I) Chapter 8

8.
Richard and Lance slept very little. They both lay awake most of the
night thinking about the various strange events, coincidences and lucky
breaks that had led them this far into getting Richard out of his
peculiar and possibly deadly predicament. They both picked up the
various pieces of the puzzle in their minds and tried to fit them
together, but there were simply too many gaps, too many unknowns. Who
had written the book? Why had they written it? How was it managing that
trick of writing itself? Was Richard really going to die in three days
time?

Richard woke to the plaintive yet insistent meow of his cat. He
looked up from his bed and saw Sian sitting very purposefully at the
end of it. On seeing he was conscious she padded her way up to him and
nuzzled her head softly against his whilst purring quietly. This was
the one time of day when she was always guaranteed to be nice to him,
when she was hungry and wanted him to get out of bed to make her
breakfast. Richard exited his warm bed reluctantly and stumbled towards
the
kitchen. Not even imminent death could shake him out his morning
stupor.

The cat continued to meow insistently as he went about preparing her
breakfast. This would normally be a simple operation involving a tin of
cat food, a fork, and the cat's bowl, but since the task was being
attempted in the early hours of the morning it was rendered difficult
and long-winded for Richard. There was a slightly musty smell in the
flat so he opened one of the kitchen windows slightly before he took
his shower. He could tell that it was going to be a cold day.

Before he finally managed to get himself together and head for the
front door he checked in again on Sian in the kitchen. She was gone, as
was her food. Assuming she had as usual made her way back to her room
to sleep off the exertion of eating, Richard left her to it and headed
out to work.

To his surprise he found Lance waiting for him in the foyer clutching
a plastic bag. Unlike yesterday he was dressed in uniform.
'You're late' he chided, without looking at his watch.

'Not by my time' Richard retorted. 'What are you doing here?'

'What do you think I'm doing here? Come on, you're going to take me to
see your boss so we can ask him about this book' Lance commanded,
taking The New Eschatologist out of the plastic bag and handing it to
Richard.

'I'm not sure I want it.'

'Oh you do, trust me.' Lance smiled weakly, 'It documents everything
you do remember. It's only fair.'

'Everything?' Richard began to blush terribly. Lance looked down at
his shoes.

'Pretty much. Come on, let's go.' Lance turned towards the stairs and
began to climb. 'Oh, and you left your kitchen window open this
morning. How many times have I told you about home security?'

With his face still flushed an angry crimson Richard followed his
friend up the stairs into the main room of the library.

When Janice caught sight of the fully uniformed Lance Felwood
approaching her desk her face dropped like an aeroplane stalling in
mid-air. The clicking sound that seemingly never ceased to emanate from
her increased by a factor of ten with every pace Lance took towards
her. He had a look of grim determination on his face. He was in work
mode now.

'Good morning' He enunciated in strong, even tones. He opened his
mouth to continue further but then paused, and whispered aside to
Richard: 'This is your boss right?'

'This is Janice.'

'Your boss?'

'Kind of.'

Lance took Richard to one side briefly, leaving a sweating
Janice cruelly on the verge of vomit and a queue of dissatisfied
patrons waiting at the issues desk.

'What do you mean kind of?'

'Well, I wouldn't really say she's my boss.'

'Then what is she?'

'She's my??immediate superior I suppose but not-'

'Your boss then?'

'No, well, yes, sort of.' Lance sighed a deep and world weary
sigh.

'Is she or isn't she?'

'She's not the boss, she's just a little higher up than me, on the
same level in many respects.'

'Who is the boss then?'

'Head Librarian, Dr.Quinn.' Lance raised an eyebrow quizzically.
'Dr.Michael Quinn.'

'I need to ask a few questions about a book returned to this library
recently,' continued Lance, turning back to Janice. She nodded weakly,
afraid that if she did it too emphatically it would make her dizzying
nausea worse. Richard handed Lance The New Eschatologist and tried not
to catch Janice's pleading eyes. She looked as terrified and pitiful as
a cornered deer, albeit as morbidly obese deer that suffered from panic
attacks.

'Do you recognise this book?' Lance passed it to Janice. She ran her
fingers timidly over the spine, her hand shaking quite badly, before
concluding:

'236 - dewey decimal, religious um?death?'

'What?'

'The number?.um?dewey decimal?'

'She's talking about the classification system in libraries Lance'
Richard chipped in 'Dewey decimal codes, 236 means it's something
religious. Ask her in what part of the library it's shelved.'

'What part of the library is it shelved?'

'Janice looked again 'Not?sure?is it ours?'

'It was handed into this library.'

'Check?' Janice was sweating so much no-one noticed the tears
beginning to mix in with the perspiration. No-one except Richard, who
was used to these things. He averted his gaze with all his customary
gallantry.

'Check?'

'Computers?' Janice mopped her brow gingerly with one of monstrously
oversized hands and tried to remember her breathing exercises.

