Enchantress

When Ook finished her banana, the Librarian sadly picked up her basket that was filled with her clothing and her toys and together they knuckled their way back into the stacks where the entry to L-Space is located.

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"Wot's wrong man?" boomed the Archchancellor.

"Ook!"

"My apologies, wot's wrong ape? You look like you lost your best friend." The Archchancellor was rarely a visitor to the library for anything other than a quick brush up on entomology. It would soon be trout season and new flies must be tied.

"Ook." The Librarian had a nervous tome in the binding clamp, and he was carefully resewing the main binding of the shuddering grimoire.

"Eh? He got lost in the stacks?"

"Ook."

"Chin up! He'll be back soon, he's gotta eat sometime!"

"Eeek!"

"Sorry, but it's true ol' ma... uh... ape."

"Ook."

"You're welcome."

Every evening, as the sun set and underclassmen were banned from the library, the allowed users of the library carried lanterns to find their books, the Librarian grabbed his blanket and a banana and climbed high into the tallest shelves where he could hide in the warm dry air of the upper reaches. There he made his bed, pulled his ancient blanket over his head, and sadly watched the coming and going of those select few wizards that were authorized and trained to travel through L-Space.

Every few months or so, his foster child would come home for a joyful reunion with her foster father where he would teach her necessary skills including bookbinding and long division using the Dewey Decimal system. She was growing fast and growing wise, and she announced one day that she wanted a girl's name like the other lady librarians.

"Ook?"

"Too common. Everybody has that name."

"Ook?

"It sounds funny. Nobody is going to respect a librarian with that for a name."

"Ook?"

"It's too long for a proper name tag."

The librarian sighed. Nothing in his decades of training and experience had prepared him to deal with pre-teenage girls. "Ook?"

"Perfect!" she cried "I love it!" and now the young foundling was known throughout the multiverse as Octavia Worblehat, Librarian-In-Training.

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Octavia wasn't due back for her visit for several weeks; the Librarian was perched in his nest high above the books and the readers, keeping an eye out for his dark-haired little girl as he researched a most mysterious phenomenon {at least to a wizard} the ritual of a young girls party. He was excited because it was the eighth year since he rescued her on that dark and stormy night, the day they celebrate annually as her birthday. On the discworld a child's eighth birthday is an important event, her first octet, and it is celebrated with parties, cake, and bananas {at least when an orangutan is making the party arrangements}. When she reaches sixteen years, a wild, noisy party with friends and boys marks a girls second octet, and when she reaches twenty-four her third octet is celebrated with her girlfriends, alcohol and angry commiserations on past boyfriends. No woman on discworld admits to a fourth, fifth, or sixth octet, but the seventh and following octets are recognized by her children and grandchildren.

While his cabinet below his desk was most secure and a perfect place to ponder the troubles of the multiverse, up here it felt more like home. He placed potted plants atop the shelves which hid his nest, and it gave him a sense of security to wake high among the leaves. Up here he could make his plans in happy contentment without having to answer questions like "Why are you smiling?"

One dark evening long after moonset, the library was lit only by arcane lamps whose octarine glow {Octarine is a magical color, and it is prominent in the rainbow cast on a planet with a strong magical field. It is a greenish-yellow/purple and described as a disappointing shade of blue, but it is still magical and can only be seen by Wizards and cats} was caused by a pair of magically charged crystals with apposing magical fields. The lamps were perfect for the library because although the light was dim and caused warts through long exposure, there was no flame involved. Being flameless, they didn't terrify the more nervous books in the library. However, since they cast an ugly, jittery purple-ish light, they were the worse lamp a reader could possibly want. Outside of reassuring pyrophobic books, their only proper use was illuminating emergency exits and identifying spots left behind by incontinent puppies and lost freshmen.

Late one evening a figure emerged from L-Space and stepped into the librarian's line of sight moving stealthily through the stacks. Whoever it was wore fancy high-heeled riding boots, a riding cloak which showed off the fancy ruffled sleeves, a flat-topped wide brim hat with a large, extravagant plume, a musket at his right hip and a rapier on his left. He was followed by a walking stick made of sapient pearwood {Sapient Pearwood is a magical wood grown on the mysterious Counterweight Continent and the wood's most interesting magical property is its ability to follow its owner. Luggage made of Sapient Pearwood will never get lost} meaning that his walking stick was walking behind him. The swordsman was the epitome of fashionable mayhem, and he was looking for something.

