, whose crimson eyes glinted with ferocious intelligence.
That said, Barnabus had never seen any of these supposed monsters. He doubted they existed, though he thought of them often. It was the ghost stories he liked the most. The tales of ethereal spectres, sometimes of scholars that had starved to death looking for an obscure tome, more often of victims from the terrible slaughters of the Horus Heresy.
He was thinking about the ghosts the next morning as he tapped through the dataslate that had been left on his kiosk. It was a good distraction from his dour musings the night before. As he picked up his lumen pole and set off to find a requested item, he imagined it would be quite exciting to find something strange among the stacks. Perhaps the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. With a sigh, he pushed the daydreaming aside. There were no monsters or ghosts in the stacks, only dust and old books and dank air. With one last look at the dataslate to confirm his task, he raised his hood against the cold and headed off into the library.
Away from the lights of the kiosk though, the stories of ghosts rose unbidden to his mind. It was easier to believe in them out here. Even small sounds bounced strangely among the stacks and Barnabus found himself glancing around occasionally, looking for something that wasn’t there. It was with one such glance that he saw it. The faint glow of another light in the distance. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief. This was his section of the library. No one was supposed to traverse here. There was an unexpected burst of territoriality in his heart. With a deep breath, he hefted his lumen pole like a weapon and set off towards the light. The boldness surprised him, but he didn’t question it. This was his section! His!
Turning the corner of the nearby aisle, ready for a fight, he beheld a hooded figure outlined by the light of several floating glow orbs. The figure stood alone, reading from an old book held aloft on an anti-grav podium. Barnabas slowed his pace somewhat then. Only someone with significant wealth could afford that kind of set-up.
‘Identify yourself,’ he squeaked, wincing as the nasally sound of his own voice echoed off the stacks.
The figure turned slowly, sliding back the hood of simple adept’s robes – not unlike the ones he wore. Barnabas forced himself to stifle a gasp. In the mandatory Ecclesiarchal services, he often sat and stared at the beautiful paintings of saints and angels that adorned the nave. The face illuminated in the soft light of the glow globes was like those paintings come to life. The woman cast a wan smile at him, tilting her head slightly to the side so that a fringe of lustrous black hair swept softly across her perfect forehead. Her eyes were a beautiful, warm brown, filled with kindness and concern. With a start, Barnabas realised he had stopped moving.
‘Oh, hello,’ said the woman sweetly, in a voice so perfect and lovely that it would have made a chorister cry. ‘You gave me quite a fright.’
‘Yes, er- hello,’ said Barnabas, dipping into a small, awkward bow for some reason he could not explain. The boldness that had filled him only moments ago had evaporated like the night-cycle dew off the top of his kiosk. ‘Can I- uh, can I help you, miss?’
The woman laughed lightly, a soft, melodic sound. Barnabas felt a strange heat rushing to his face, but tried to maintain his composure.
‘That is sweet of you, adept-?’
‘Barnabus,’ he stammered quickly, ‘Adept-Keeper Barnabus, third grade.’
‘Adept Barnabus,’ she said with a curt nod, ‘I assure you I am quite alright.’
‘What-,’ he replied, trying to look anywhere but her face, ‘what are you doing here? Here in my section, that is. That’s where you are.’
‘Your section?’ She tittered. ‘I see. I am doing research, Adept Barnabus. I thought you would have been told.’
‘Research?’ He said, casting a glance past her at the book on the floating stand. ‘Adept-Prefectus Archward never informed me of this.’
‘An oversight,’ she sighed. ‘A bureaucratic mistake. You know how such things are.’
He found himself nodding along vigorously. He did indeed know how such things went.
She smiled at his agreement and continued. ‘That said, I hope you don’t mind my intrusion?’
‘Not at all, miss,’ Barnabas said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘You just startled me. Not used to visitors, you see. In my section.’
‘Right,’ the woman responded, looking at him curiously. There was a moment of silence before Barnabas spoke again.
‘What uh, what are you researching, miss?’
