Unhallowed (Rath and Rune #1) - Jordan L. Hawk Page 0,17
Endicott suggested.
“No, no, it was outside my normal field of study,” the old man said. “I don’t recall the exact subject, but it looked very intriguing.”
“Do you recall the volume number?” she asked with increasing desperation. “The issue? The year?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Her smile had become a rictus. “I shall look into the matter, and send the journal along when I find it, Dr. Leavitt.”
Dr. Leavitt tottered off. Miss Endicott sighed and glanced over at Ves. “The exciting life of a librarian. I hope your day is proving more fruitful?”
“It is, thank you.” He inclined his head and was about to continue on his way, when she spoke again.
“Would you like to join us for lunch? A group of us are going to Marsh’s. It’s a little restaurant a short walk from the museum—cheap, but the food is good, especially if you like fish.”
Would Mr. Rath be among those dining out? Not that it mattered—Ves didn’t socialize with anyone, ever. His enforced work ethic had endeared him to his supervisors, though never to his fellow employees. “I brought something from home,” he said. “I thought to take the opportunity to stretch my legs and familiarize myself with the library beyond the bindery.”
“Suit yourself,” Miss Endicott said with a shrug.
To his surprise, Ves felt a pang. Miss Endicott seemed nice enough, even if she was Rath’s friend. What was her story? How had she come to these shores and found herself working at the Ladysmith? She seemed as though she’d be interesting to talk to; doubtless she’d seen so much more of the world than Ves had.
He tamped down on his curiosity. He’d see the world for himself soon enough, once he had the map in hand and the comet overhead. Everything else was just a distraction.
Once Ves was farther into the stacks and out of Miss Endicott’s sight, he took out a small notebook. He counted off steps in his head and made a rough sketch of the room he was in, then proceeded to the next one. It would take far more than one lunch hour to complete the map, though hopefully he could stay late on Saturday and make good progress. If anyone asked what he was doing, he’d simply pretend a fascination with architecture.
It was odd Fagerlie hadn’t been able to find any floor plans of the library on his own, now that Ves considered the matter. He’d assured Ves that he’d checked city hall, but any architectural drawings that had originally been submitted were either lost or destroyed. Even so, given how utterly unique the structure of the library seemed to be, it was odd no architectural magazine or journal had taken any interest in it.
Then again, perhaps the architect—what had Rath said his name was? Dromgoole? Perhaps Dromgoole simply wasn’t well known enough to catch anyone’s attention. The library was closed to the public, allowing only museum staff and visiting scholars, so likely it was simply obscure.
Even after his tour of the day before, not to mention the map he was making, Ves got lost twice in fifteen minutes. The rooms met at disorienting angles, and archways that seemed like they ought to lead to a specific chamber failed to do so. Sound traveled oddly as well, voices echoing from distant parts of the library. Once, a set of footsteps approached; Ves paused in his work and waited for the walker to appear, only to have the steps fade away before reaching him. All in all, the effect straddled the line between unsettling and intriguing.
“Binder,” whispered a voice in his ear.
Ves came to an abrupt halt. The room he was in was marked by the bas-relief of a disgruntled sheep and seemed to house the Astronomy and Physics Collection. A feather duster sat on a reading table, abandoned when some librarian halted the eternal battle against dust to go to lunch. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room with him.
“Hello?” he asked uncertainly.
No one replied. And now that he thought back, he wasn’t entirely certain it was a voice after all. Perhaps it had only been an odd creak, some noise of the foundations settling.
Perhaps. But his earliest memories were of the woods, or the force that lived in them, whispering to him in something other than words. A voiceless language, spoken in the wind through the branches, the piping of frogs. Those whispers had comforted him, curled around him and allowed him to sleep.