Secretary-Librarian Luna chuckled, her smile wobbly and uneven as she spoke, a foot-long iron needle held tightly in her grip even as the broken glass container of it dug into her palm threateningly. “I don’t care, death would be merciful compared to the things you’ve made me do. My only regret is that I neglected to do this sooner. Now, where is the plopling? He is here, I know it! The bastard never leaves your side. Tell me, and I might let you live.”
Needles
A Bishop-To-Be, one that was born with the infinity mark and thus destined to become the next vessel of worldwide knowledge, came to exist only when the current Bishop was prophesied to die by the universe itself. This Bishop-To-Be was crowned with the robes and spectacles of their predecessor after the wheezing, dying, fall of the last Bishop. If he had only known what his existence meant, Key would have let himself die. He would have let the moisture be sucked from him and allowed his petroleum layer to crumble off his back like dust within that cruel blazing desert. The sandbanks had been his home for as long as he could remember; the generosity and the compassion of the now-deceased Bishop Tree had changed that.
“Key! Hide in the bookcase! Now! And don’t come out no matter what!”
Key had been abandoned in the endless seashell-pink sandy dunes of the Witless Desert, only surviving by stealing food and water from those that traveled the hot unpathed planes. Those planes hid the sprawling villa that was the Infinite Library. The library housed not only boundless knowledge both allowed and forbidden to mortal eyes but also the current Prelate of Knowledge: The Bishop and the immensely lucky Jiglow who was hired as their secretary and librarian of the villa’s halls. Bishop Tree had been the one to find him; Key’s gelatinous form had dried out in the sun as he used the limited protection of a blanket to keep himself as cool as possible. For some reason the tall and robed Jiglow had taken pity on him; he taught Key things that he never would have even dreamed up and nursed him back to health.
Slowly, his smooth chestnut-shaped head became so large that it forced him to stumble at times while the ball-topped antenna sprouting from the tip of his head became so lively that it bounced with each step he took. Secretary-Librarian Luna soon went quiet. Leisurely, his jellybean-shaped torso became gorged with drink, food, and –his favorite thing in the world— ice cream. Luna became distant days later. Gently, the dune-like slope of his skirt began to billow out underneath him, gaining layer after layer of frilly covering. Luna started to behave a bit erratic.
He had been the final nail in the coffin, no one could tell Key otherwise. He had been in the library. He had been admiring himself in the reflection of a freshly waxed table reading table. His antenna bobbed –simultaneously acting as his means of sight and later-on means of reproduction— admiring his chestnut head, his jellybean torso, his lacy skirt; Key ran his hands over each improved facet humming to himself as he felt just how slick yet sticky his petroleum membrane now was without the sun chipping at it. He had been so happy.
So happy until Bishop Tree came bounding into the room, screaming in the shaky, ragged tone of a desperate man. “Key! Hide in the bookcase! Now! And don’t come out no matter what!” He had turned his head, only catching a glimpse of his mentor. The same mentor that had rescued and rejuvenated him to a remarkable victory.
The Secretary-Librarian, Luna, had certainly made sure that the last kind act Bishop Tree would be saving Key from a murderer. “Yes, my Bishop.”
It had been a busy day. Wisdom-seeking customers had stormed the library with a ravenous and merciless hunger to learn everything they could stuff into their brains. But, by now, things were settling down with those customers blearily heading to the front, moving from the back and past him to the checkout counter—some with only a single book, others with mountains of them. The library was expansive; vertical spiral bookcases, and dozens upon dozens of reinforced glass and metal structures, stretched high from floor to ceiling. About fifty feet tall and filled with books thin and thick.
They were disorganized in pattern and placed within the uncarpeted and comfortably chill room. Leaving plenty of room for padded rocking chairs, matching wooden table and chair sets, feather-stuffed leather bean bags, and other chairs. Resting against the pale blue and yellow light bulb patterned walls, there were vending machines for both food and drink; the cheap rations inside them were only accessible by a swipe of one’s library card or—in Tree’s case—with a scan of his figure eight infinity glasses. Next to each of the large metal machines, there were wall-hung spiral bookcases filled with tomes, just like all the other horizontal ones. Inside one of the emptier shelves, Key hid away like he was told to, unable to look away from the standing form of Bishop Tree just below.
“There you are! Where is that little brat?”
The weed-green Jiglow, Bishop, fitted in his book-themed robes, was covered in shallow lashes all around his chest and head, the only one deep enough to penetrate his membrane was the gash in his neck. Core, thick pesticide-scented ichor, spilled to the carpeted floor, slipping through the opening as Bishop Tree desperately used his hands to try to stem the flow to no avail. The speed and ruthlessness of which his spring-green essence left him forced the wound to open further until it crept along his cheek and down his shoulder. There was no chance he was going to survive. “Y-You won’t get away with this, they will know it was you,” Bishop Tree stammered out, his low, mumbling voice, still as deeply resonating as it always had been, even as his posture began to slump against the bookcase for support.