'No record of it on the computers' Richard whispered to Lance, eyes
still focused fully on the floor and nothing else.

'There's no record of it on the computers.' Lance relayed to Janice
authoritatively. Janice cast Richard an unusually baleful look which he
completely failed to notice. 'I think I need to talk to the Head
Librarian, this book makes serious threats on this man's life.' Lance
continued, pointing briefly at Richard without any real need. Janice's
lower lip began to tremble and she felt an ugly contraction in her
throat and stomach. 'I'll need to arrange an appointment to see the
Head Librarian' Lance continued. His request elicited no response from
Janice, her eyes had glazed over and it was clear she was approaching
critical mass. 'Are you alright?' Janice did not reply. She simply
stumbled out from behind the issues desk and rolled away hurriedly
towards the ladies' toilets. Lance and Richard stared after her with a
mixture of confusion and guilt.

'Was it something I said?'

'Oh, she's always like that. I wouldn't blame yourself.'

'Some people?'

Richard shook his head wistfully. 'Beyond help really,' he concluded
sagely.

'So?' Lance began again after a few moments, feeling a little guilty
now 'where's this Head Librarian of yours?'

'You mean you're not going to make an appointment?'

'I'm a police officer. I do not need to make an appointment to talk to
a Librarian.'

Richard seemed to doubt this a little. 'Are you sure?' he said after a
few moments.

Lance glared, and rejoindered 'of course I'm sure,' though he too was
doubting himself a little now. 'Take me to your leader,' Lance quipped
courageously. Richard winced, and headed towards the stairs and
Dr.Quinn's office.

Upon reaching the door to the Head Librarian's domain Richard stepped
aside instantaneously and allowed Lance to do all the knocking. He had
bad memories of knocking on a staff room door in school as a young,
bright and almost enthusiastic child and being verbally and aurally
assaulted for a full ten minutes by a physics teacher for failing to
knock with due meekness. He had no intention of repeating that fiasco
here. Lance knocked on the door with a level of assumed authority and
confidence that Richard could only imagine would get him shouted at, so
he backed a little further away from the door so that he could quickly
get himself out of range in the event of an emergency. He was even more
unnerved, and also somewhat nauseated, when Lance completely failed to
act with what he considered to be proper door knocking decorum and
waited only a few seconds before knocking even louder and longer on the
door again. A moment or two later and to his surprise he saw Dr.Quinn's
door open for the first time ever in his short (and lately seemingly
shortened) life.

Dr.Quinn's look of annoyance upon opening up was tempered little by
the sight of a uniform. He physically straightened up and did not
launch into a tirade of vague profanities as he had intended, but he
was certainly not at all cowed by the six foot two inches of the thin
blue line that greeted him in his doorway.

'Dr.Quinn? The Head Librarian?'

'Ffffllllrrrrr' Dr.Quinn shook his head and rolled his eyes 'Yes yes
yes.'

'My name is Police Constable Lance Felwood,' Lance replied, trying to
ignore the odd huffing noises the librarian was making. 'I'm here to
talk to you about a threat made against the life of one of your
employees.'

At this point Richard was still out of Dr..Quinn's field of vision and
wanted to remain so for a little while longer until he was more certain
which way the confrontation was going. Lance pulled him in however by
looking in his direction and motioning him forward. When this did not
work he resorted to pointing. Dr.Quinn poked his head out of the door
and looked. It was clear from his blank expression and mumbled
consonant sounds that he did not recognise Richard at all.

'Who what what who?' He inquired abstractly, shaking his head a little
more despairingly. Lance motioned Richard forward again, but he still
would not budge. His superior's failure to recognise him had sent him
tumbling back into a state of paralysis. This time tinged with
spite.

'Richard Querulous? He's a graduate trainee. He works at your library.
We really need to talk to you Dr.Quinn, it's about my friend here and
one of your books. I need to ask you some questions. Perhaps inside
your office.'

'Ggggglllfffrrr' Dr.Quinn looked away and growled oddly. Then he
retreated inside his office and motioned Lance forward. Lance had to
physically pull Richard in with him.

The office itself was surprisingly small, though the lack of room was
perhaps more due to the mountains of books, papers and associated
clutter crammed inside than a real paucity of available space between
its four walls. The window was open and the room was cold yet extremely
stale smelling all the same. Dr.Quinn himself was a reasonably tall man
in his late fifties with cobweb grey hair and a carefully trimmed beard
that hid his growing collection of chins. He was dressed in a creased
grey suit and tie with a slightly stained shirt that seemed to be
gathering mildew around the armpits. Currently only he knew this
particular feature of his sartorial dilapidation however, so he kept
his jacket on at all times lest anyone else find out.