‘Millicent,’ she said with a laugh. ‘My name is Millicent, not miss. And I am researching certain historical tomes. Would you like to see?’ She stepped gracefully to the side of the aisle and gestured at the floating book.
‘Well, I am quite busy,’ Barnabas started, but stopped as the woman frowned slightly. ‘But of course it’s not every day I get to see a fellow scholar’s research.’ He shuffled forward, painfully aware of Millicent’s closeness to him and the tatty, disreputable state of his robes compared to her well-maintained and clean outfit. He furtively attempted to brush away some of the caked-in dirt on his badly wrinkled outfit. Then he glanced at the open pages of the book and all such petty thoughts flew from his mind.
It was an old book with large pages and a thick leather binding. The parchment was yellow-white and faded, but the illustrations that decorated the pages were as bright and beautiful as the day they had been printed. Barnabas stared at them in rapt awe as Millicent hovered over his shoulder quietly. They depicted landscapes unlike anything he had ever seen. The entrancing azure of a beautiful lake ensconced among a forest of veridian trees that seemed to wax with vitality in the glow globes’ light. A fierce range of tree-studded mountains, covered in glistening white snow. Curling waves of glittering turquoise caressing the wispy sand of a sun-drenched beach. They were so vivid. So bright. So full of life. Barnabas found himself struggling to breathe.
‘This- these- they—,’ he stammered, struggling to articulate his thoughts. ‘So beautiful,’ was all he could eventually manage. Tentatively, he reached out a hand, but stopped short of touching the page. ‘Where is this? Do these places exist?’ he asked, turning to face Millicent. She looked at him with a small frown.
‘Terra, Adept Barnabas. These are Terra.’ Millicent stepped alongside him, her robes gently brushing against his. Normally, Barnabas would have reeled from such close contact, but the book held all his attention, alluring and evocative. ‘Or, it was Terra. These places existed; they no longer do.’ The woman shook her head sadly as she turned a page, revealing more beauty and wonder. He stared intently, drinking in every detail. Then he hesitated.
‘There is something wrong,’ he said, narrowing his eyes and peering closer at the artwork. It took him a moment, then he realised. ‘These are paradises, but there is no Emperor. That is… not right.’
‘There has not always been an Emperor, Adept Barnabas,’ Millicent chided. He looked sharply at her. Something scratched at the back of his mind, something he could not quite identify. But then she smiled and whatever the feeling was faded away. ‘I do not mean to blaspheme,’ she continued, ‘merely to state fact. The Emperor did not create the beauty of Terra.’
Barnabas nodded thoughtfully. It was a sensible enough sentiment. The Emperor was wise and all-knowing, but it was never presumed that he had created Terra. He had merely saved it.
‘You said this was Terra of old. Do such places still exist?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Millicent, and Barnabas’ heart leapt with joy at the thought. ‘I have seen such beauty, beyond the walls of this library.’
‘You have left the library?’ he replied quickly, his fixation on the tome temporarily interrupted by his awe at such an achievement.
‘Indeed,’ Millicent tittered said with a dazzling smile, ‘there is much beauty to see beyond these walls, Adept Barnabas.’
‘Not for me,’ he said. For the first time in many many years, Barnabas felt something strange stirring in his chest. It might have been sadness. ‘I have work to do.’
Millicent nodded sagely.
‘I’m sure you do, Adept, I’m sure you do. You best be about it then.’ She reached out and closed the book with a slight thud.
Barnabas had to stifle the urge to cry out. Instead, he swallowed and looked over at her, struck once again by her physical beauty now that the allure of the book had gone.
‘Will— will you be in my section long?’ He asked, trying to keep a note of desire out of his voice.
‘As long as it takes, Adept Barnabas,’ she replied. He smiled.
‘Well, I—I best get back to work. Goodbye, Millicent.’
‘Goodbye, Adept Barnabas,’ she replied politely. With a nod, he made his way down the aisle, raising his lumen pole for illumination. It was only when he had rounded the corner that he realised he had forgotten to ask her Adept rank. When he turned back to look down the aisle, however, she was already gone.