He was losing too much core; he was dying.
Secretary-Librarian Luna chuckled, her smile wobbly and uneven as she spoke, a foot-long iron needle held tightly in her grip even as the broken glass container of it dug into her palm threateningly. “I don’t care, death would be merciful compared to the things you’ve made me do. My only regret is that I neglected to do this sooner. Now, where is the plopling? He is here, I know it! The bastard never leaves your side. Tell me, and I might let you live.”
It took everything within Key to not say anything, to not rat himself out, especially as Tree fell to the floor. The dripping core from his throat pooled on the rug below in a large, smelly puddle.
“It's too late for that.”
BANG! BANG! BANG! Someone was slamming against the front door; it could not be customers; they had left hours ago.
“And it's too late for you to do anything to him either.”
BANG! BANG! BA— The library door busted open, and, with the cocking of guns and a gust of wind followed by the flurry of sand grains, it was all over. For Luna and
Tree. “This is the police! Everyone freeze!”
Key sniffled, hugging himself as the last of the bishop’s core leaked onto the floor, leaving his mentor as an empty bag of film. Bishop Tree was too weak to speak but, even as he lay there losing consciousness in his life essence, he strained to look up and mouth a single sentence that Key would hold towards his chest for as long as he lived: “Be a good bishop, Key. Be better than me. So much better. Please.”
“Hey! You! Put down the weapon!” said the approaching police, finally getting close enough to see Luna. “I said put the weapon down. Don’t make us shoot!”
♾️ ♾️ ♾️
“Bishop?”
“H-Huh?”
“Are you alright?”
Key brought a hand up to his head, and internally winced. Had his mind run away from him again? How embarrassing. He could not keep doing this. Pulling his hand away, petroleum jelly, thick and fluffy like whipped cream and smelling as sweet as ginger-flavored hard candies, came back. Key did not hide his flinch back this time. He needed to pull himself together before ––
“Our Bishop is feeling a little worn out. It is best to end things now, let Key get some food and rest, I’m sure he will feel a bit better tomorrow,”
Too late. Unlike most Librarian-Secretaries of the past, Vivi had control over her Bishop. It was to be expected as, when he had become the vessel of all the world's knowledge, he had been a plopling, barely a year old, so his assistant became more of a caretaker for him. Only a day ago he finally became an adult. Technically he could now retract the other’s statement, but he would hate to do that. So, in silence, he watched as the crowd dispersed from the sheeted table that he and Luna had sat at for the day’s meet-and-greet in the town of Pestilence. Just like all medically aligned and pledged towns, the buildings were pure white with no windows and had nothing but automatic sliding glass doors as entrances. A flag waved in many of the front yards—the clear steel metal of their rods dug deep in the ground— whilst its cloth mast detailed a white and silver hypodermic needle, filled with sloshing, mint green fluid swimming with red crosses on a solid cotton-candy pink background.
“Come on,” Vivi said, a flicker of tender emotion sparking in her voice, “What ice cream do you want for dinner? They have a good parlor close to here.”
For a moment Bishop Key did not move. Instead, he glanced back at the crowd, moving from each unique red blob that had yet to go back to their homes or businesses, choosing to stick around to gawk at him. He had to stay. “I cannot go. It would be a disappointment to my adoring public. They need to bask in my presence.”
“K, you’re tired,” a thinner, broken hand firmly rested on his clasped grip, forcing Key to investigate Vivi’s face. Just like him, the noseless, eyeless, single-antennae Jiglow wore a book-themed robe designed to resemble one of the bookcases in the library; only, this version of the bookcase was filled with all the material Vivi had ever read. “You need rest.”
“I do not!” Key snapped, as he yanked his hands from under the warm appendage they had been buried under. “And don’t touch me, there is no telling where your hands have been!” Key was not sure how, but he managed to keep his voice at a whisper. Maybe it was because the slightly rainbow-tinted vision of his spectacles was giving him a migraine. Maybe it was because of the cumbersome weight in his right pocket from the thick, ancient tome that he was tasked to care for. “I will stay here; you will get me ice cream. Peach, or chocolate, or buttercream, I do not care but I will stay here.”
“Okay,” Vivi stated, as she jumped from her seat, her mermaid skirt sloshing audibly against the dirt. “Just stay safe, alright?”
Key smiled, maybe he was getting used to this whole adulting thing, overseeing things and jiglows. However, just as he started to feel good, his gaze flicked to one of the civilians. In the civilian’s pockets, there were needles—sharp and pointed. Key shivered, shuffling slightly in his seat, but staying in it all the same. “I will be safe, nothing will happen.” Lowering his voice to a whimper, he could feel his cheeks boil. “Be back soon, I am hungry. Very hungry. And you do not want to keep your Bishop waiting, yes?”
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