The Tower of Tattle

Why even bother with secrets?

In a perfect universe, a secret’s your trusty armor. Let's say your friend's in hide-and-seek-mode from a psycho. You’d be the vault, right? But what if the psycho shows up at your front door, and they know you know?

Did your friend make the right choice when they trusted you?

I’m gonna level with you: for me, I don’t know. The idea itself scares me. It’s like this unsettling blindspot in me, but it’s only blind because I’m too scared to look.

Well ― most secrets aren’t as nice or important as protecting your friend. Usually it’s a stolen lunch. A smoke behind the house. An unseemly shrine in the closet. Those are the standard issue secrets, and while they’re petty, I honestly don’t mind them. I wouldn't have ended up hating this place so much if that's all there was to worry about.

The secrets that I can't stand are the ones filled with all the ugliest emotions. Rage. Hate. Disgust.

And malice.

Normally, being exposed again and again deadens you to the nasty feelings. But every venom-laced confession just brought them to life. I could sense my indifference crumbling. I felt the mask slipping. Stupid me was finally starting to understand what it meant to want to hurt someone, and I almost puked. Violent hate, and barely repressed disgust, constantly simmering. Ugly contempt which goes about its day by gussying up with pleasantries. Maybe these were as common as canker sores. The thought dug its way into a soft spot in my head. Maybe people wanted to hurt me.

This entire train of thought brought to you by me hearing Shiori say the word 'culprit.' As nuts as that sounds. I know. I know. Didn't she just fix all the buzzing books? She did, and I'm more lucid than ever. It's all quiet on the mental front. For once.

Which is why my thoughts seem to feel safe wandering around the no man's land for the first time. They were so used to being stifled and mowed down by the machine gun chorus of voices, they've decided to take their freedom and run with it ― to all sorts of ugly places.

Speaking of machinery, Shiori's over there walking from shelf to shelf just whrrrrring away, while I'm just watching. I was actually trying to help her. Really.

There she was, reaching for a book just slightly out of reach. I sighed and walked up to grab it for her. Boy, I’d hate to be short, I thought. Then I reached out, and really started to stretch my arm out. And hopped. And barely brushed the book's tailband. Then she said:

"I'm honored for the help, but you do realize you're shorter than me, right?"

And I got embarrassed and snapped:

"Of course I know that! There was another book I really wanted to read!"

And it was titled:

"She Said WHAT?! Volume 360,001."

Then I made sure to let her know that it was my favorite and that she should mind her own business, because I couldn't stand her skeptical glance. That's why I'm here idly watching her do actual work, while I'm pretending to read this stupid book.

"Really, Jessie? Is that really the spiciest happening in your life?"

I feel a little dumb, honestly. I tried to follow Shiori's eyes as she worked. She glanced at me like she was too busy which, to be fair, she was, and I am absolutely not simmering about it at all because that would be petulant.

I admire it, though. The way even her glinting eyes glaze over when she starts pondering. I never knew glazed eyes could be a sign of intelligence. Mechanical, but never lifeless, focus peaking, her murmurs starting to sound like rumbling gears.

"Ichi-kun's the overmeticulous type. Ni-chan's a bit of a space cadet. Would she ever hide something in a bookshelf? Maybe. She's a little artsy ― maybe she likes the tactile aspects. San-san... "

Trying to understand ― trying to copy her makes me feel sort of... stupid.

But honestly? I don't really mind. I’m happy just to feel my world growing a little bigger. If she was in it, if maybe I could just hang onto her jacket-tails... I think I'd be happy to just follow along.

Sometimes it's enough to see the hill off in the distance, watch the pretty flowers sway with the wind. The flower next to me is doing plenty of swaying at the moment, but it's more like she has restless stem syndrome. It's a hyperactive flower. Which, presently, hops on over.

"Alright, alright!" Once again she claps her hands together happily. "I think I essentially get the gist of it."

"Great." I slap 'She Said What?!’ closed and surreptitiously tuck it under my arm.

"So, now you've gotta solve it.

"Um sure, I'll... wait, what?"

"Worry not, I shall backseat you. All good shelves hide a fun secret!" Like usual, she's donning an effortless smile while saying something effortlessly absurd. "This puzzle is really more of a guide 'em up, anyway. It is sort of... bull, unless you know your magi history.'"

"Then it's definitely not for me."

"I'm saying I'll tell you what you don't know," she frowns, before taking my hand gingerly and leading me to the shelves. "It'll be fun. And easy. You're the one who kept looking at me like a puppy that wanted to play. Wow, I never noticed you've got such small, cute hands."

