Classes began promptly at eight bells.

Katie entered her first period class bleary-eyed and exhausted. What little sleep she had managed to glean from the precious few hours remaining after her late-night foray into the library had been plagued by strange dreams and fits of wakefulness brought on by her inability to find the answers to the ceaseless questions plaguing her.

She trudged up the stairs of the classroom amphitheater to the fifth tier and chose a seat a third of the way in. She collapsed into the chair with a heavy sigh and opened her backpack. The Book of All Things grinned out at her as she reached for her notebook.

“Remember your promise,” she warned in a whisper.

“My covers are sealed,” it whispered back. “You won’t hear so much as a citation out of me.”

“I’d better not.”

“Good morning, class.”

Katie glanced up to see a tall, stately figure enter the room. He was dressed in a long khaki robe, sandals, and the beige beret of a college praelector. His face was thin, his eyes stern, and when he spoke, his words poured from the corner of his mouth, as though half of his lips had been glued shut.

“My name,” he said in a petulant and condescending tone, “is Praelector Fongernil. You may not call me Mister Fongernil or even Master Fongernil. I am a praelector, and you will use that title whenever you wish to address me. I did not spend ten years in post-graduate college not to be addressed as such.”

He crossed his hands behind his back and began to pace the lecturing floor.

“This is Freshman Oddysh,” he continued. “Here you will learn to write and to speak the ancient form of the Oddysh language. While it is considered on all accounts a dead language, it is nevertheless important to learn, mainly because our modern form of the language borrows heavily from its vast repository of verbs.”
He speared each student with a pointed look before resuming his speech.

“Now,” he said, “do not delude yourselves into thinking that this course will be easy. It will be anything but. Those of you who wish to spare yourselves the embarrassment of receiving failing marks on your papers should transfer into Praelector Wullings’ class down the hall while you have the chance. He is, I understand, quite cavalier in his approach to Oddysh and is a favorite of the…less gifted…students here at Derring-Do. But those of you who desire a challenge when it comes to your schoolwork are more than welcome to remain here. And to these brave and adventurous students I say: Welcome.”

“This guy sounds like a real gobshite,” The Book of All Things muttered.

Praelector Fongernil’s gaze flicked to Katie, and he paused.

“Was there a comment you wished to make, Miss…?”

Katie paled as the class turned as one to look at her. “Frost,” she said, her voice hoarse with embarrassment. “Katie Frost. And, no, praelector. I was just, er, talking to myself.”

“Is that so?” Fongernil said quietly. “Talking—to yourself or to others—while a praelector is lecturing is rude and disruptive. I do not like rude and disruptive students, Miss Frost. Therefore, it is in your best interest to refrain from such behavior in the future. Do I make myself understood?”

“Yes, praelector,” Katie replied.

Fongernil snorted a harrumph and turned to the blackboard. As he began his lecture on the origins of Oddysh as a language, a green flashnote suddenly appeared at the top of Katie’s notebook.

Congratulations, it read. You’ve just made “The List of Lost Students.”

Katie glanced around surreptitiously and saw a scarecrow at the far end of the next row give her a quick little wave. He was short and stubby, and his burlap face was riddled with holes.

The List of Lost Students? she scribbled on the flashnote. What is that???

Fongernil’s personal list of least favorite students. The writing disappeared and was replaced with: Once you make the list it’s almost impossible to redeem yourself. I should know. I made the list last year and failed miserably.

Katie felt her blood run cold. Perfect, she bitterly thought to herself. Alienating her praelector was exactly the sort of thing she wanted to accomplish in her first class at Derring-Do! Fuming, she reached into her backpack and buckled The Book of All Things’ cover. When it began to struggle, Katie leaned on it, hard.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she whispered firmly.

The Book gave a pathetic muffled grunt and ceased its struggling.

At ten bells Katie arrived at her Grand Entrance class to find Bazil Buckthorn sitting in the front row. The Leprechaun was perched on the edge of a chair three times his size, swinging his feet like an overexcited child. When he noticed her, his eager smile widened, and he gestured eagerly for her to take the empty chair next to him.

“How was your first class?” Katie asked as she slipped into the seat.

“ It was wonderful!” Bazil crowed.

Without warning, his gauntleted fist smashed him in the ear. He tottered precariously on the edge of the chair, feet and arms akimbo, but managed to steady himself by seizing hold of Katie’s arm.

“Thank you, me dear,” he muttered, ignoring the giggles coming from several of the students sitting behind them. “But if ye must know, it was okay.”

Konk!

“It was horrible,” he finally admitted. “Simply horrible.”

“Why?” Katie asked.

“For starters, the praelector thinks I’m a dwarf. And to add insult to injury, as a study group he paired me with a couple of mean spirited Loghremen.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Katie said optimistically.

