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The God of Lost Words (A Novel from Hell's Library, Band 3) - Softcover

Buch 3 von 3: Hell?s Library trilogy

Hackwith, A. J.

 
9781984806413: The God of Lost Words (A Novel from Hell's Library, Band 3)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1984806416 ISBN 13: 9781984806413
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

"Hackwith's poignant, imaginative series sends readers on an amazing journey, with profound prose that will capture hearts and minds."*

To save the Library of the Unwritten in Hell, former librarian Claire and her allies may have to destroy it first.

Claire, rakish Hero, angel Rami, and muse-turned-librarian Brevity have accomplished the impossible by discovering the true nature of unwritten books. But now that the secret is out, in its quest for power Hell will be coming for every wing of the Library.

To protect the Unwritten Wing and stave off the insidious reach of Malphas, one of Hell’s most bloodthirsty generals, Claire and her friends will have to decide how much they’re willing to sacrifice to keep their vulnerable corner of the afterlife. Succeeding would mean rewriting the nature of the Library, but losing would mean obliteration. Their only chance at survival lies in outwitting Hell and writing a new chapter for the Library. Luckily, Claire and her friends know how the right story, told well, can start a revolution.

*Library Journal (starred review)

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

A. J. Hackwith (she/they) is (almost) certainly not an ink witch in a hoodie. She's a queer writer of fantasy and science fiction living in the woods of the Pacific Northwest with her partner and various pet cryptids. A.J. is the author of a number of fantasy novels, including the acclaimed  LIBRARY OF THE UNWRITTEN fantasy trilogy. She is a graduate of the Viable Paradise writer's workshop and her work appears in Uncanny Magazine and assorted anthologies. Summon A.J. at your own peril with an arcane circle of fountain pens, weird collections of rusted keys, and homebrew D&D accessories. Or you can find A.J. on Instagram, Patreon and other dark corners of the Internet as @ajhackwith.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1

HERO

Maybe a library isn’t defined by what it holds. Maybe it is defined by what it does.

Librarian Bjorn the Bard, 1433 CE

When a book runs, a librarian follows. It was the law, part threat, part promise, of the Unwritten Wing. Hero knew this; all the books knew this. It was thoroughly known.

What was unknown was what a book was supposed to do when the librarian ran.

The Arcane Wing had become a carefully layered thicket. No, not a thicket—­a fort. Hero danced between half-­crumpled crates of artifacts, malice and wonder dribbling out from between the cracks. A stack of folded gold cloth tilted precariously, and Hero sidestepped the silk avalanche.

It was worse than Rami had described when, in the low, gentle tones of a worried sheepdog, he’d asked Hero for help. “She hasn’t conducted an inventory in a month. Not since . . .” He trailed off, finding it either impossible or unnecessary to indicate the epicenter of Claire’s distress. Of everyone’s, really. A mysterious ink that stained and threatened to possess Claire, a muse angling for revolution, Hero’s book . . . gone. No one emerged from that nonsense with the unwritten ink okay. Under different circumstances, Hero would still be sunk into a dark corner of Hell and an even darker corner of whatever passed for a bottle of ale in these parts—­he suspected Walter could point him the way. But those were different circumstances, and this . . . well, this was Claire.

The Arcane Wing had been ruled by Claire’s discipline, iron will pitted against magical chaos. But now order had been discarded, however temporarily, in a search for answers that weren’t there. Hero cleared the last wall of defense—­a particularly cluttered table where ornate jewelry lay in a tangled nest—­and found the center of Claire’s warren.

“Go. Away.”

Ah, this was why Rami had asked Hero to help. Ramiel was a steady assistant, could lend infinite wise guidance and support. That patently wasn’t what Claire needed right now. People only ever brought Hero in when there was monstrous prodding to be done.

The Arcanist was slouched in the chair behind her desk. She had an absurdly large book held up like a shield. Hero cleared his throat. Predictably, Claire ignored him.

“Sulking doesn’t suit you, warden,” Hero said.