"Psssst!" the figure hissed quietly, it looked around and was looking up and the Librarian could see his fashionable raven locks, but his face was obscured by a velvet mask. "Pssst!" the swordsman insisted again as he crouched and peered into the darkness. Then the swordsman said something that confused and terrified the Librarian...

"Ook."

Silently the Librarian dropped from the branches, the battle howls of generations of ape ancestors rang in his ears as he sailed down on his intruder. He landed on the swordsman and drove him into the ground producing a loud "Oof" from the mystery man.

"Ook!" angrily whispered the Librarian {they are in a library after all} and he yanked down the intruder's mask. Rather than having the well-trimmed goatee and perfectly coifed mustache as required by the Musketeer's Guild, the swordsman was perfectly shaved, but there was no scent of Bay Rum or other such old spices, which would mean that this was a... a... swordswoman!

The intruder smiled up at him and whispered, "Daddy, it's me, Octavia."

"Ook?" The librarian nearly shouted in shock.

"Sshh! This is a library, not a rugby match."

"Ook," he whispered apologetically.

"Thank you, I've been in training for years so of course I sound like a librarian," Octavia showed the Librarian a small, tasteful badge pinned under her lapel where it wouldn't reflect light that would disturb a reader, "I'm a Senior Master Librarian. Very soon I'm going to move home, and we're going to study together and advance to Chief Master Librarian."

"Ook?"

"Yes, I am moving through time... I've been given a mission. I could have arrived in Four Ecks to start the mission, but I needed to see you first."

"Ook!" he warned his daughter.

"No, of course not. Meeting my past self would not cause any time paradoxes at all, the Chief Master Librarians started that rumor so people would avoid time travel. If words of how easy it is ever got out, everyone would be doing it."

"Ook."

"You can say that again."

"Ook."

"Good one dad," she chuckled.

They chatted through the night talking about all the marvelous libraries she's been to, and she produced a list of libraries she thought her dad would like to visit. "You can take a fortnight and go on a right holiday, and I will watch the stacks while you're out, and I can get some studying done."

"Ook?"

"Didn't I mention that? Sorry, we discussed that the last time I was here... which will be in sixteen years for you, sorry. I'm here because I need a huge favor..." They argued far into the night librarian style, harsh whispers growing softer and softer until barely audible and someone says, "You don't have to whisper so quietly, I'm not hyperacusoid!"

"I don't understand what the big deal is," whispered Octavia. "I am a wizard! I studied wizardry at one of the most prestigious schools of witches and warlocks in the multiverse and I graduated with honors."

"Ook?"

Her face suddenly went completely vacant. "I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of..." she said with a blank expression, then she shook her head and said, "See? They put a spell on their students now and you can't say where you studied all because ONE woman goes for ONE semester then writes a series of children's books about the place and makes a fortune on movie rights alone!"

A spectral voice from below them joined the conversation, the voice was as quiet as a tomb, as dry as an ancient desert pyramid, and as hard to ignore as the final trumpet. "I HAVE READ THOSE BOOKS AND FOUND THEM TO BE QUITE ENTERTAINING." The tall, shrouded figure with scythe returned to scanning the shelves, tracing the titles with a bone finger, looking for the perfect late-night reading. Tome after tome did their best trying to look inconspicuous and boring in an effort to remain on the shelf as the anthropomorphic personification of Death hummed a merry little dirge while he searched through the books.

"See? She's got fans everywhere. Look, dad, I'm not asking you to get me a degree, I already have my degree," she produced a rolled-up document from the depths of her robe and handed it to him and he ooked in amazement at her accomplishments.

"Ook?" he said, his pallid eyes wide in shock.

"That's right daddy, Octavia Worblehat, Doctor of Multi-theistic Amphibology. I know... I know... before you say it, I know it is an over filled specialty, BUT it's what I need for this mission. And now I need a couple of classes to gain the specialized knowledge I need to complete my mission." She handed him the list of classes she needed and an outline of her mission.