As Barnabas lay in his bed that night staring at the water stain on his wall, he could think of nothing but Millicent’s book. Who had written it? Why had he never found it in his section before? Where were these far-off places, these beautiful paradises? The water stain, the old familiar shape, only reminded him of the lake now. It hurt to think of it, to think of how far away it was. To know that he wanted to be there, standing before it, but could not. He turned to face away from the stain and realised that, for the first time in a long time, he was feeling the desire for something more than this life of shuffling tomes. The thought made him uneasy and he descended into a fitful sleep filled with swirling dreams of smiles and brown eyes and beautiful, never-ending vistas.
It was two weeks before Barnabas saw Millicent again.
Adept-Prefectus Archward was working him hard and he was so lost in the monotony of fetch and carry that he began to think the whole run-in had been nothing more than his own little ghost story amongst the stacks. Not that he had ever mentioned it to the Adept-Prefectus. Assuming he had not been hallucinating, the fact that he had not known of Millicent’s research expedition was most likely just what she had said: a bureaucratic oversight. Barnabas knew better than to raise such trivialities with his superior. Archward did not care to be bothered with such foolishness.
The idea of wasting time had risen to prominence in Barnabas’ mind of late. Ever since he had seen Millcient’s fantastic book, he had given more and more thought to how little of his life he actually valued or enjoyed. A sense of drudgery, heretofore buried under the callous veneer of duty and diligence, had begun to rear its head in him. As such, he was ecstatic when he finally caught sight of the dim glow of lights in an aisle far from his kiosk. Trying to conceal his excitement, he quickly turned the corner of the stack and found Millicent standing at her floating lectern, already smiling in his direction.
‘Hello, Barnabas,’ she said as he hustled towards her as nonchalantly as he could. ‘I had quite wondered when I would see you again.’
‘It’s been some time, Millicent,’ he replied in a manner he thought courteous. It was only then that he noticed she had not referred to him by his title, but he wasn’t concerned enough to correct her. A small oversight really. ‘How goes your research?’
‘Well enough,’ she said cryptically, ‘would you like to see what I’ve been studying?’
‘Yes!’ Barnabas half-shouted, half-squeaked, before coughing slightly and containing himself. ‘I mean, of course. It would be a pleasure to peruse the work of a fellow scholar.’
She gave him a knowing glance and laughed lightly before stepping out of his way. He leaned over the podium, gazing with rapt attention at new pages in her book.
These depicted crowds of beautiful people intermingling, talking, celebrating, drinking, eating, laughing, playing. Leaders spoke to rapt audiences. Lovers kissed in quiet bedrooms. It was a heady, intoxicating display of humanity at its finest, its most social. To his surprise, unlike the previous pages he had viewed, the sense of awe he felt turned to a feeling of grief. All his life he had never known such social interaction. There were no parties for an Adept-Keeper. No laughter, no drinking, no love. Just work and death. His closest human contact was his superior, as dour and unpleasant a human as they came. Despair threatened to overwhelm him and he stepped back slightly, trying to grapple with the sensation of hurt that swelled within his heart.
‘Are you alright, Barnabas?’ Millicent asked sweetly. He sighed deeply and turned to look at her. She stared back, her deep brown eyes filled with concern.
‘I’m fine,’ he said wistfully. ‘Fine. Just regretful. These people are so happy, so alive. I am not.’ He looked down at his pale hands, stained slightly brown with the detritus of old leather and dust. ‘I hardly talk to anyone, you know.’
‘A shame,’ said Millicent, frowning deeply, ‘you are such a sterling conversationalist.’
Barnabas’ heart fluttered at the compliment, but he hid his excitement, gesturing back to the book instead.
‘This is a dangerous tome, though,’ he said. Millicent looked quizzically at him.
‘How so, Barnabas?’
‘All these people are celebrating and joyful, but the Emperor is nowhere to be seen.’