The book lowered a fraction. Claire’s face did an enjoyable contortion before settling into an arch frown as she saw him. Bodies didn’t change much in Hell, but Hero thought he could detect new, exhausted lines around her eyes that had not been there before. She rose and brushed past him with precisely the brusque, offended air he’d been hoping to elicit. “I don’t have time to sulk—­or for you.”

“But I’m a delight.” Hero shadowed Claire’s steps as she stopped to straighten a particularly teetering stack of crates. Even when cultivating chaos, Claire was tidy. “And you must have time. You’ve wasted nearly a month on self-­pity.”

“Not self-­pity. Research.”

“Ever your vice. Personally I would prefer if you were a drunkard. It would be infinitely more entertaining for the rest of us.”

“I apologize for boring you.”

“Never that, no.” Hero smiled as Claire finally halted at the head of a row of shelves to look at him. “You are never that.”

Claire sighed, but Hero could see her shoulders relax by inches. “What do you want, Hero?”

“The same as you—­answers. But we already know we won’t find them here.” Hero stepped closer, still feeling a thrill of wonder when he reached out to touch her chin and she allowed it. “We’ve already faced the worst, Claire. What are you hiding from?”

There was a moment when Claire drew a breath and her lips parted and Hero thought he’d reached her. But then the answer came out of the darkness behind him. “The consequences of her own actions, if I was asked to wager a guess.”

The voice crashed against them like ice water. Hero stepped back out of reflex. Claire’s mouth snapped closed and she turned with a poise she reserved for only the worst things. “Why, Malphas. To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit, Grandmother of Ghosts?”

Malphas was seated at a worktable near the front doors, enthroned in a brown-­red cloak. She was a lean older woman, although demons could appear any age they wished. Age sharpened her edges rather than softened them. The soft light from the lamps deepened her wizened features and made the fabric appear to puddle into dried blood in the folds. At least, Hero reverently hoped it was a trick of the light. A smile pinched her wrinkled features and she raised her voice to carry. “Never cared much for that name. ‘Grandmother’ insinuates I’d claim anyone as kin.”

“A shame; she’d make a delightful evil stepmother,” Hero mused under his breath.

No one should have been able to hear him at this distance, but Malphas pinned him with a glance. It was precisely like a pinning, so much steel and malice in her regard that a cold smear of terror streaked up Hero’s spine. He felt a small bit of relief when Malphas turned to Claire with a trip-­wire smile. “If only it were bloodshed. No, nothing so pleasant. Worse: accounting.”

Malphas said the word with the precise feeling with which Hero might say “polyester,” or Claire would say “coffee.” Claire’s lip twitched. “Poor thing. Don’t you have a lesser devil of details to see to that for you?”

Malphas appeared to miss the wordplay. “They’re the ones who brought it to my attention. I need an inventory.”

The amusement faded off Claire’s face. Hero was fairly certain only he could notice the muscles in her jaw as they twitched. “An inventory? Surely you don’t mean my wing.”

Leather stained the color of dried blood creaked as Malphas folded her arms and tapped a sharp claw against her elbow. “For a start. Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, child. I’ll be asking the Unwritten too.”

Claire smiled, and it was a very particular smile. One she reserved for disasters and imminent death. Really, it was alarming how familiar Hero was with that smile. “I’d be happy to comply; unfortunately, Hell doesn’t have authority over the Library to make such a request. We’re sovereign, remember.”

“A right shame—­we do so love cooperating with Hell,” Hero added.

“You aren’t sovereign, not when it disturbs the power balance of the realms. There was a sudden drop in the ambient power of the realm a short while ago—­coincidentally centered on the spaces where we generously host the Library wings. Almost as if something was removed.”

“Well”—­Claire gestured with a theatrically loose shrug—­“your measurements are inaccurate. As you can see, here we are.”

“It isn’t your whereabouts that concern me—­for once,” Malphas said. “In our realm, the inventory of souls might as well be our borders and defense. We have a right to protect our assets.” The trap in Malphas’s smile sprang, and she stepped forward. “I find it strange that a soul loss would register here of all places, given your attendance. Don’t you?”

Claire had her right...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2021
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1984806416
ISBN 13 
9781984806413
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Bear Family Records GmbH
49474882160
info@bear-family.de

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