The Value of a Good Book

Here I go again, she thought as she snatched up the book. Winging it across the room she successfully knocked one thug in the head. It was a dictionary so the thug went down – probably for a week.

I’ve really got to get out more, the woman considered. She spun the matching thesaurus onto her palm and stabbed another goon in the chest with it. The goon’s brother – he was just as ugly as his sibling – didn’t appreciate the death of his sibling, but he did appreciate good literature. Good, thick literature hitting him on the noggin. Thoughts kept running through her own noggin even as she climbed the bookshelves after the ringleader. This is getting so old.

Oops. Her foot slipped off a reprinting of War and Peace and she almost fell but managed to catch the edge of the shelf with her fingertips. Above her the ringleader disappeared from sight as the entire section of shelving spun her into an entirely new room. Well this is new.

The new room was just as surreal as the last one, except there was more reality in it. She suspected there would be no stabbing anyone in the chest in this room with any sort of book. Not unless the pages were really sharp. She picked up a tome from the floor. Perfect, the history of edged weapons. I’ll keep this for later, she thought.

This room was empty, except for all the books, furniture, rugs, artwork, candles, ladders, and she herself. And the ridiculous hat on a side table. She sliced the hat to shreds with the edged weapons book, just to check if it worked. It did. Now to find that damned ringleader, she thought.