‘Oh,’ replied Millicent dryly, ‘how concerned you are with his presence, dear Barnabas. Outside the walls of this library, men and women celebrate together all the time, and they do not need the Emperor looking over their shoulder to do so.’
The thought of such celebrations happening beyond the walls kindled a growing sense of envy in him, but he pressed on.
‘There are some of my kind who would burn such a book for even existing.’
‘But not you, Barnabas,’ Millicent replied approvingly. ‘You’re far too smart to put such good knowledge to waste.’ The adept felt his chest swell with pride.
‘It’s true,’ he added sagely, ‘I have always wanted to preserve as much as I can.’
‘A noble goal,’ Millicent agreed, ‘and this tome is hardly heretical anyways. People can exist without the Emperor’s constant hand upon their every move. There is something to be said for living free and wild.’ Barnabas nodded as if he knew of such things. Though he had never experienced it, the dream of such a life set his heart thumping.
‘Just a warning,’ he said quickly.
‘It is only research, Barnabas, have no fear. Besides,’ the woman laid her own, perfect mahogany-skinned hand lightly on his own pale one, ‘this is your section. No one else should be here.’
The adept tried to calm his heavy breathing as the woman removed her hand. He turned back to the book, staring intently at the illustration until he felt the burning pass from his cheeks.
Millicent reached forward and flipped the page, revealing more scenes of humanity at rest, at work, and at play.
‘You can turn the pages, Barnabas,’ she said softly. ‘I doubt your hands will hurt them.’
He smiled at the thought and flipped to the next page, drinking in the beautiful imagery before him. When he finally stopped and bid Millicent farewell, it felt like hours had passed, though he had little way of telling the difference in the library’s gloom. He considered asking his newfound friend, but, of course, she was already gone. With a sigh, he returned to his kiosk as if in a dream, his head full of the vibrant life of humanity at its fullest, instead of trapped within a prison of books and shelves.
‘Your performance has dropped 0.5 per cent in the last month, Adept-Keeper Grade III Barnabas.’ Adept-Prefectus Archward had caught up with him on the way back to the central hub a few day-cycles later. The Adept-Prefectus was an older man, shorter and paunchier by far than Barnabas, with jowls that wobbled slightly when he was frustrated. Much like the adept he currently addressed, his skin was pale from far too little sunlight. His eyes narrowed as he admonished Barnabas, scowling at him with undisguised disdain.
‘A temporary failing,’ Barnabas said monotonously. ‘I have felt unwell.’ The lie rose smoothly and unbidden to his lips. He shocked even himself. The Adept-Prefectus stared him up and down for a moment, ignoring the other keepers that flowed past in a human tide. He grunted as he noted the deep bags under Barnabas’ eyes and the shockingly pasty pallor of his skin.
‘You do look unwell,’ Archward finally rasped. ‘Have you seen a medicae?’ There was no real concern in the old man’s tone. It was a business question, nothing more.
‘No, Adept-Prefectus, not yet.’
‘Well,’ Archward continued, ‘if this carries on, it’s best that you do. I will tolerate no further fall behind in work targets. Is that understood?’
‘Of course, Adept-Prefectus,’ Barnabus replied. Already, his mind was wandering back to the book and the image of a feast he had seen depicted in its pages a few cycles ago. It was a glorious sight, all that food. He shook his head slightly.
Archward looked him up and down once more, grunted with displeasure, and then disappeared off into the swirling crowd, leaving the keeper to press on towards his hab alone.
It seemed to Barnabas that his thoughts were almost entirely consumed with Millicent’s research now. He struggled to sleep at night, lying awake, thinking of what lay beyond the walls of the library. Barnabas wanted to experience the sights and sounds of the world, to talk to people, to travel to the stars. Each day, the stacks felt more like jailers hemming him in. Why could he not leave the library? Millicent had. Why was he bound here? He had not chosen this life. It had been forced upon him by the Administratum. By the Emperor’s authority.