As a father his heart sank, it's a suicide mission; as a wizard he realized the importance of her mission, and as a librarian he realized the opportunity it provided to go outside, breathe the fresh air, and get some sunlight, all dangerous but desirous intoxicants to a librarian. With a heartfelt sigh he proceeded to tell her how much he loved her and how he worried about her, of the guilt he felt for being an absentee parent and apologizing profoundly by saying, "Ook."

"Oh daddy!" she wept, and they held each other until sunrise.

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The Lecturer in Modern Antiquities, the Right and Honourable Professor Tuenge Untermeyer T.V.C.O.S. {The Venerable Council of Seers} started his class by clearing his throat for a full two minutes then in his nasal voice he said, "It appears that we have a new student among us, Façade Incognito, would you please rise and tell us a little bit about yourself Mister Incognito?"

Without standing Octavia rose and along with her stool she also levitated her desk so she could study her notes as she spoke. In a made-up stilted voice she said, "I am Façade Incognito, a student of wizardry, I hope to become a wizard and follow in the footsteps of my idol Cringe Volcaic in the study of advanced magic germination in post-apocalyptic fungal spores." She spoke in such slow, whining monotone that she hoped it would ensure that no one would speak to her or call on her in class for fear of hearing that voice again.

But for some reason Professor Untermeyer found himself interested in a way that he hadn't felt in decades. "Mister Incognito, could you explain why you chose to levitate rather than simply stand?"

If he only knew where her pseudonym came from! Octavia got it from her favorite book that she read as a child, the author dedicated the book to the love of his life, Façade Incognito. Again, came the whiny voice designed to cause cringe in this and adjoining classrooms. "You said rise sir, not stand. I was simply following directions." The way she drew out the words "rise" and "stand" insured that several of her classmates removed those words from their vocabularies permanently.

"Yes... uhhh... thank you Mister Incognito." For some reason Professor Untermeyer was reminded of warm summer evenings in his youth, evenings spent by the river and a certain farm girl named Lousie... "If you will excuse me, I will be right back..."

This became a pattern in all of her classes, no matter how annoying she tried to present herself, the professors would become misty and end class early. Also oddly enough, no one bothered Octavia about her lack of beard. If asked she had a cover story devised, but no one asked, in fact they wanted to sit closer to her.

The only person that seemed to be immune from Octavia was Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully who was usually too busy tinkering with a new high powered assault crossbow or fly rod {The high powered assault fly rod was actually invented by Archchancellor Ridcully.} Finally, the Lecturer in Creative Uncertainty came to the Archchancellor and demanded that he do something about the new student.

"What has he done man?" demanded the Archchancellor.

"It's what he's not doing!" shrieked the desperate lecturer.

"Well, I can't tell the lad to stop doing whatever it is that he's not doing. Make sense man!" He gave the Lecturer in Creative Uncertainty a jolly good slap on the back which nearly set the rotund little man reeling {or possibly rolling}.

"He must be casting a spell, and enchantment, an allurement. Classes are being disrupted as faculty and students come under the enthrallment!" The lecturer was near hysterics.

"What's the name of this miscreant?"

"Façade Incognito."

"Hmmm, his name sounds Howandalandish to me... BURSAR!" When the terrified Bursar arrived the Archchancellor boomed, "Bring me the admission paperwork on Façade Incognito!"

The Bursar was so terrified he could only respond with a barely audible, "Meep," and he dashed off to find the paperwork.

As he waited for the bursar to bring the demanded documents, Archchancellor Ridcully raised his newest high powered assault crossbow and scanned the walls of his office for a likely target. With an ear-splitting roar, the bolt crossed the distance from the Archchancellors desk to the mounted head of a rare Ramtop Mountain three horn mountain goat faster than the eye can recognize. The bolt traveled so fast that its passage burned the flights off the bolt and heated up the head to a glowing, metal warping temperature. A trail of smoke led from Ridcully's crossbow to a growing cloud of hair, goat horns, glass eyeballs, and wool stuffing that started showing signs of combustion. "Got the buggar!" roared Ridcully gleefully.

The bursar extended a small stack of papers with a trembling hand, "If it pleases your Archchancellorship sir," said an equally trembling bursar.

