She thought about it a moment. “Do the catalog numbers have any relationship to one another? If they did, maybe we could figure out what section the missing books came from.”
“The numbers are all different. They don’t share any common points that I can determine. Hey, would you hand me that book right there? The one with the red lettering on the cover?”
The subject was dropped again, and they continued with their work in silence. Mistaya soon found herself thinking about how long ago and far away her time at Carrington seemed. It wasn’t really either one, but it seemed that way thinking on it. From studying the literature, sciences, and history of a world that wasn’t even her own to cataloging ancient books in a library no one ever used in a world no one outside her own even knew existed struck her as bizarre. Neither endeavor seemed particularly important to her, nor compelling in a way that made her feel she was using her time well. She had felt trapped at Carrington and she felt trapped all over again here at Libiris. Why couldn’t she find a way to make herself feel useful? Why did she feel so adrift no matter what she was doing?
For a moment, a single moment, she thought about leaving and going home. How bad could it be, if she did? She would have to face up to her father’s disappointment and possibly his anger. She would have to prepare herself for a heated discussion about what would happen next. But what was the worst that could come out of that discussion? Maybe she would be sent back to Libiris, but maybe not. If she could manage to keep her temper in check and argue logically and forcefully, perhaps she could manage to talk him into having her do something else. Wouldn’t that be better than what she was doing now?
Still, that would mean leaving Thom, perhaps for good, and she wasn’t quite ready to do that. She liked being with him; even though most of what they did was work, she was having fun.
“Have you ever asked His Eminence for a copy of his master list of the books shelved at Libiris?” she asked after a while, frustrated by finding yet another set of gaps in the shelves.
Thom shook his head. “I don’t think he would give it to me.”
She stood up abruptly. “Maybe not. But I think it’s worth asking. Let me try.”
“Ellice, wait,” he objected.
“I’ll just be a minute,” she called back to him, already on her way. “Don’t worry, I won’t cause trouble.”
Without waiting for his response, she crossed the room to the far wall and followed the aisles through the shelving back to the door leading to Craswell Crabbit’s office. The Stacks felt huge and empty, and even her soft footfalls echoed in the cavernous expanse. She could not quite shed her distaste for the feelings the library engendered in her.
As she drew closer to her destination, she heard voices from inside. To her surprise, the door was cracked open.
She crept closer, curious now, taking slow, measured steps so as not to give herself away. She could hear Crabbit and Rufus Pinch, their conversation low and guarded. As if they didn’t want anyone to hear, she thought. She slowed further. If she was caught sneaking around like this, she would no doubt be tossed through the front door of Libiris instantly.
“… easier if we had them on this side of the wall,” Pinch was saying. “Then we wouldn’t have to worry about hauling them all back again.”
“Easier, yes,” His Eminence agreed, “but ineffective for our needs. To work their magic, they need to be right where they are.”
“I don’t trust our so-called allies,” Pinch pressed, his voice a low growl that bordered on a whine. “What if they go back on their bargain?”
“Stop fretting, Mr. Pinch. What possible reason could they have for doing that? They want out, don’t they? And not just into Landover. They need me to accomplish that. They don’t have the skills and the experience to read the necessary passages.”
“They might know more than you think.”
“They might …” His Eminence paused. “Mr. Pinch, did you leave that door open when you entered? That wasn’t very wise of you. Close it now, please.”
Mistaya tiptoed backward as swiftly as she could to where the shelving unit ended and flattened herself against the wall. She held her breath until she heard the door close, then stayed where she was for another few minutes before moving silently away.
When she got back to Thom, he asked, “Any luck?”
“I didn’t ask,” she told him. She gave him a shrug and what she hoped was a disarming grin. “He was busy with something else.”
She thought about the conversation between His Eminence and Pinch for the rest of the afternoon. She was still thinking about it at dinner that night, sitting with Thom, and later when she went to bed.
But when Thom woke her at midnight, leaning close and gently shaking her shoulder until she came awake, it was all forgotten.
“Shhh!” he whispered, putting a finger to his lips. “No talking, no noise at all!”
She was already dressed as she rolled out of her bed and slipped on her boots. The room was dark except for a sliver of moonlight that slanted down through the single high, narrow window on the east wall. She straightened her clothing, retightened her belt, and gave him a nod. He handed her one of the two glow sticks he was carrying, but she didn’t light it. By previous agreement, they would work their way into the Stacks in the dark and light the glow sticks when they could no longer see at all.
They slipped from her bedroom with Thom leading the way, their footfalls virtually noiseless in the deep silence. The hallway beyond was empty and dark, and they passed down it without seeing or hearing anything or anyone. When they reached the Stacks, Thom held up his hand for a moment while he studied the larger room carefully. She listened as well, but heard nothing. When both were satisfied that it was safe, they slipped from the shadows of the hallway into the cavernous silence of the Stacks.
In the dark upper reaches of the room, something scurried along the beams and was gone. Mistaya exchanged a hurried glance with Thom, but he shook his head. Whatever was up there wasn’t interested in them.
They crossed the open space to the beginning of the shelving aisles and started for the back of the room.
Somewhere behind them, a door opened and closed on squeaky hinges, the sound echoing in the deep silence.
They froze as one, halfway down the aisle at the first set of shelves, eyes peering back over their shoulders, waiting. Mistaya quit breathing for long moments, certain that someone was about to appear. But no one did, and the sound of the squeaking hinges did not come again. They continued to wait, not wanting to make a mistake, to take an unnecessary or foolish risk. If either one decided to call it off, they had agreed, the other would not argue. They would simply wait and try another time.
Finally, long moments later, they looked at each other and nodded wordlessly. The hunt would go on.
Back into the darkness they crept, moving carefully between shelving units that had the feel of confining walls. The small amount of moonlight let in by the high windows at the front of the room slowly faded behind them, leaving the darkness thicker and more impenetrable. At last they could see almost nothing, and they had to feel their way ahead by using the shelves as guide rails.
When the last of the light dimmed to nothing more than a distant glimmer, Thom brought them to a stop. They still hadn’t reached the back wall, and there was no indication that they would anytime soon.
“We have to use the glow sticks,” he whispered in her ear. “Remember. They only last for two hours, so we have to get back before time runs out.”
She nodded that she understood. Together they broke off the tips, and a soft, golden glow spread away in a pool of light that extended about six feet from each bearer. The way forward made clear, they started ahead once more.
By now, Mistaya thought, they must have covered several hundred yards. But that was impossible. The Stacks couldn’t be that deep. There had to be magic at work, and she wondered who had set it in place and why. She reached out for its source, but couldn’t find it. She also wondered at the blackness of the space. She seemed to remember from her work in the daytime that windows on both walls extended back for as far as she could see. Why weren’t those windows permitting any moonlight to enter the room? She knew the moon was full and the sky clear that night. Was the magic that made the room seem so much larger also blocking the light and cloaking the room in shadows?