Dwelling on his desires while chewing away at a pile of nutri-gruel, he came to the realisation that he had no idea what truly lay beyond the library’s confines. Other adepts spoke of Terra as if it was a metropolis, but how did they know? None of them had ever left this place. They died and more blinkered adepts replaced them. The only source of information about the outside world was the Administratum itself – and it was they who had forced him here in the first place.
He kept these musings to himself, but his thoughts turned darker and darker as the days wore on. Some night-cycles he simply stared at the wall while the hours ticked by, as if his vision alone could bore a hole through rockcrete to freedom.
The next time he encountered Millicent, something felt wrong. She was in an aisle in the library, as always, looking up as he approached with a smile on her face. But years of service among the stacks had left Barnabas with a keen sense of their nature and something was amiss. For a moment, he paused, trying to ascertain if the dust that usually coated the shelves had been disturbed. He glanced about for another light, but saw none.
‘What’s wrong, Barnabas?’ Millicent called out calmly, ‘You look perturbed.’
‘Has someone else been here?’ the adept asked. The harshness of his own voice took him aback, but Millicent merely smiled serenely, as she so often did.
‘Of course not. This is your section, Barnabas. You have always been quite clear about that.’
He looked around him again, trying to take in everything in the aisle, but he could not put his finger on what made him so anxious.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked again.
‘Of course I’m sure, Barnabas,’ pouted Millicent. After a moment though, she smiled once more, grinning like a playful cat. ‘Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the thought of someone else viewing my research has made you jealous, Barnabas.’
The adept’s face flushed crimson.
‘It’s—it’s not—not like that,’ he stammered, feeling a deep sense of embarrassment. He had even questioned Millicent’s truthfulness! She had never led him astray. She had always been open about her research. ‘I’m just concerned. Not all keepers are as open-minded in their scholarship as me. You might be in danger.’
‘Your concern is touching, dear Barnabas,’ Millicent said as she turned back to her book, ‘but I assure you I am quite capable of protecting myself from anything in here.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Of course.’ There was an awkward pause as Millicent seemed intent on continuing her perusal of the tome despite his presence. Barnabas coughed to clear his throat.
‘What are you researching today, then?’
‘Come look,’ she said coyly, gesturing for him to join her next to the tome. He shuffled forward, trying to ignore the way they pressed close together in the confines of the aisle.
Today the book’s pages revealed the most awe-inspiring buildings Barnabas had ever seen. He could not have conceived of such architectural wonders ever existing. Soaring arches, massive domes, and towering spires.
‘Is this—is this what the library looks like from the outside?’
Millicent laughed, loudly and merrily. The sound tumbled around the stacks. Barnabus checked up and down the aisles to make sure nothing had been drawn by the noise, but the silence soon reasserted itself.
‘No,’ Millicent finally said when she caught her breath. ‘No, this library is but a crude simulacrum of what once was.’
‘What once was?’ Barnabas could not contain his disappointment.
‘Yes,’ Millicent explained. ‘Like so much in this tome, these buildings are gone. Lost in the destruction of the Emperor’s wars.’ She checked herself then and glanced at him, as if expecting a reprimand. But Barnabas was silent. Anger welled up inside him.
‘The Emperor destroyed these marvels?’
‘He did, yes.’ Millicent sounded resigned. ‘Here,’ she said, pointing at an intricate illustration of intermixed spires and domes, ‘the great shrine at Hagia An Bul. The First Legion demolished it with artillery fire. Or this,’ she continues, her fingertip gently caressing the image of a beautiful, angular construction that was all silver and sharp edges, ‘the Carnifex’s Palace at Novo York, annihilated in the fires of those now known as the Salamanders.’
‘But why?’ Anger warred with disbelief in Barnabas’ heart. The Emperor was supposed to protect and nurture mankind, not destroy their works. But here were beautiful man-made things the very same ruler had put to the sword. Like so much else he had come to realise since first meeting Millicent, the sensations gnawed at him.