“Doesn’t sound too bad?” Bazil croaked. “Loghremen and Leprechauns are mortal enemies, don’t ye know! They have a fondness for gold the same as we Leprechauns, but they’re especially fond of our gold! They’ve raided our hidden hoards every summer for centuries. And I can’t even begin to tell ye all the nasty things they do to our rainbows!”

Katie gave him a sympathetic pat on the hand. “If it makes you feel any better, my first class wasn’t so fun, either. I managed to make the praelector’s list of least favorite students.”

Bazil winced. “Bad luck,” he said.

“Tell me about it.”

Suddenly, the wall directly in front of them exploded inward, and a broad-chested she-barbarian stalked through the cloud of dust and debris to the lecture floor. She struck a wide-legged stance and rested her fists atop her hips as she studied the startled class with grim, black eyes. She wore only a skimpy chain mail brassiere and loincloth combo, and every inch of her body was bursting with muscle.

“I am Gerta,” she said, thumping her chest with a mighty fist. “Welcome to Grand Entrance 101. Here you will learn the basic techniques for entering a room with emphasis and style. You, the little green booger in the first row. Come up here.”

Bazil grinned as he leapt from the chair and padded up to the lecture floor.

Praelector Gerta prowled over to the stack of doors, walls, and windows propped against the far wall and returned with a plain wooden door, which she placed in the center of the floor.

“I’m not keen on lecturing,” continued Gerta as she spun to face the class. “I’m keen on smashing. And I will begin by teaching you how to kick down your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, weak-in-the-hinges front door.” She cracked her knuckles; they crunched like snail shells crushed beneath a heavy foot. “But before I demonstrate this simple technique, can someone tell me why a hero would want to kick in a door?”

A blue-headed Oakshee sitting in the third row raised its hand. “To show that he means business?” it said.

Gerta grunted. “Are you asking a question or making a statement?”

“Making a statement,” said the Oakshee.

“Then make one.”

“To show that he means business.”

“Okay,” said Gerta. “And what else?”

“To surprise anyone who might be inside,” a Sheerie answered from the back of the room.

“Surprise? For what purpose?”

“To catch them off their guard.”

“Excellent!” Gerta bounced proudly on the balls of her feet. “And?”

Katie raised her hand. “To put a sudden stop to whatever is going on inside,” she said.

“Such as?”

“A brutal sacrifice or some sort of black magick ritual or clandestine meeting.”

Gerta smacked her fist into an open palm. “Yes! All of you are correct. But…a good hero can’t just go around kicking down every door he finds. Obviously she has to use her judgment. For instance, if a king summons you to his court, he probably wouldn’t appreciate you ruining his expensive, gilded doors. You would have to perform a subtler entrance, such as thrusting the doors aside and marching into the room with a stern look on your face. But we’ll get to those finer techniques later on in the course. Right now, let’s assume some demonic villain is about to sacrifice a lusty-eyed damsel behind this door. To show him you mean business, and to catch him off his guard, and to prevent him from sacrificing the damsel, you’ll want to make your entrance as grand and as sudden possible. Like so.”

Quick as a striking snake, her foot lashed out and lambasted the door. It exploded inward in a wild spray of spinning shards and clattering chunks.

Gerta paused to admire her handiwork and then clapped her hands. In a blink, the door reassembled itself and returned to its original state. “Marvelous things, these magickal doors,” she growled.

Subdued laughter rippled through the class.

“All right!” Gerta said, rounding on Bazil. “Booger, here, is going to do exactly what I just did. And then, once I’ve taught you the mechanics, you’ll all have a go at it. Ready, Booger?”

Bazil stepped forward, beaming proudly. “Ready, praelector,” he replied.

“Then have at it.”

Bazil made a running charge at the door, raised his foot at the last second, and succeeded in punching a small hole just above its bottom rail. But to everyone’s surprise, the kicked pulled Bazil off balance and dropped him spectacularly to the floor.

The class exploded with laughter.

Gerta helped the Leprechaun to his feet, trying hard not to let her amusement show. “Are you hurt?” she barked.

“Not in the slightest!” Bazil replied.

Konk! went his gauntlet.

“Well, maybe just a little,” he confessed.

The noon bell ushered in College Hour, and Katie found that she welcomed the break in her schedule. But instead of accompanying Bazil to the Commons for a bit of lunch, she decided to pass the break in the solitude of the shade beneath one of the mighty oaks marching along the circumference of the Center Green.

But she wasn’t alone for long.

