The Library of the Universes (and other Tales of the King Imminent)

By Dangerous Walker

These are the tales that underpin the Walkerverse and all the novels that are set within. These are the tales of the books once scattered from the Library of the Universe and now being found, being hunted.
For they contain stories of old, but also knowledge, great and terrible knowledge and the truths of the dreaded King Imminent.
Not only do these stories stand alone, but they also form the basis of the meta-narrative that ties all of the author's books together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dangerous Walker
• Release date: Jun 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311827524

Dangerous Walker

WELCOME.Welcome to the Library of the Universes.In it you will find many tales; adventures and horrors; love and loss. You will find heroes and heroines of all temperaments and backgrounds. You will fly through space; fight in wars; face beasts and ghosts.And as you read, you will find yourself drawn into this place, this Library of ancient Lore, and discover the truths that lie in the Universes and between them. Tales of ancient Evil that may still rise again and the Good that opposes it.Through the words and the pages will you lift the veil and then, O weary traveler, you might find that which you seeked, though I warn you, you might find more than you wished.But come then, find a seat, make yourself at home. Let me show you some books that might take your fancy and let's go on some adventures, you and I.

Book preview

THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSES

And other Tales of the King Imminent

By

‘Dangerous’ Walker

Copyright Grahame Walker 2016

Published at Smashwords

CONTENTS

BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

INTRODUCTION

LEFT ALONE

A STATION IN THE EVENING

LUCINDA’S STORY

THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSES

A WARM GUN

THE MATTER WITH ALICE

EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF LORD NAYLOR

THE CULT OF THE KING

THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF THE BEGINNING

TO DIE BEFORE THAT DAY

THE BOOKSHOP

WELCOME TO THE WALKERVERSE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Books by the Author:

Adventures in Space

Pray for Rain

The TSAR Trilogy

The Trimedian

Tears of War

Strangers

The Complete TSAR Trilogy

The Book of Five Worlds

The Foreshadow of Balance

Five Tasks

The Road between Gods and Monsters

Southern Hunter

In the Valley of Elah

The Haunting of Berkeley Square

INTRODUCTION

The stories contained within this book are the beginnings of the wider mythology of the Walkerverse, that is the metanarrative that most, if not all, of my books are linked to.

These stories are only indirectly linked the novels giving a wider setting for them.

For those wishing to delve deeper into this mythology, the books to read are the Book of Five Worlds series.

It is my hope though, that these stories will entertain you and make you wonder, whether you look further or not.

For who knows what lies out there? Who knows if or when the King Imminent may return?

And if you were to find one of the books from the Library of the Universes, I hope that this serves as a caution of what knowledge you may gain.

Authors note: this book will be updated with more stories, and will continue to be free until it is completed, meaning that you will not have to pay to own the extra stories. Go to ‘About the Walkerverse’ to find out where you can keep abreast of the news.

LEFT ALONE

Why did they ever leave him alone?

They thought he was old enough because he was mature for his age, that’s what they said, but he knew it was something else. He could see that they were younger than his friend’s parents. What he couldn’t articulate, but knew was that they had had him young, hadn’t meant to have a child until later and had lost the freedom of their youth to him. Now that he was older they wanted to go out and enjoy being young before they lost it forever.

His Mother had worked hard to teach him how to prepare and get to bed by himself, she had read him bedtime stories, but had taught him to read too, so that he could read himself to sleep.

But for all their work, he wasn’t ready to be left alone.

He loved his Father and he knew his Father loved him back, but he didn’t’ show it the same as his friend’s Dads. He didn’t play, wasn’t silly. Not like Bret’s Dad.

He was always had his mind somewhere else, never seemed to be truly there. You could see it in his eyes when they did do things together. He was secretive, he would not share anything with his Son other than the need to do well and to travel and experience things.

Well that had certainly worked, he read a lot of books (thanks to his Mother’s teaching) about the World, lots of books on myths, especially from the Greeks, and he loved to daydream about them, about travelling and adventuring. His Dad didn’t like him daydreaming, said it was a waste of life until he told him he was daydreaming of the places he would go; the things he would see and then his Dad seemed satisfied.

But what he actually daydreamed about the most was the attic. This was the place he was not allowed in, under no circumstances. His Dad spent a lot of time up there because he said it was where he had his study, but he didn’t know why his Dad needed a study. What did he study up there?

Not that it mattered, he was too short to reach the rope that pulled down the ladder. Until now. They were too preoccupied with going out and seeing friends and his Dad hadn’t thought about it and that was weird because he was always thinking. They hadn’t considered that if he was old enough to be left alone, then he was old enough to do lots of things. Such as pull a chair out to the landing and reach the rope. Sarah’s Mum had noticed how he’d got taller, had said ‘my haven’t you grown’, but Mum and Dad had noticed.