‘The Emperor is a being of pure conflict,’ Millicent said warily, ‘though few would say it aloud. Wherever he lays his gaze, destruction follows. No doubt you have heard the stories of the purges within this very library?’ Barnabas nodded. Much like the legends of the stacks, all adepts heard the whispered tales of entire sections laid to waste. ‘The Emperor fears what he cannot control,’ Millicent continued, ‘buildings he did not design, books he has not read.’ She gestured around herself. ‘When he cannot comprehend something, he imprisons or destroys it.’
Again, something twinged in Barnabas’s mind, but his eyes were drawn back to the beauty of the book and the pained expression on Millicent’s perfect features and the sensation passed. Anger began to win out over disbelief in his heart.
‘Why, Barnabas, what is wrong with you? You have gone white as a sheet.’ There was concern in Millicent’s voice.
‘I am angry,’ he murmured after a moment. ‘Angry at the Emperor.’ It was the truth, but it was hard to say. If the Adept-Prefectus heard him express such things, he would be executed for heresy.
‘Oh Barnabas,’ Millicent said. ‘It is alright to feel such anger. It is deserved. You are not some fiery-eyed fanatic incapable of questioning power. You are a scholar, an intelligent and perceptive man. It is only right that you should question why your Emperor keeps you trapped here, hidden away from all the beauty and experiences the galaxy has to offer.’
Barnabas had to admit Millicent spoke wisely. There was no guile in her innocent face or kindly smile. He was imprisoned here. It became clear when she said it. Each day filled with dull monotony, trapped within these stacks, held by walls he could not even see. Fresh anger built inside him. How dare the Emperor do this to him! How dare he keep the outside world away, destroying it on a whim!
‘One day I will leave this place.’ he declared darkly. ‘I will see the beautiful things within your research, Millicent, or at least what there is left, and no one, not even the Emperor, will stop me.’ The woman smiled widely at him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Barnabas’ heart raced with a heady mix of resentment and desire.
‘No doubt you will, sweet Barnabas,’ Millicent said proudly. ‘Your moment of escape will come, I promise you. Now here,’ she said, pointing to another passage in the book, ‘read here and finish this chapter. I imagine you’ll find it very much to your liking.’
And Barnabas did.
In his cell that night-cycle, Barnabas realised his newfound sense of longing had been replaced by rage. It was a liberating sensation. His mind raced feverishly, filled with visions of escape and destruction. He could not sleep. At times he yelled at the dank walls of his dingy room. At times he cried hot tears of anger. His whole life he had laboured under the lie that this was normal. That this was good even.
But now he saw it for what it was. A box for a slave, nothing more. A place to keep him until he died and some new meat could be slammed into his place. He would break free. He would show them. Barnabas would be a prisoner no more!
The very next day he sought out Millicent. She would know how to get out of the library. She had been to the outside, after all. He hefted his lumen pole and set off from his kiosk, not even bothering to look at his dataslate. It didn’t matter now. There was only one goal. An inexorable desire for freedom drew him into the deepest, darkest stacks of his section until he saw the faint glow of Millicent’s lights. Then he heard whispered voices talking. His heart began to race. What if Millicent was in danger? What if the book was taken? They would not steal it from him.
He rounded the corner of the shelf at a run. His heart thundered in his ears. Two figures were huddled in the aisle reading the book together. He recognised Millicent immediately, but it wasn’t until the second figure turned at the sound of his rushing steps that Barnabas saw who it was.
Adept-Prefectus Archward’s face turned from rapt awe to shocked terror in an instant.
‘Adept-Keeper, what ar—’
Barnabas flew at the old man before he could continue. Rage suffused his withered limbs with a strength he had never known before. Shrieking like a wild beast, the adept swung his light-pole downward as if it were a mace. It stove in Archward’s frail skull with a brittle crack that echoed sharply through the stacks. The Adept-Prefectus dropped like a sack of dirt, but Barnabas did not stop. He swung again and again. He kept swinging until the madly flickering light of his pole was stained a violent crimson and his adept robes were spattered with gore. Viscera painted the stacks around him and he dropped to his knees in a sticky pool of blood before the ruined thing that had once been his superior.