No sooner had she found a comfortable seat between two large roots jutting up through the heavy carpet of grass when a shadow slipped out from behind the tree. She recognized Dame Lizbet’s outline at once.
“I’m sorry that I was unable to meet with you this morning,” Lizbet’s voice said in a repentant tone. “But I spent half the night searching the swamp for Prince Fisk. He wandered off, and I feared that he might have fallen victim to one of Green Jenny’s murderous offspring. As it turned out, I found him wandering aimlessly in the deep swamp, where no creature in its right mind would dare to tread. Apparently he had gotten lost while hunting mud rats, of all things. But all’s well that ends well.”

Lizbet’s shadow heaved a sigh and continued. “I’m on campus, now, and await the return of my shadow. Tell it where I can find you, and I’ll make haste to join you.”

Lizbet was true to her word. She arrived at the oak a few minutes later, red-faced and out of breath. The two of them hugged, and as they parted, Katie saw that Lizbet’s eyes were gleaming with excitement.

“What’s behind this urgency of yours, hm?”

Grinning slyly, Katie withdrew The Book of All Things from her backpack and cradled it in her arm. Lizbet frowned as she read the title.

“A Hundred and One Uses for Earwax?” Her face fell. “Katie,” she warned. “This had better not be a joke.”

“It’s no joke,” said Katie excitedly. She leaned in close and whispered in Lizbet’s ear. “This is The Book of All Things!”

Lizbet’s frown deepened. “Did someone hex you or something?” she asked quizzically. She used her thumbs to pry Katie’s lower lids away from her eyes and inspected them closely.

Katie laughed and jerked out of the woman’s grasp. “Of course not!” she said. She reached for the buckle that bound the book’s cover closed and began to loosen it. “Watch this.”

As the buckle slipped free, the book shot into the air and began to gasp for breath. It flapped around their heads like an injured bird, puffing and panting far too theatrically to be taken seriously.

“That was terribly inconsiderate of you Katie,” it wheezed. “A book can only hold its breath for so long, you know. You could have damaged me!”

“Seeing how much you’ve damaged my relationship with Praelector Fongernil, I’d say turn about is fair play,” she replied sternly.

“Young scallywag!” it spat. “You have no appreciation for fine Literature! None whatsoever! You treat me as if I’m second-hand!”

Katie snagged the book from the air and spun it to face Lizbet. “This is Dame Lizbet Vambrace, Archaeomagi and Fortune Teller. I’d like you to make her acquaintance.”

“Charmed,” the book muttered.

A skeptical glow burned in Lizbet’s eyes as she glanced at Katie. “You’ve been tricked, Katie,” she said. “This is just an ordinary book that someone’s hexed with a mimicry spell.”

“Ordinary?” the book cried indignantly. “Hexed? My dear lady, I’ll have you know that I was created by the Elder Mages, not by some pimple-faced amateur fooling around with her mother’s spell book!”

Lizbet snorted. “Prove it.”

The book rose regally into the air, flipped onto its side, and exposed its front cover. There was a flash of purple light and then the book’s true title began to blaze with red and gold flames.

“You can gasp in astonishment at any time,” the book crowed.

Lizbet’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets, and she clutched Katie’s arm as if to keep from falling. “I don’t believe it!” she managed to blurt. “The… The…”

“The Book of All Things,” the book said, sketching its idea of a bow. “At your service. Well…figuratively, at least.”

Several passersby gawked at the spectacle the book was making of itself as it hovered over Lizbet’s head, flaming like a beacon torch. Appalled, Lizbet made a frantic lunge for it, seized it in both hands, and screamed as tongues of blue lightning lanced into her fingers. She staggered back, gaping at her smoking hands.

“No one I do not share a bond with may touch me when I stand revealed,” the book warned. “Only Katie may.”

Lizbet’s wide-eyed gaze flicked from Katie to the book and back again. “It… bonded with you?” she asked breathlessly. “Why?”

“It thinks I’m a...”

“…very nice girl,” the book said in a rush.

Lizbet’s face twitched with indignation. “What?” she cried.

Katie gave a sheepish shrug.

Snapping to her senses, Lizbet grabbed Katie’s arm and half marched, half dragged her into a nearby grove, away from prying eyes and ears. The book followed, bouncing buoyantly along behind them.

“Don’t let it do that,” Lizbet snapped, waving her hands frantically at the book. She looked positively livid. “It won’t do to have people seeing it following you around like a lost puppy! There will be questions, rumors, gossip. Where is your common sense, girl?”
 
Katie frowned and ordered the book into her backpack. It grumbled, heaved a sigh, flapped its covers in hesitation, and finally obeyed.

Shaking her head, Lizbet collapsed onto a stone bench next to a statue of a charging Pooka and used the hem of her dress to dab the sweat from her brow. “This is intolerable,” she grumbled. “Intolerable and unfortunate!”