And it called to him, that rope, that secret ladder. What was up there? What was his Father hiding up there? He didn’t think his Mother knew as she never went up the steps. She couldn’t, he always pulled them up after him and eventually they had installed an intercom so that she could tell him when lunch or dinner was ready. What did his Father have up there that was so secret? He talked about his job as if it was the most boring thing in the World, so surely he wasn’t doing more of that? He couldn’t understand why his Dad would do a boring job in the first place. So he must be doing something else up there.

But what?

They shouldn’t have left him alone.

They had kissed him goodnight, they seemed a lot happier now that they were going out two or three times a week and they showed him more love. The hard work they had put in to make him self-sufficient was paying off and they were happy about it, they loved him more for it. Loved him for learning and letting them live out their youth.

So he didn’t want to spoil that.

But he did want to know what was in the attic.

He’d thought about it and made a plan. A simple plan, just to stay awake and find out what time they normally got home and work out the best place, the closest place, to get a chair from. He left it a week, staying awake when he would normally have slept and checking the time they got home. He did it another week just to be sure that it wasn’t an unusual week. It was still risky, they could get home earlier for any number of reasons so he vowed to be out of the attic an hour earlier than their average earliest home time.

You’ve done well at school this term, his Dad told him as he tied his tie.

I’ve tried hard.

That’s good, he said ruffling his hair. There’s so much out there that the uneducated never get to see. Experience.

He liked it when his Dad ruffled his hair, it was loving and intimate and said that his Dad really did love him.

And you go to bed on time, no staying up, his Mum said same as she always did.

I will. School in the morning, he replied same as always.

She smiled down at him.

Such a good boy, give your Mum a kiss.

She bent down and he kissed her cheek. She stood up beaming. He was glad that he had been able to learn what they taught him; he was glad that he made them happy, though he wished it wasn’t by the fact that they could leave him alone.

We should go to the zoo this weekend, his Father said.

The zoo? They’d never been there before and his heart started beating more quickly. That would be awesome, he longed to see a tiger. A real tiger. He was happy for once that they could go out.

And when they went out he had doubts of going up to the attic, he didn’t want to spoil what they had, he didn’t want to be found out and not go to the zoo. He should leave it, it didn’t matter anyway, and his Dad could do what he wanted now that they were being a family. But he was too curious.

They shouldn’t have left him alone.

He didn’t go up there that night, but it burned in him and when they went out two days later he found that he had the chair placed under the trapdoor before he realised it. What harm could it do? They had left and he had given them time to turn around for anything they had forgotten. He couldn’t do anything else, no television or internet; no books or magazines; nothing held his attention other than the attic. It had become more than a secret of his Father’s, but a thing that needed to be known.

He took a deep breath to try and expel the doubts and then climbed on the chair and reached for the rope. He stopped with it in his hand, once again wondering if he was spoiling everything, but then his hand was tugging and the steps dropped.

He hurried up them, now knowing that the clock had been set. He pulled the chord to switch on the light and worried that it would shine out of a window and alert a neighbour who would, in turn, tell his Father, but there were no windows. He checked his watch and set the time he had to be down by and then he looked around.

There was the fake Christmas tree flanked by two boxes of decorations and for some reason he wanted to go and feel the tinsel he could see poking out of one. Instead he looked around. Here was a desk with papers on it and a bookcase filled with old looking books and rolled paper. He went over and picked one up, he dared not take off the elastic band, but looked inside instead and surmised that it was a map. He picked up more and thought they were maps to. Curiosity got the better of him and he slid the rubber band off of one that he thought his Dad wouldn’t notice had been opened.

It was a map, but of nowhere that he recognised. His Father had shown him maps of the World and of the continents and he did not recognise this continent. It was a large expanse of land with numerous islands dotted around it. Some were tiny, some quite big and each was named, but not in a language that he could read. He rolled the map up and put it back as precisely as he could and desperately wanted to open the other maps and see the strange lands that they held.

But he couldn’t. He’d be found out.

Instead he looked on the desk and opened the book that was there. It was some kind of journal with scribbled writing in it. Something about the pre-Nargalian cultures, whatever that meant and the Eternal City. There was someone referred to as the King Imminent, but he could not read his Father’s scratchy handwriting. Still, he thought he had seen something about one of those and he went back to the bookshelf.

Yes, there was a book called ‘The King Imminent in Fraturi Tradition.’ He wanted to pull it down, but it was just at the edge of his reach and he didn’t think he could get it back up there.

And then his watch beeped, his time was up and he had to go down and to bed in case his parents returned.

Once again he sat in front of the television giving enough time for his parents to turn around for whatever reason and then went up the stairs and pulled out the chair and opened the trapdoor.

It was much the same as the last time, but there was another book lying open on the desk. He read from the top of the page:

It is considered that the time is passing of the powers that rule the Worlds and that the King Imminent will make His move to resecure power from the Righteous, though there are still many powers that must be attended to and legends have it that the Powers must be aligned.’