"Excellent!" roared Ridcully and he lay down the crossbow, the wooden stock still making ticking sounds as it cooled off from the shot. "Please bring a bucket of water and douse ol' Cotton Head up there will you? Thank you awfully much, now... what do we have here..." The Archchancellor studied the documents. "As I thought, all is in order." Ridcully closed the folder and smiled at the lecturer. "You can go back to class safe in the knowledge that there is no enthrallment."

"You can tell that by reading his application of admission?"

"Of course, he's a legacy. Look here, his foster father is a member of our faculty! Such lineage precludes an act of malfeasance!" His statement was punctuated with another denture loosening clap on the back but had no basis in reality. Legacy students tend to create the most trouble.

"Exactly who is the foster father?" demanded the Lecturer in Creative Uncertainty.

"Doctor Horace Worblehat," said the Archchancellor smugly.

"And just who is that?"

"He's um, he's errr... he's faculty. Don't worry about it, I'll handle it from here."

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Late evening, high above the casual observer, the Librarian and his daughter reviewed her notes from her daily lectures like they did every night. Finally, she slammed her textbook closed {quietly} in frustration. "I don't understand daddy, I've used spells and disguises, but I swear they seem to know! And they don't care!"

"Ook."

"They follow me in a crowd, they open doors for me, they carry my books for me, they purchase my meals for me, they offer to do my homework for me..."

"Ook?"

"That IS the faculty! My fellow students are too scared to talk to me!" There was one more thing she dare not tell her foster father and for once she bemoans the fact that she has no foster mother to talk to. For some reason she feels horribly overdressed.

"Ook," said the Librarian as he reached for a banana with a foot. As he peeled and thoughtfully chewed on the banana, Octavia returned to her books sitting cross-legged atop the bookcases hidden behind potted plants, behind her the walking stick she was awarded at her graduation from a wizarding university, paced impatiently, ready to strike out on a long walk. It's what all walking sticks would do if they were all made from sapient pearwood. Finally, the Librarian swallowed the last bite of banana and said, "Oook." It was the longest speech she ever heard her father say.

"I will daddy," and she tearfully threw her arms around an equally tearful orangutang. Partings are so painful, but planning for them is worse.

For the next week she was especially studious, taking notes furiously in her eclectic choice of classes, especially Astro Zoology and Thaumaturgical Herpetology. As she promised her father, she began to look for an assistant, someone to travel with her, someone she could trust who would assist her with her urgent mission. Between classes she spoke with her classmates, and each one she asked the same question, "If we were trapped together on a secluded island paradise, what would you do with me?"

Most of her fellow students began trembling, their breath coming in gasps, their moist eyes open wide, their voices sputtering until they muttered an excuse and ran off. Others fumbled for words until they said some inane platitude such as "Build a raft" or "collect fruit." The faculty was just as bad; however, one wizard did have a novel idea of creating a tropical line of wizard's staffs from rare local hardwoods harvested on the island and adding faux native carvings to the staff. He seemed to be quite enamored with the idea of the money that idea could make.

Frustrated with the responses she received from the faculty, she turned to the housekeeping staff and quickly found that the women were out of the question. Each one answered along the lines of - "Wot would I do with the likes of YOU on an island paradise? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I won't let you within a furlong of me! And I'll tell you another thing! If I so much as catch you even glancing in the direction of my ankles I will..." With a little wave of her hand Octavia left the shrieking kitchen help mute and angry, but at least the mind-numbing clatter of a busy kitchen could be heard once again.

She was defeated, it was her dad who told her to enlist a servant, someone to help in this most important quest but no one appeared to be right. Worst of all, if she can't find someone to come with her and assist, he said that he would come with her and she couldn't endanger her daddy. She found herself on the roof of the Hall of Alchemic Arts, hidden by the various columns of multi coloured smoke that oozed from dozens of holes in the roof {both the smoke and holes were caused by a series of freshman failures in the alchemy labs below} she tried to ponder her fate. Sadly, she soon found herself at the center of an adoring crowd of effigies. They were gargoyles who offered her dead pigeons as a gift to lift her spirits. {Dead pigeons are gargoyle's favorite meal.}