The Queen's Librarian by Carole Cummings Read Free Book Online Page A

might call a shade of red, my name is not Red Librarian, it’s Lucas Tripp. You may call me—”
    “Tripp!” cried the man, smiling broadly now. “Tripp havesu Red Libe-aar-in mathlasa thei scontun dei selesen Tripp!”
    Lucas stared. And then he narrowed his eyes. “Is this a practical joke? Did Laurie put you up to this?” Lucas really would kill him.
    The man sighed, gently set Cat down on the bed, and rubbed at his chin, thoughtful. Cat let out a mournful bleat and pouted from her seat on Lucas’s pillow. Lucas rolled his eyes.
    “Menlathsa fie scontun,” the man said slowly, “dei celendi Tripp.” He sighed again, tipped a firm nod, then pointed at Lucas. “Tripp Libe-aar-in.” And then at himself. “Elenenn Daimin.” When Lucas merely stared blankly, the man did it again. “Tripp, Libe-aar-in,” at Lucas, and then “Elenenn, Daimin,” at himself.
    All right. It would seem clear what the man was getting at. Except.
    “Are you saying,” Lucas asked carefully, thumping lightly at his own breastbone, “librarian,” and then at the man’s, “ Daimin ?”
    “Ma, ma !” cried the man. He seemed elated and relieved at the same time. “Tripp Libe-aar-in mathlasa thei scontun ne lasa Elenenn Daimin!”
    He beamed a smile that Lucas had to admit would have been quite engaging, were Lucas not standing in his bedroom with a stranger who was quite plainly completely stark bloody bonkers. Or at least Lucas was almost certain he was. And if Lucas was right, the man was rounding out his bonkers-ness by trying to converse in a language that had been locked up on the other side of the Portal for almost two centuries, and bollixing the pronunciation beyond recognition while he was at it.
    “You think you’re Daimin, don’t you?” Lucas gave him what he hoped was a friendly and unthreatening smile, then consciously broadened it when the man nodded vigorously and said, “Ma, Elenenn Daimin.” He tapped a finger to his chest then held out his hand, palm up. “Scontun.”
    Lucas only stared and kept smiling. The man still didn’t seem dangerous, but he had accosted Lucas twice, and was now standing in Lucas’s home, which meant he’d been watching and quite obviously following. And he clearly wanted something.
    “Scontun,” echoed Lucas. He tilted his head. “I think the word you’re actually trying to say is scounttune , which in the language of the Daimin means ‘key’. A key to what or where, I’m sure I don’t know, but—Hey, what d’you think you’re doing?” Lucas snatched back the book to which the man had just helped himself from Lucas’s bedside table. He hugged it to his chest. “This is a very valuable text from the lost library of the Third Sovereignty of the Helemites. You don’t go about nicking things like that.”
    And it had been the very first Winter’s Heart gift from Alex, who’d found it quite by accident in a curiosity shop, mixed in with a bunch of romance dreadfuls, the last time he’d been to Qest’trel on his father’s business. He hadn’t known what it was; he’d just known that Lucas would, and the fact that Alex had thought about him—way back when they’d been new to each other, and still shying from potential promises—had rather set Alex in Lucas’s heart to stay. Which made the book beyond price for Lucas. Alex had once said perhaps he should sell it, when Lucas was having a difficult time stretching budgets. Lucas thought he’d rather starve to death as a pauper in the wilderness, and with that book clutched to his chest.
    “Scontun,” said the man. Very firmly this time. He nodded at the book in Lucas’s hand then peered around himself and swept up another from the stack on the floor by the clothespress. He took up several from the top of the stack and held up the first. “Scontun,” he said again, and then he held up another. “Scontun.” He opened the book, leafing through the pages. “Scontun.” He brought it over to Lucas and