None of this he understood so he stopped reading and went to the bookcase to read the spines of the many books. Here was one called: ‘Famous Gangsters and Hitmen of the Universe’ by someone named Coblidge. Here was Dr. Fozz’s ‘Myths of the Five Worlds’ and there was a book on ‘The Myths and Legends of the Ten Kingdoms’. Also there was a book called ‘The King in Yellow’ and numerous books that started with ‘The History of…’. He took down a book called ‘The Princesses in Morality Tales’ flicked through before his gaze was arrested by a suitcase tucked besides the bookcase.

He pulled it out after checking he had the time, it was a dusty beige colour with a faded red number eleven on it. He didn’t know why, but it fascinated him and he sat and just stared at it, wondering what it might hold, but being scared to open it, just in case. No, not this time, his alarm would ring too soon and so he slid it back, checked that everything was as it should be and then went downstairs to bed.

They did go to the zoo and it was wonderful. He saw gorillas and lions; snakes and spiders and the tigers. They were so much bigger than he had thought, and that alone made them terrifying. But he loved watching them and did so until his parents pulled him away to find some lunch.

A real day out as a family and he began to think that that was what they could be, that he had done well; he had learned and made them happy and in being happy they could be a family.

But.

They shouldn’t leave him alone.

He couldn’t help himself, he didn’t want to ruin what they had now, but he had to know what was in the suitcase number eleven and when they went out again he didn’t wait as long before he was back up in the attic and had the suitcase pulled out. He sat and looked at it for a long time, but didn’t want to open it, didn’t want to end the delicious enjoyment of suspense.

Instead he looked at the map spread out on his Father’s desk. This was of two countries separated by a strait of water. The names were in English, but they were none that he had ever heard of. There were towns and cities and he wondered where this was, he wished there was a map of the World somewhere that he might be able to find them on, but it didn’t matter, his eyes kept being drawn back to the suitcase.

He got up, laid it down and carefully, slowly opened the clasps and opened the suitcase so that both sides were laying on the floor.

There was nothing in it. Well, that was not true.

The suitcase seemed to be filled with a silver liquid; to the brim of each side and yet it had not spilled out, but seemed to sit there as a unified, flat surface. He touched it and it rippled viscously. What was this? He looked at it, not sure what to do. If it was a liquid why hadn’t it spilled out, but what if it did when he tried to close it? And why did his Dad have a suitcase filled with such a strange, thick liquid?

He sat and contemplated it when suddenly a hand burst through the liquid and groped around until it found the edge of the suitcase.

He screamed, but no sound came out and then he was running down the steps, pushing the trapdoor back up and scraping the chair back into place before running to his bed.

He lay there under the covers, but could hear nothing from above. He knew he had to get undressed so that his parents would suspect nothing and so he got back out of bed and changed into his pyjamas before the dread set in.

He had left the suitcase there. His Father would know.

He had to go back up.

But what of the hand? Had he imagined it? He must have; maybe fallen asleep and dreamt it, for he could hear nothing up there now. He crept out into the hallway and listened but there was no sound. He pulled the chair out of the room to below the trapdoor when he heard the thump of footsteps above him and he fled to his room before fleeing back to move the chair, his heart beating a terrified rhythm. Still above there was the thud of footsteps and he ran back to the safety of his bed.

What had he done?

His watch beeped and he desperately fumbled for it in the darkness under his covers. He didn’t know how long he lay there, but he heard his parents comes through the front door and the thudding above him stopped.

He lay there as he heard his parents come upstairs laughing about something, his Mother made a shushing sound and he heard their bedroom door click shut. He lay there and wondered at what might be happening, whether he should go and confess when he heard the trapdoor being opened and the steps being lowered quietly. He cowered in his bed as he saw light under his door as someone opened his parent’s door.

You, he heard his Father say before he heard a dull thump as of someone falling to the floor.

He heard his Mother start to scream, but it was cut short to a gurgle and then his own door was slowly opening and the figure was a silhouette against the light, but he could make out the shape of the long, curved dagger in the assassin’s hand.

They shouldn’t have left him alone.

A STATION IN THE EVENING

The gloom had settled across the small, open train station, the clouds scudded across the waning moon and the bulbs hanging from the metal awning fizzed and pulsed lazily. There were insects in the air, attracted to the lights, struggling in the webs that they found there. The spiders moved around hungrily and cast dancing shadows across the platform.

It was cold and the man pulled his scarf and long coat tighter around him and looked down the tracks but saw no tell-tale light of an approaching train. He took up his pacing again, how long had he waited? Surely a train should have come by now? Once again he wandered to try and find a timetable that he already knew didn’t exist.

He sang under his breath a ditty he had heard sometime during the day:

Wibbaliwoo,