To his shock, he smiled. For the first time in his miserable life, he felt alive. The rush of adrenaline. The warmth of the freshly spilt blood on his skin. It was invigorating. He looked up at Millicent, wide-eyed and panting.
The woman smiled down at him beatifically. He was not surprised to see that, though gore coated the stacks around them, not a single drop had touched her immaculate robes.
‘How did it feel?’ she hissed.
‘Amazing,’ said Barnabas between ragged breaths. ‘The best sensation in the world. Better than anything I saw in your research.’ He was so drunk on the murder that he did not even think to question why Archward had been talking to her in the first place.
‘Oh sweet Barnabas,’ said Millicent, in a voice that was suddenly three people all at once, ‘would you do it again?’
‘Again and again,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘There would never be enough.’ Barnabas looked down at his bloody, shaking hands and knew it was the truth. ‘But he was my superior,’ he murmured, ‘they will come for me now and there will be no escape from this place.’
‘Silly Barnabas,’ Millicent giggled and the tinkling sound made him wince even as his blood boiled to hear it again. A hideous popping of cracking cartilage and breaking bones bounced around him. Barnabas did not glance up, he didn’t need to. He already knew what he would see. ‘Now is your chance. There is so much for you to experience. You can do this again and again!’
Barnabas grinned. The thought filled him with unbridled joy. Finally, he understood. He would not be denied.
‘I would very much like to leave the library now,’ he said calmly.
‘You need only take my hand, sweet Barnabas,’ the triple voices replied. The words dripped like honey into his ears. He smiled and looked up, reaching out with one blood-stained hand. When he saw what awaited him, he began to laugh. The thing that had been Millicent was laughing too. They both kept laughing, wildly, joyfully, as it folded out its incomprehensible being and drew the scholar into its embrace.
Interrogator Matumba drew heavily on his lho-stick and surveyed the carnage in the library aisle.
‘That’s the section superior,’ said Sergeant Chopra, nodding at the corpse that his men were looking over. ‘Or what’s left of him. Had his skull bashed in with a lumen pole.’ Matumba nodded slowly and creased his lips.
‘And there’s no sign of this Adept Brownbaress?’
‘Barnabas, sir, and no,’ the sergeant replied, looking around the blood-stained aisle. ‘Emperor knows he could be long gone in this place. Men go mad and get lost out in the stacks all the time. Usually starve to death out here.’
Chopra left the implication there and Matumba sighed. He reached down and picked up something from the floor that caught his eye. It was a chapbook, small and worn. Unlike everything else in the aisle, it was free of blood. He thumbed through the pages. They were empty. Every single one of them. A shiver ran down his spine.
‘Something wrong, sir?’ The sergeant asked, looking away from the arbitrators bundling the shattered remains of the Adept-Prefectus into a corpse-bag. Matumba shook his head and tossed the chapbook on the ground. This place was playing tricks on his mind. He took another long drag on the lho-stick.
‘Burn it, sergeant. The whole section.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Chopra sketched him a quick salute and turned to give orders to his men. Matumba couldn’t help but feel he heard a note of relief in the hardened enforcer’s voice. He cast one last look down at the strange, empty chapbook, then flicked his still burning lho-stick onto it. The cover began to smoulder.
There was something untowards out here in this dreary place. He felt it in his soul. Better to burn the rot now than let it spread. The enforcers left the corpse-bag and began to assemble the flamer they carried. As they rolled out the fuel hose, the interrogator barely considered the shelves around him and their contents. Knowledge would be lost, the Emperor only knew how much, but it was no great tragedy.
After all, Matumba thought, knowledge was a very dangerous thing.
About the Author
Raised in the grimbrightness of Orange County, Tristan managed to win a fan fiction competition for Bretonnian army collectors at the age of 16 and has been writing Warhammer stories ever since. When not doing work work, he enjoys reading books, saving Helmgart from the predations of Skaven, and trying to build up the courage to tackle his ever-expanding pile of unpainted miniatures.
