The Interdimensional Bard at Moondust Books

A May-hem story

The bell above the door of Moondust Books tinkled softly as the Keeper looked up from his ancient ledger. He'd grown accustomed to the peculiar ways visitors found his shop. Some stumbling in from rain that wasn't falling elsewhere, others drawn by a nostalgic scent of pages they'd never smelled before. But this visitor was different.

The air shimmered first, like heat rising from summer pavement, before tearing open into a swirling vortex of indigo and gold. Through this impossible doorway stepped a slender man dressed in an outfit that defied any single era. A high-collared jacket with astronomical embroidery, knee-high boots of supple leather, and around his neck, a lute strung with what appeared to be strands of starlight.

"Well," said the Keeper, adjusting his spectacles. "You've come a fair distance, I'd wager."

The visitor bowed with theatrical flourish. "Finton Merrybrook, humble bard and chronicler of D'veen, at your service." His voice carried the lilting cadence of someone who spoke in poetry more often than prose. "Though I confess, good sir, this doesn't appear to be the Twilight Copse where I was headed to meet the Council of Whispers."

"No," the Keeper agreed mildly. "This is Moondust Books. Currently residing in Millfield, though that will change with the next moon."

Finton's eyes widened as he took in the impossibly vast interior. "A traveling establishment! How marvelous! We have similar magic in D'veen. The Wandering Market that appears only when the three moons align." He strode further inside, turning in a complete circle as he absorbed the endless rows of books stretching toward a ceiling that couldn't possibly exist within the building's outer dimensions.

"I sense powerful enchantment here," Finton continued, running his fingers along the spines of nearby books. "Each tome seems to pulse with... purpose."

The Keeper nodded. "They find who needs them most."

"Like my stories," Finton said softly. "In my world, I travel between villages, carrying tales that heal and inspire." He paused by a section of leather-bound volumes. "Though I must say, your binding techniques are quite different from our scroll-keepers'."

A young girl emerged from between the shelves. Lily Harmon, drawn back to the shop despite its previous disappearance. She froze when she spotted the strange man in his fanciful attire.

"Don't be alarmed," the Keeper told her. "Mr. Merrybrook is... from out of town."

"Are you an actor?" Lily asked. Curiosity overcoming caution.

Finton smiled warmly. "I am a performer of sorts, young miss, though my stories are true, at least in some world or another."

The girl's eyes fell on his lute. "Is that a weird guitar?"

"This? This is a heartstring lute, crafted from the willing sacrifice of a singing willow and strung with enchanted starlight. Each string resonates with a different emotion." Finton plucked one, and a sound like distant laughter filled the air, bringing involuntary smiles to both Lily and the Keeper.

"Whoa," Lily whispered.

Finton's attention suddenly fixed on a small rectangular object the Keeper had placed on the counter, a mobile phone. "By the Whispering Void," he exclaimed, approaching it cautiously. "What manner of scrying device is this?"

The Keeper glanced at his phone. "Just keeping track of the time."

"Time? In such a small container?" Finton marveled & leaned closer. "In D'veen, we measure time with songdusts and heartbeats. Might I inquire... does this enchanted rectangle capture souls? It's so smooth, like water frozen in glass."

"It's a phone," Lily explained, amused. "You talk to people who aren't here."

"A communication device!" Finton brightened considerably. "Like our whisper-moths, but without the annoying tendency to repeat gossip to the wrong recipient."

He pointed tentatively. "May I... examine it more closely?"

The Keeper hesitated, then handed over the smartphone.

"Extraordinary," Finton murmured, turning it over in his hands. "How does one activate its magic? Are there words of power? A blood sacrifice perhaps?"

"You just press the button on the side," Lily giggled.

When Finton did so, the screen illuminated, causing him to nearly drop it in surprise. "By the Seven Sacred Songs! It glows with inner light! Do captured fire sprites power it?"

"Battery," the Keeper offered simply.

"And these tiny runes?" Finton asked, poking at the icons on the screen.

