What I Wore to Save the World (20 page)

Finnbar started tugging at the back of my T-shirt, but I ignored him. Tolkien took a puff on his pipe and looked at me with sudden, deep curiosity. “Pardon me, but who is Legolas?”

What a joker this guy was! “From the books!
Your
books. You know,
Lord of the Rings
.”

“I don't believe he's written it yet,” Finnbar whispered.

Tolkien's eyes darted from me to Finnbar and back to me again. His charcoal drawing pencil seemed poised to take notes.

“Oops. Never mind.” I tried to look clueless. “I'm just saying, in my opinion, I think elves in general would be really good-looking.”

“Fascinating,” Tolkien murmured. “This is precisely what I've been trying to decide.” He turned to Finnbar. “Which reminds me: Finnbar old man, were you able to get the materials I requested?”

“The materials?” Finnbar went blank for a moment, then starting patting his pockets. “Of course! You filled out a request for anatomical illustrations, if I recall.”

Tolkien turned to me to explain. “This is all research for a rather ambitious project I hope to write someday. Finnbar has been an invaluable help.”

“In addition to serving as a campus tour guide, I work part-time as a librarian,” Finnbar admitted modestly, as he continued searching. “You've heard of the Special Collection?”

I nodded.

“That's my department. Interdimensional library loans, my specialty—huzzah! I knew I had it somewhere.”

Finnbar reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a page torn from a magazine, folded in quarters.

Tolkien took the page and smoothed it open. I nearly choked.

It was a glossy, gorgeous, full-color photograph of Orlando Bloom, torn out of
Teen People
. I knew this because it was the same picture Sarah kept taped inside her locker. At the bottom-right-hand corner of the page you could even see my locker combination scrawled in pencil, in case I forgot it. I kept a copy of Sarah's combo in my locker too. If we ever forgot our locker combos at the same time we'd be screwed, but so far it hadn't happened.

Tolkien stared at the photo in awe.
“Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!”
he exclaimed. “I see what you mean by ‘hawt'! This changes my thinking completely.” Suddenly antsy, he quickly tucked the page in his satchel. “
Lord of the Rings
, you say? It has possibilities, yes . . . but to make it work I'd have to add in something about a ring . . .”

Tolkien wandered off, mumbling to himself and stroking his chin.
How twisted is this?
I thought, amazed.
If Sarah only knew that the picture in her locker was the reason Orlando Bloom got the part in the first place!

Finnbar waited until Tolkien was out of earshot before he started whining. “Here we are, wasting time on all this literary chitchat, and we haven't even seen the dining hall yet. Or the dormitories! What an awful tour guide I'm turning out to be.”

“Now, now,” I soothed. “You're doing an excellent job. You've already introduced me to two faculty members.”

His mood brightened instantly. “That's very kind, thank you. I would happily introduce you to more, but of course most of them will be dead by the time you enroll.”

“Most?” I said, surprised. “Not all?”

His hand flew to his mouth. “Perhaps I shouldn't have let that slip. But it's true—in exchange for Oxford housing the Special Collection, ‘our side' occasionally lends the university an ‘expert' to teach a course in mythology, folklore, ‘The Faery Tale as Literature,' that sort of thing. . . .”

Listening to him talk about the Special Collection was giving me an idea.

“. . . of course it's all about tenure in the halls of academe; adjunct faculty never get any respect. Especially if they're trolls . . . the giants tend to fare somewhat better . . .”

“Finnbar,” I interrupted, “is it really your job to help people do research about faery world stuff ? Like finding that picture of Orlando Bloom for Professor Tolkien?”

He assumed a straight-backed, military posture. “Of course! It's my sworn duty as a librarian.”

“That's awesome,” I said, trying not to sound sneaky. “Because I have a research project of my own to do. Maybe you could help me.”

He looked surprised and very pleased. “But of course. All Special Admissions Candidates are eligible to use the library and its services for thirty days following their campus visit.” He reached into his jacket pocket once more and took out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

“Hello! And welcome to the Bodleian Library,” he said, as he put on the glasses. “I am Finnbar, your devoted and efficient part-time librarian, Special Collection department. How may I help you?”

As calmly as I could, I said, “It's no big deal. I just need to know the Rules of Succession of the Faery Realm.”

“The Rules of Succession? Hmm.” He tapped his index finger to his lips. “No one's ever requested those before. I believe they're written in the
Book of Horns
, which is part of the Extra-Special Materials subcategory of the Special Collection. That means it's a non-circulating item, I'm afraid. Would a photocopy be adequate for your needs?”

“Absolutely.” I couldn't believe my luck.

He took out a pen and an index card. “Excellent. The first step is to fill out an official interdimensional library loan request. It's just a few short questions. Now, is your information request for academic, practical or commercial purposes?”

“Practical,” I answered without thinking.

Wrong answer. His eyes grew wide, and the index card in his hand started to shake. “Oh dear! Oh no! Is someone actually planning to—do they really think they can—does Mother have any idea . . .” His voice trailed off in terror.

“No one's going to hurt your mother, I promise.”

“Oh, I don't care about
that
. She's a repellent monster even on her best days. But she's going to be very angry, that's all. Mum's always been queen, you see. Always! And if she found out I was involved in any way . . . oh my! This is most upsetting!”

I laid my steady hands across his two shaky ones. “I wouldn't ask you to do this if it weren't really, really important. I mean, literally, the future of the whole world could depend on it.”