I reflexively jerk my hand away.

"I don't even get what I'm supposed to be doing."

"I haven't even explained it yet..." She closes her eyes again, taps her temple a few times. "Essentially, you have to find the fake book. There's a fake book in this library that hides the mechanism to access the stairwell. By analyzing what secrets should and shouldn't fit together on a shelf, you can pin down our 'culprit.'"

"Culprit? Is there some corpse lying around I'm unaware of? Did someone heist away your brain?"

"Must you always be so compulsively snarky?" she sighs.

No. I really don't have to be. That's a real flaw.

"I just... I just don't know what you're talking about. I can't process information like you, and I don't want us to hang around here forever." And, honestly, I guess I just don't want you to see I'm not that…

"You don't even know what we're gonna do and you're already giving up."

"I'm giving up because I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I can't even figure that out."

"Can you just let me explain?" Shiori says, getting visibly frustrated, and I feel my stomach twinge a bit helplessly. "There are eight shelves in this library which each have eight rows, and each row has eight sections, and each section has eight books. That's eight to the fourth power. So, a little over four thousand books. Each of those small sections made of eight books represents a 'person.'"

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who are these people?" I ask.

"Oh, right, right. Rather, they aren't real people. They are more... implied people. Purely archetypes. Constructed Persons, that's one of the methods this tower uses to capture secrets. As I said, each eight book section represents one person."

"So, that's like... five hundred people. That's a lot Shiori," I feel myself fidgeting more and more. "Why can't we just move on if you know which book is fake?"

She sighs heavily like she's tired of me.

"We can rule most of those 'people' out because of the Constructor."

"Constructor? Like, the guy who made the Tower of Tattle?" I ask.

"The what now? Is that... is that what you call it?" She puts her hand to her mouth, but can't stop herself from breaking into a fit of giggles.

"Yes, because it fits. What's so funny?"

"It's not funny, it's just adorable. I like it," she grins. "It's better than Waechner's Vault. That’s the name of our man. Waechner. The man likes eights. That's why this place is shaped like an eight."

"You mean it's shaped like an infinity."

"No," Shiori sighs. "I mean an eight."

"That doesn't make sense. Why would it be an eight? It's an infinite library. It's an infinity symbol."

"Look. It's supposed to be an eight. When his partner brought this up to Waechner, he threw a fit and refused to work for half a year. He likes eights. That's Waechner. That's pretty much his identifying trait. He likes eights," she repeats.

"He likes eights..." I mutter.

"Yes. That's why almost all of this puzzle solves itself by arbitrary elimination, so long as you know how he thinks. It's actually painfully, brainlessly simple. That's why Waechner's got so many antis among the mages. Anti-mages, you know."

She pulls me along, right in front of the first shelf in the arc.

"It's really dumb," she says. "You're gonna facepalm. We can narrow it down to four sections, just because Waechner was... who he was. You just, look. The first shelf, go to the first row, to the first section, and it's that one. Those eight books. Same thing. Second shelf, second row, section two. So on."

"So, you. Um. Okay. I can see how that brings it down to eight sections. Eight possible culprits? But, um... How did you cut that in half?"

"Well, we're only in one half of the loop," she says, drawing an eight in the air and pointing to the top half. She eyes the two circles she drew and starts giggling to herself for some mysterious reason. "Anyway, that means according to Waechner logic, only four sections should be valid. Does that make sense?"

"Oh, okay. Uh, I think I get it. Yeah." I avoid asking her how she knows which four shelves to keep. I feel crazy because I think she's frowning at me.

"What's got you so meek all of a sudden?" .

"I'm not acting meek. I just ― I don't get how you cut it down to four."

"Oh, hm! Yes. I didn't explain that well. It's another dumb number thing. It's always gonna be a simple pattern. I went ahead and figured out it was powers of two. The most common one."

So shelves two, four, eight, and sixteen? What? And she still didn't explain how.

I hate this. There's something utterly obvious I'm just not getting. I need to brush past this. I can't even hide behind the whispering as an excuse anymore. I’ll just pretend to get it, and fingers crossed, she’ll just keep solving it as she bulldozes on.

That's when Shiori grabs my face. And starts squishing my cheeks, getting distracted by them. But then she starts... glaring at me? Some useless part of me wonders if she's just going to leave me here because I'm useless. I know she wouldn't do that. That's not her. But...

"Talk to me."

"I've been talking this whole time," Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. That is the whiniest I've ever sounded. "I'm trying. I don't even want to do this!"