Katie sat beside her, dropped the backpack into her lap, and clamped it between her legs. “Unfortunate?” she said, startled. This was hardly the response she expected from an Archaeomagi. “Lizbet, I found The Book of All Things! Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, I do,” said Lizbet, shooting her a harsh look. “It means that the most powerful magickal artifact in the history of Odyssey is in the hands of a…a rank amateur!”

Katie bristled at the comment. “ I beg your pardon?” she said. “You think I’m a rank amateur?”

“Yes!” Lizbet barked. “You’re undisciplined. Untried. Irresponsible.” She turned and faced Katie. Anger radiated from her stare like steam from a boiling pot. “Did you think that bonding with it wouldn’t have its consequences?”

“Well, I…”

“Fool, girl! After all I told you about that book…did nothing sink in? Its power is too great for you! You’re not a trained sorceress! The last time it fell into the hands of a novice it turned her into one of the worst evils Odyssey has ever faced! The very moment you learned what it was, you should have brought it straight to me instead of fiddling with it as though it were some Silly Willy Wacky Toy!”

“I did bring the book to you,” Katie pointed out in a sharp tone. “That’s why you’re here.”

Lizbet opened her mouth to fire off a retort, but snapped it shut again.

“And another thing,” Katie continued, warming to the argument. “It wasn’t like I wanted the book to bond with me. When it learned Notorcia was trying to kill me, it decided on its own to forge the bond! So you can sit there and spit venom at me all you want, but nothing you say can change anything! What’s done is over. For better of for worse the book is in my care, and instead of arguing about it we need to figure out what we’re going to do next.”
Lizbet looked thoroughly trounced by Katie’s barbed response. The old woman heaved a resigned sigh and patted Katie on the knee. Katie resisted the urge to swat the hand aside.

“You’re quite right, Katie,” Lizbet said in a soft voice that sounded both apologetic and thoughtful. “Yes, what to do?”

She stood and began to pace a slow circuit around the bench. Katie watched her, reluctant to release her anger yet fighting desperately to keep herself from responding in kind to all the hurtful insults the woman had hurled at her. Rank amateur, indeed!

“I’m afraid,” Lizbet said at last, almost in utter disappointment, “the only thing we can do at the present is bring this matter before the Council of Magi.”

Katie gulped. The Council of Magi was Odyssey’s highest ruling body, led by four of the most powerful sorceresses alive. Katie’s heart nearly stopped at the thought of having to meet these women. Rumor had it they were pompous, standoffish, and uncompromising, and she could just imagine how they would respond when they heard how poorly she had handled the discovery of The Book of All Things. “Why do we have to involve them?” she asked. “Can’t we just figure something out on our own?”

Lizbet snorted a humorless chuckle. “Not unless you want to spend the next ten years pulling guard duty along the Frozen Frontier,” she said. “Using or concealing an ancient and potentially dangerous magickal artifact like The Book of All Things without the Council’s permission is decidedly illegal, Katie. There’s nothing we can do. Our hands are tied. We have to bring the Council into this.”

Katie sighed. “At least the book is safe for the moment,” she said, trying to sound optimistic but falling woefully short.

Lizbet slowed her pacing and stared down her nose at Katie. “You’d do well to strike that thought from your head,” she warned. “Just because you share a bond with the book doesn’t mean that it is safe—nor does it prevent Notorcia from attempting to take it from you. Don’t forget she shares a bond with it as well. She may not send another party of Ogrim to attack you, but she could turn the book against you. Or the book could turn on you of its own free will. It was in her possession for many years. Who knows what sort of twisted allegiance it owes her…”

“Wait a minute,” Katie said, snapping erect. “How did you know about the Ogrim attack?”

“Chani,” Lizbet blurted offhandedly. Her eyes flicked to the backpack as she spoke her granddaughter’s name. “You haven’t revealed the book to her, have you? Or attempted to perform any of its spells?” she inquired carefully.

“No, I haven’t,” Katie replied. “I’ve been too busy, what with classes and all.”

Lizbet’s shoulders seemed to drop slightly, as if freed of some sudden tension. “Good,” she said. “Keep its discovery to yourself. And whatever you do, don’t even look at the thing. And the less you touch the book, the better. We don’t need you getting obsessed with it the way Notorcia did.”

“I hardly think that will happen,” Katie snorted.

“I’m sure Notorcia thought the same thing…until it was too late.”

The afternoon bell chimed, and Katie shot to her feet with a start.

“I’m late for my next class!” she cried, snatching the backpack into her fist. “I’ll be at the Museum if you need me.”

“I’ll join you shortly,” Lizbet said. “Just as soon as I dispatch my shadow to the Magi.”

Copyright © 2008 by Kevin Scott Munnings
“The Book of All Things” ISBN-13: 978-1-4276-1874-0
All Rights Reserved