Then I put on my most serious, talking-to-authority-figures voice, which I guess was loosely based on my mom's ass-kissing voice. “Finnbar, I appeal to you in your official capacity as a part-time librarian.
Please
help me find the information I need!”

That did the trick. Slowly getting hold of himself, Finnbar pushed his glasses up his nose, puffed out his chest and spoke in a deep, authoritative voice. “Well, since you put it that way, I will be honored to fulfill your request, Library Patron Rawlinson! If the Rules of Succession are what you need to know, then the Rules of Succession are what I will find.” His voice quavered a bit, but he held firm. “Let the chips fall where they may!”

Impulsively I gave him a hug. “Thanks, Finnbar. You're the best.”

He blushed. “I should warn you—there's a reason the
Book of Horns
is rarely requested.”

“What?”

“It's written in unicorn. No one can read it. The verbs are very irregular.”

That made me smile. “Just get me a copy. I'll take care of getting it translated.”

“Fair enough.” He handed me his pen. “Now, if you will finish filling out the request form, I'll get right on it. Please print clearly in blue or black ink. Thank you for your patronage!”

 

 

 

i filled out the card as best i could, using castell Cyfareddol as my home address. As I wrote it down I realized that I had no idea how much time was passing in Wales while I'd been touring Oxford. Usually my faery world excursions took next to no time in the human realm, but the sooner I got back, the better.

“Before you go, would you mind filling out this brief customer survey evaluating your tour? It's multiple choice; it'll only take you a minute.” Finnbar looked at me earnestly. “If I get enough high marks I become eligible to win a vacation package. Just so you know.”

“Sure.” I filled in all the “Excellent—exceeded expectations” bubbles and handed it back to him. He gave an ecstatic squeal when he saw what I'd written, but quickly regained his professionalism.

“Congratulations, Special Admissions Candidate! The Campus Tour portion of your application process has been successfully completed. Please await further instructions, and on behalf of Oxford University I wish you the best of luck in your future educational endeavors. Now, how would you like to go back?”

What
was
the best way to zoom through eighty-plus years and a couple hundred miles in the blink of an eye? There weren't that many options. I shrugged. “Bubble ride, I guess.”

“It
is
the fastest. And extremely fuel-efficient too. I'll have to make you a new one, though; the old ones must have popped by now.” He reached into his pocket, took out his bottle of Fairy Liquid and plastic bubble wand, and proceeded to blow a very impressive stream of bubbles my way.

It wasn't exactly like Glinda the Good Witch from
The Wizard of Oz
, but it worked. The bubbles surrounded me until all I could see was a field of shiny rainbows. At the last minute I remembered to close my eyes against the soapy sting. Then I felt myself being lifted up, and I floated gently away.

 

 

 

whoosh!

A sharp, swirling wind whisked the dense cloud of bubbles away from me so fast it was like someone yanked the covers off while I was sleeping. Cautiously I opened my eyes. I was standing by the reflecting pool, exactly where I'd been before. The water in the pool was clear as glass. Not a bubble in sight.

I looked up in time to see Colin stride back out of the hotel, now with something under his arm. He did a double-take when he saw the crystal clear water in the pool.

“Bloody hell, that was quick!” he exclaimed. “I just spoke to the super a moment ago about the soap problem. Must've been an easy fix. I got the map ye asked fer, but I couldn't find any tennis courts and I looked it over twice. See fer yerself. But here's an odd thing: There was some mail for ye.” He handed me two envelopes: a large yellow one and a business-sized white one.

Mail? I was confused, but Colin seemed triumphant.

“Good news, eh? Ye know what they say—every criminal secretly wants to get caught.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Seems like we came out to look for clues, but the clues have found us instead. Yer hacker bloke is the only person who knew ye were comin' here, after all—it must be from him. Aren't you going to see who it's from?”

I turned the envelope over and saw the familiar Oxford crest. Rubber-stamped in block letters, the envelope read:

The Rules of Succession from the
Book of Horns
! I gave a mental shout-out of thanks to Finnbar for the super-fast service. But no way was I going to open this envelope in front of Colin. I didn't know what unicorn writing looked like, but it was bound to raise questions.

I shoved the yellow envelope under my arm and turned my attention to the white one. It was addressed to my house in Connecticut, with a handwritten “Please Forward” scrawled next to the address. There was no return address.
Please,
I thought, as Colin watched me open it,
be something halfway normal.

Inside were two pieces of paper: a cover letter and a form that I was obviously supposed to fill out. The letter read:

I could feel Colin's bewilderment reaching massive, blood pressure-raising proportions.

“Dress appropriately?” I said weakly, knowing there was no way to explain all this. “But all I brought with me is jeans and band T-shirts. What the fek am I going to wear?”

eighteen

“what are you going to wear?” he repeated incredulously. “That's the least of yer worries, don't ye think, Mor?”

“I know, I'm just being dumb,” I said lamely. “It's just all so weird, right?”

“It's bloody bizarre.” He snatched the letter away from me and held it up to the sun. “Look at that watermark—this is real Oxford stationery, all right. But how did they know you were here? And what does that mean, ‘Your campus tour was successfully completed?' And—bloody hell, look at yer three choices for the interview time: ‘Now,' ‘Soon,' and ‘Later.' Ye'd think Oxford could do better than that.” He gave the letter back to me. “Hey, ye didn't open the yellow envelope.”