"No, I didn't mean..." she takes her hands off my face and recollects herself. She looks a little sad. "Tell me what's wrong. That's all I meant."

"I don't... There's nothing wrong. Why can't we just keep going?!"

She looks really sad now. I'm not the bad guy here. I'm definitely not the bad guy here. Why does she look so sad? Because I won't play some stupid game with her?

"You know," she starts off softly, but pauses, as if she isn't sure she should say it. "A long time ago, someone treasured and dear to me taught me that knowing things has nothing to do with how intelligent you are. Would you believe I used to be a little cocky? Rather, a brat?"

"... yes, because you're a brat right now."

She stiffens a bit, then tries to hide her irritation with a smile.

"Ahaha... Duly noted. Now, as I was saying, I used to flaunt all these things I knew as if it made me better. Then someone smarter than me in all the important ways, though definitely not more mature..." she mutters under her breath and gives me a weird look.

Hm? What's her deal?

She continues. "... came and clocked me and helpfully let me know that 'knowledge' doesn't make you smart. Then she ran off and cried somewhere because she was a brat, too. More of a brat than me, actually."

"Okay...?" I mean, yes, that girl sounds bratty and insufferable, too.

"What I'm trying to say is!" She comes right round behind me and presses me forward delicately. "Let's just make this as simple as possible. Okay? No frills, no special knowledge. Just grand and fantastic puzzling."

"Okay..."

I force myself not to flinch even though it feels weird having someone touch my bare shoulders. Jeeze, her hands are kind of cold, actually.

"Now! Here it is."

♙Pick Out The Fake Book Of Secrets!♙

"Ugh... wow. That was a lot." I've got my face buried in my hands. "Every single time I thought it couldn't get worse..."

"Hmm~, it really is a big scoop of emotional ice cream. Lots of scoops." She tips her head quizzically. "With flavors that don't match. As if you put salty mango on top of spicy cayenne chocolate on top of rum raisin with a cockroach in the middle. And then tried to fix everything with rainbow sprinkles."

"Stop. Stop! I'm actually going to puke."

"You don't like sprinkles?"

I ignore her. “The rest of them can go screw themselves. But Ni-chan… Why? You’re just an airhead. Oh my god. Why would you do that, Ni-chan?”

“If it is any consolation, Ni-Chan is not a real person. She’s an amalgamated ‘construct’ made from the lives of presumably thousands of women who’ve made similar mistakes,” Shiori chirps in.

“...I’m just gonna solve the puzzle. I’m striking out Ni-chan. She doesn’t have a lying bone in her body. Except I guess she does? Since these are all secrets? Ugh, how do you even lie about secrets?! What does that mean?”

“Don’t overthink it. Just work through them one by one.”

“Ichi-kun… he’s some jerk who kept climbing the ladder at the expense of others. He knew better, but he kept doing it. He kept doing it and he kept feeling sorry for himself like that would fix anything. So, I guess the question is if he’s sincere. Especially that last book. His wife left him?”

“Sure, that’s a plausible guess. But the specifics don’t really matter, do they? Do you think he felt it in his heart of hearts? Did he let her go because he loved her?” Shiori lightly nudges my thoughts.

“Well, I can certainly believe that’s how Mr. Career sincerely saw it. Ichi-kun’s off the hook,” I roll my eyes, and move on. “Meanwhile, San-san is majorly obsessed isn’t she? It’s like all her secrets are centered on this one guy or, whatever, whoever she’s clearly not in love with. Which of these could even be a lie? Only the last one.”

“So, is it?”

I actually pause a moment to think about it. Could you really hold that much contempt for someone and still wear that mask every day? Wake up next to them, do the whole morning kiss routine, make him breakfast and all that? Sing lovey dovey songs with them even though it’s all hollow? Look him right in the eye, say you love him, and tell him he’s your world, all while you’re dreaming of someone else? Just so you won’t die alone?

“Yeah. She would do that. What a nightmare of a relationship. Which just leaves…”

Yon-shi. If the other three were pieces of work, then Yon-shi’s a third-world country where most homes lack running water. What isn’t wrong with Yon-shi? There’s a weird strain of self-awareness running through his books. I know it’s him. But which book is fake?

One of them definitely sticks out like a sore thumb. Is it really that simple? It’s practically screaming at me, but I want to think it through, so I try to give the other options some real thought.

