whole Collector’s Club believes?”
“That if they do what Allegra tells them for long enough they will earn their place in paradise which is—as Borges supposed—a kind of library? Yes, they do believe that.”
“That sounds like a cult,” Zachary observes.
To his surprise Dorian laughs.
“It does indeed,” he admits.
“Did you believe all that?” Zachary asks.
Dorian considers the question before he responds.
“Yes I did. I believed. Steadfastly. I accepted a lot of things on faith and there came a night that made me question everything and I ran away. I disappeared. That did not go over well. They froze my cards under all my aliases, made some versions of me no longer exist and put others on watch lists and no-fly lists and all sorts of lists. But I had a great deal of cash and I was in Manhattan. It’s easy to stay lost in Manhattan. I could walk around midtown in a suit with a briefcase and I’d vanish into the crowd though I was usually going to the library.”
“What changed your mind?” Zachary asks.
“Not what. Who. Mirabel changed my mind,” Dorian says and before Zachary can inquire further Dorian returns his attention back to the book, the conversation pointedly and clearly halted.
They read in silence for some time. Zachary sneaks occasional glances at Dorian, trying to guess where he is in the book based on eyebrow reaction.
Eventually Dorian closes Sweet Sorrows and puts it down on the table. He frowns and holds out a hand and Zachary gives him The Ballad of Simon and Eleanor without a word and they return to reading.
Zachary is lost in a fairy tale (wondering what kind of box the story sculptor hid what he’s guessing was Fate’s heart inside) when Dorian closes the book.
Slowly they attempt to sort through a thousand questions. For every connection they make between one book and another there are more that don’t fit. Some stories seem completely separate and distant and others feel explicitly connected to the story they have found themselves in together now.
“There was…” Dorian starts but then pauses and when he continues he addresses the man on the wall instead of the man sitting across from him. “There was an organization that was referred to as the Keating Foundation. Never publicly, it was an in-house term. I never knew its origin, no one was ever named Keating but it can’t be a coincidence.”
“The library had this marked as a gift from the Keating Foundation,” Zachary says, holding up Sweet Sorrows. “How were they related to the Collector’s Club?”
“They worked in opposition. They were…targets to be eliminated.” Dorian pauses. He stands and paces the room and Zachary has a sudden sense of the cage in the painting not being restricted to the wall.
“What did your crypt book tell you again?” Dorian asks, pausing to pick up The Ballad of Simon and Eleanor and flipping through it while he paces.
“There are three things lost in time. A book, a sword, and a man. Sweet Sorrows must be the book, since Eleanor gave it to Simon and then it spent, what, a hundred years on the surface? The instructions said ‘find man’ and not ‘find man and sword’ so maybe the sword has already been returned, too. There’s a sword in the Keeper’s office, hanging all conspicuous in plain sight.”
“Simon’s the man lost in time,” Dorian says.
“He must be. The man lost in time from Sweet Sorrows even has the coat with the buttons.”
Dorian picks up Sweet Sorrows, flipping back and forth between both books.
“Who do you think is the pirate?” he asks.
“I think the pirate is a metaphor.”
“A metaphor for what?”
“I don’t know,” Zachary says. He sighs and looks back at the man in his painted cage surrounded by so many keys.
“Who is the painter?” Dorian asks at the same time that the voice in Zachary’s head poses the same question.
“I don’t know,” Zachary says. “I’ve seen a bunch that are probably by the same artist. There’s one with bunny pirates in my room.”
“May I see it?”
“Sure.”
Zachary puts Sweet Sorrows and The Ballad of Simon and Eleanor in his bag and Dorian replaces Fortunes and Fables in his pocket and they set off down the hall, one that Zachary sort of recognizes, a tunnel-shaped one where the bookshelves curve with each turn.
“How much have you seen?” Zachary asks as they walk, watching Dorian slow and stare at their surroundings.
“Just a few rooms,” he responds, looking down past his bare feet. The floor in this hall is