"Those are apps," Lily explained. "Like... different kinds of magic the phone can do."

Finton's finger accidentally opened the camera app, and he jumped back as he saw himself in the viewfinder. "It creates a mirror portal! I see myself, yet I'm here!"

The Keeper gently reclaimed his phone. "Perhaps we should focus on getting you home, Mr. Merrybrook. I imagine someone will miss you in D'veen."

Finton's expression sobered. "Yes, indeed. The Council awaits my newest chronicle, and the portal that brought me here was... unexpected. I was simply walking beneath the Singing Arch when the path... shifted."

"The shop does that sometimes," the Keeper said thoughtfully. "Creates connections where they're needed."

"Are you suggesting your wondrous establishment summoned me?" Finton asked.

"The books find who needs them. Perhaps you're here to find a story. Or to tell one."

Finton considered this, then slowly removed his lute from his shoulder. "In D'veen, we believe that tales told from the heart can mend tears in reality." He positioned his fingers on the starlight strings. "Perhaps a story is indeed what's needed here."

As Finton began to play, the air in the bookshop seemed to thicken and shimmer. The melody was unlike anything Lily or the Keeper had heard. Notes that seemed to exist between the standard tones, creating harmonies that painted pictures in the mind.

"I'll tell you of the Heartwood Prince," Finton's voice carried through the shop, "who sought a cure for memory's curse..."

As he sang, books throughout the store began to glow faintly, responding to his music. The tale he wove was of a young royal who journeyed beyond his realm to find healing for his kingdom's collective amnesia. A magical ailment causing people to forget their shared history and purpose.

Lily sat cross-legged on the floor, entranced, while the Keeper leaned against his counter, nodding occasionally as if recognizing universal truths in this story from another world.

"...and when at last he understood

That memories aren't gone but sleeping,

He gathered stories old and new

And brought them home, a precious reaping."

As Finton's song concluded, a wistful silence hung in the air. Then, inexplicably, one book slid partially out from its shelf across the room. The Keeper noticed and retrieved it.

"Interesting," he murmured, examining the cover. "Collected Folklore of Forgotten Places." He held it out to Finton. "I believe this is for you."

Finton accepted the book with reverence. "A compendium of tales from your world?"

"From many worlds, perhaps," the Keeper replied. "The shop doesn't usually offer books to visitors from... elsewhere. You must need these stories."

As Finton opened the volume, the air behind him began to shimmer once more, the portal slowly reforming. Through it, the misty outlines of ancient trees and glowing lamps could be seen.

"It appears my path home reveals itself," Finton said, clutching the book to his chest. "Most fortuitous timing."

"Will you come back?" Lily asked.

Finton smiled gently. "The paths between worlds are mysterious, young chronicler. But stories have a way of traveling even when their tellers cannot." He turned to the Keeper. "Thank you for the gift. In exchange, might I leave something for your collection?"

From within his jacket, he produced a small scroll sealed with wax that sparkled like crushed gems. "The Ballad of the Starfall Tournament. My finest work, if I may be so bold."

The Keeper accepted it with a formal nod. "Moondust Books welcomes contributions from all realms."

Finton bowed again to them both, then stepped toward the shimmering doorway. "Until our tales cross again," he said, and with a final strum of his lute, he stepped through the portal, which closed behind him with a sound like pages turning.

Lily stared at the now-ordinary air where the interdimensional bard had stood. "Was he real?" she whispered.

The Keeper was already carefully unrolling the scroll, revealing script that seemed to change color as it caught the light. "As real as any good story," he answered. "And sometimes, that's real enough."

He glanced at the spot where Finton had vanished, then at his phone on the counter. "Though I suspect the Council of Whispers will be receiving quite the tale about magical rectangles that capture time and create mirror portals."

Outside, the sign of Moondust Books swayed in a breeze that carried the faint echo of starlight strings, as somewhere between worlds, a bard composed a new song about a shop that wandered not just from town to town, but perhaps from universe to universe, delivering exactly what was needed. Even when what was needed was simply an extraordinary story to tell.