Loves he lost… Could this absolute sociopath really love? I think so. Some of these titles reek of needy. The approval he still craves… He’s a definite narcissist. So, could he really put someone else on a pedestal like that? I don’t know. Maybe. It’s possible. Days he felt worthless… Agh, I guess even sociopaths have feelings, right? It’s so weird how it says ‘despite all pretense.’ Some of these titles feel like they know I’m reading them.

But I don’t think that one’s a lie. I bet he does have days he feels truly worthless. It’s almost as if. Almost as if he’s making a distinction from the days he… pretends to feel worthless. And if I think along those lines…

“It’s section four, book four. His ‘Childhood Traumas’ and all that b.s. That stupid long, self-serving title. It’s like… here’s my ‘secret,’ but then he’s waving it in your face like glowsticks. It’s his secret, but he won’t shut up about it.”

“Right? Right on the money! Yon-shi’s the type to oh, oh, oh so laboriously list out their flaws slowly to make a one man show. Even their psychologist would get sick of it. They'd keep finding new ones until they get a supplicant audience! They need that constant stream of sympathy.”

"Munchausen by talksy?" I ask.

Her eyes glint wildly. “Exactly. Graces, that is such a good way of putting it. They keep frickin’ talking and talking and need to let you know how broken they are, but actually they’re just frickin’ twisted! And then on your birthday they seriously take the first slice of cake, while they’re still talking about themselves, on MY BIRTHDAY, that I didn’t even INVITE them to…”

Shiori continues on like this for a while, occasionally putting on this weird dad voice that I think is supposed to be an impression. She occasionally flaps both of her arms up indignantly, like a really angry chicken. Bawk bawk motherfucker.

“Um, breathe?”

She is actually, literally breathless from her rant. I suppose even magi have their handful of toxic friends.

“Haah… haah… but anyway, yes, you’re right. That’s the fake book.” She walks very slowly to shelf four. I think she exhausted herself. She grabs the book in question, holding it up to me. “Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

Am I? I… haven’t really had time to process it. It was actually pretty easy. Should I be proud of myself? As I’m pondering the new puzzle of whether I deserve to be proud of myself, Shiori sighs again, and gives me a look that says ‘you know, for someone who’s so Type A and crabby you sure are helpless.’

“You know, you really are helpless for someone who’s so anal all the ti―”

“Finish that sentence and I really will hit you.”

“Fine! Fine. You’re the most pleasant person in the universe. Friendliness itself stands in awe. When I think of ‘nice’ and ‘well-adjusted’ I think of you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yep. Thank you.” Actually, that one kind of hurt my feelings a bit… ah. I guess this is what being hit with sarcasm feels like…

“Agh! I’m sorry, jeeze! That look… I feel like I kicked a kitten! You should be proud of yourself, ok? That’s all I mean. Graces. Let’s just slip off the jacket cover and move on.”

Okay, I was a little sensitive there, but… somehow, I actually feel okay. Because I realize I actually feel warm inside and happy that I actually finished that puzzle. Wow. Was it really such a big deal to me? It’s sort of outshining the negative stuff. Could I really keep growing like this…?

Shiori takes the jacket off the false book. And there on the hardcover, the real title’s revealed.

So, that means that’s… how he actually feels? I know he’s not real. He’s not real, but he’s an ‘amalgamation.’ He’s a type of person. There’s lots like him. Maybe thousands. Who all…

Ugh. I actually ― I actually feel a little sick reading that.

Just when you think this puzzle’s done with the stomach-knotting emotional turns, huh? I suppose it’s only fitting that leaving this awful place should have a proper dreadful secret to send me off!

THUNK.

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

THUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNK―

All around, the shelves start sinking into the floor one by one, each dropping lower than the last one, spiraling into the ground like dominoes into the subterranean. Oh… It looks like it gets really dark down there.

I feel my stomach clench down. Hard. Sweat is starting to break out. Shiori, as she often is, once again seems to be in her own little world, and I’m grateful for it. I’m just going to move past this without bothering her. All I have to do is follow her down these stairs. These narrow, dark, stairs. Am I claustrophobic? I don’t think so. But I’m terrified.

She’s talking but I’m not hearing it. It’s fine. We’ll get through this. Focus on the warm feeling! You just solved that puzzle! You figured out Yon-shi! Awful, twisted Yon-shi. Who hates himself, apparently. Who, for all his twists and turns and narcissism and all his false wounds and gussied up scars, actually hates himself underneath it all.

This isn’t helping.

All I can think of as I descend down into the darkness is… what would my shelf of secrets look like?

If you took off my cover… what’s the real title hiding underneath?