The Tragedy of 1856

A Hundred Thousand Books

Professor Hallewell hadn't stopped talking since Harold came running to him, panting, saying that he discovered the castle's library. He searched, desperately trying to find the room or at least some books. Yes, he took the Professors words very serious. Now, the man talks continuously about valuable books and authors while Harold tries to find the way he mesmerized earlier.

They walk past a door and as Harry turns his head to the side corridor, he notices that the Professor isn't talking anymore. Turning around, he sees Hallewell stand in the doorframe, mouth agape. Harry catches up to him.

"Books. Books! A ... a hundred thousand books!" His steps are slow like he thinks it would be a dream and he'll burst the bubble if he just makes the quickest motion.

The room is big, on each side of it several rows of bookshelves. At the end of the room a spiral staircase.

"But Professor, hurry. We still have to find YN!" Harold is uncertain if the man even hears him.

"Aristotle," his finger touch a book, then the next, "Empedocles, Aeneas," his eyes search the whole shelf, "Parmenides. And Nichomachos, Diogenes, Antiochus, Maimonides! Just by the smell we can feel the wisdom of the Greeks."

Harold is confused. "She is waiting here somewhere, he is holding her captive..."

"In Kant, you can refresh your tired mind with clear thoughts, but when the author is Hegel you hear the world spirit trotting. German profundity put down in paper and all first editions! So uplifting, wherever you look!" Hallewell is captured in his own little world.

"We do not have much time and it will get dark soon!" Harold reminds him.

Harry watches as the Professor mutters to himself as he suddenly hears a beautiful melody being played on a piano.

The boy's back straightens, alarmed. The melody is familiar to him. That's YN! Here in the castle! Harold turns to Hallewell but he already disappeared behind the shelves. He listens, focusing on where it's coming from. There's a pipe hanging on the wall, it's where the melody comes from. Then he hurries away, following the strum in the pipe.

Here and there he finds abstract sculptures that scare him every time he rounds another corner. He reads lines carved in them. Words like pokol, stegoica, vrolok and vlkoslak (satan, hell, witch) - all which mean the same evil things.

The hallway is long. He finds a window which glass has completely shattered. There's still dust of the finest shards lying on the window sill. The view is breathtaking and from where Harry stands there is every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. As far as his eyes can reach is a sea of dark green tree-tops with a blanket of snow adorning it. Everywhere he can look he sees white. Occasionally, there's a deep rift where there is a chasm. But he's not here to describe the beauty.

He walks further along the halls. Doors, doors, doors everywhere. All locked and bolted. No place but from the windows is there an available exit. The castle is a true prison, and Harry fears that he himself and the Professor are one of the only few living souls within this place.

But he finds the end of the pipe. Looking over his shoulder, he sees an open door. Sneaking in would be not a good idea, because all the planks are squeaking but his nosiness leads him to it anyway.

He follows the melody past a large bed, a screen in the corner with a red ball gown hanging down to a glorious bathroom. In the corner, a large piano made of noble wood and a large mirror that's almost taking in the whole wall. There's a heavy curtain hanging in the room.

Harold looks around, the excitement seems unbearable and he can't wait any longer.

"YN, love?"

There's water splashing coming from behind the curtain, then the person starts humming the before played melody.