Fools of us All - Chapter 36

Rough hands grabbed me under the arms and dragged me from the room. I was too numb to feel the pain anymore, but for some reason my mind would not let me fall into the comforting darkness I could feel at the edge of my consciousness. It felt like we were on the move for a long time before we finally entered a room and I was thrown into a reclining chair. I looked around and noticed a bed beside the chair, the kind with clamps to hold people down. Vaguely curious, I wondered if I was destined to lie there some day.

The thought of where I might end up left me rapidly when someone grabbed my arm and yanked. I think I screamed before I blacked out.

When I came to I was surrounded by men wearing robes, much like the one I had stolen earlier. They were all facing me, not saying a thing. Their faces were lost in shadow, covered by their hoods. Finally one spoke.

“Tell us, why did you attempt to access the archives in such a stealthy manner? Everyone is free to come and learn from the sacred relics and holy tomes here.” The other hoods bobbed slightly in agreement.

I glanced down at my arm, happy to see that the bone was no longer protruding, but wishing that the numbness of before would return. Pain radiated up and down my arm, making focusing on anything difficult.

“Come now, young man, there is no benefit to hiding anything from us. We are the guardians of the truth. We wish you no harm.”

That solicited a short bark of bitter laughter from me. “Then what do you call this,” I asked, indicating my arm, “a free trip to Disneyland?” I closed my eye for a moment, briefly considering passing out again, but someone reached out and squeezed my arm, causing me to gasp in pain and denying me the comfort of sleep.

“Do not mock us lightly,” came a new voice, this one deeper and angrier. “We wish to help, but if you continue to fight us we will have no choice but to brand you an enemy, and our enemies rarely prosper.” The menace in his voice was only heightened by the dark shadow his hood cast over his face.

I shook my head, trying to shake some of the cobwebs out, to clear my head for a moment. “Listen, dude,” I said through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry I hit your guy on the head, but I thought the building was closed to everyone who wasn’t a monk and I was curious, okay?” One of the robed men at the end of the table seemed to jerk back when I said that. Leaning over to the man beside him, he whispered a few words and then left the room. Another one of the monks let his shoulders slump for a moment, his hand disappearing into his robe like he was rubbing his eyes or something similar to that. The rest of them stepped back from the chair and started to converse excitedly among themselves.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and a very dignified looking older gentleman stepped through. He was wearing a similar robe to the others, but his hood was down. He regarded me seriously for a long time as the others fell silent. Tired of the silence and of not knowing what was going on, I started to shoot off my mouth. “That’s interesting,” I said sarcastically, “you are actually so ugly that the hood is scared of your face.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Well said, lad,” he commented mildly, stepping closer to get a good look at me. “I can see you still have some spunk left in you. That is good to see.” He motioned to one of the others who began opening the clamps on the table, moving it to a proper height. Another monk brought over the machine that had been sitting in the corner. As it moved closer, it began to look much more menacing. I swallowed hard and then screamed with pain as they roughly grabbed me and moved me to the table.

Once my screaming had quieted and I was properly strapped down, the hoodless monk leaned close to me. “For future reference, ‘dude’,” he said, the word sounding unfamiliar to his lips, “when you time travel, you should do a better job of learning the language and customs of the time you visit. There haven’t been ‘monks’ in the world for hundreds of years. They call us scriveners now.”

“And what does that make you? Bartleby?”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “I am impressed,” he said. “Alas, what we do now must be done.” He turned to address the others. “Brothers, the ancient prophesy is in fact true, and as such, we all know our parts. The prophesied one must be destroyed, as it was foretold.” He turned to face the machine, watching with interest as it was turned on and positioned over my head. I was so distracted that I almost missed the loud grunt and whoosh of air as one of the scriveners randomly kicked another one in the gut, followed by a sharp punch to the jaw, sending him flying into a wall where he slumped to the ground.