Dr.Quinn sat down on one of only two chairs in his office and busied
himself with the papers on his desk as if he had invited neither Lance
nor Richard into the room and did not know they were there at all.
Lance took the remaining seat and left a by now totally useless Richard
to stand and worry that his boss might do something terrible like
actually try and talk to him. Appropriating the bag containing The New
Eschatologist from his friend's sweaty hands Lance pulled out the
mysterious black tome and landed it decisively on Dr.Quinn's desk. The
Head Librarian looked up at Lance and narrowed his eyes conspicuously.
Lance tried not to look scared.

'Do you recognise this book at all?'

'Fnnnnnn?.' Dr.Quinn mumbled incoherently and picked the tome up in
both hands in order to appraise it.

'Do you recognise it?'

'No no no. Look I er, well it's a library book isn't it? Dewey
decimal, no stamp though. Not read myself. Not one of ours.'

'So you don't know where it's from'

Dr.Quinn exhaled audibly and looked pleadingly to an imaginary gallery
for sympathy. 'No no no no. Look not one of ours eh? Don't know can't
help you. Never seen it before.'

'It was handed back to this library.' Lance persisted.

Dr.Quinn folded his arms and leaned back on his chair on the two back
legs rebelliously. Then he shrugged his shoulders and mumbled some
vowel sounds dispassionately. He was not a born communicator.

'Okay. So it's not from this library. It does however imply a threat
towards one of your employees. Would you like to take a look inside the
book?'

Dr.Quinn opened the book to the title page and Lance thought he
noticed him stiffen a little. He landed back on all four legs and then
began turning more pages. 'New Eschato?' he said, shaking his head and
beginning to flick through the chapters.

'The last chapter of the book contains very personal information about
your employee here. Every other chapter appears to tell the story of
someone's death. Obviously this is some kind of practical joke Doctor,
but as you can imagine it has Richard rather worried.'

'Richard?'

'Him', Lance provided, pointing. Richard tried to smile but it came
out as more of a grimace.

'Well well well, errrr?.if it is serious then look, I can try and look
into it further for you?if you like?'

'Thankyou Doctor, any information you can provide about the book,
where it came from, what library it might belong to etcetera you know.
Anything really, as I said it would appear impossible to take
seriously, but it's something I think we'd all like to know more about.
Well - ' Lance paused and placed his hands on his legs decisively, he
felt no further need to talk to the Head Librarian, '- I think that's
about it, thankyou for your time, I hope you can shed some light on
this little mystery for us,' he smiled, rose from his seat and went to
retrieve the book. Dr.Quinn's hands did not relinquish control of the
tome however.

'I'll probably need to keep hold of it,' he explained, looking up at
Lance. 'Looks very?.odd?.old?.yes?..I can see why you may' he sighed
and turned to the last few pages '?worried.'

'We think it has something to do with invisible ink.' Lance pitched
in.

'Yes'

'I really think I should keep hold of the book.' Lance went to
retrieve it again, but was denied. Dr.Quinn took in a very deep breath
and spoke with his full quota of clarity for the day.

'I can see what your problem is here. To me looks to me very,
er?elaborate hoax. Isn't really about your friend here, probably really
about nothing at all but can see why you're scared. It's not magic or
some great terrible find, just another odd book. Seen many before. A
joke like you say.'

Lance smiled and reached a final time for the book.

'But I'll need to keep it for a few days. Besides, it is a library
book and should be taken back to wherever it came. Especially if it is
mine - I mean ours, the library's. Unless some criminal charges are
err?. involved? But how could they be! For a book!'

'Yes' Lance chuckled along with the Head Librarian.

'Come back and talk to me in a day or two.'

With that the conversation was officially over. Dr.Quinn added The New
Eschatologist to his work pile and went back to his papers. Lance
mumbled a few pleasantries and retreated out of the room. Richard
followed on behind. It felt like a rout of some kind. Lance closed the
door behind him and whispered.

'Well, I'm sure he'll sort it out.'

'Yes' Richard nodded, and then suddenly remembered that a book
describing detailed information about all his thoughts, feelings and
actions over the past few days was now sitting on the desk of his boss.
He turned back towards the door and his mouth dropped open in a
wordless woe. He wanted to cry.

'So whilst I'm here, I might as well look around the place,' said Lance
as they descended back down towards the main room, 'You've never really
shown me where you work.'

'There's not much to see'

'Still, the guided tour?.'

'Waste of time.'

'You're awfully down all of a sudden?'

'This is stupid. All of it. Stupid.'

'The whole book thing? Well, I think I know what you mean?'
Richard shook his head wearily and moved up to frown factor five.

'C'mon' Lance urged, 'show me around, it's something to do. Besides I
really should inspect the scene of the crime.'
Richard cast Lance a circumspect and semi-baleful glance, as if to say
he was aware he was just being humoured but for both their sakes would
tolerate it just this once. 'Follow me,' he directed.

He led Lance through to a large, high-roofed room with an open central
area populated by somewhere between thirty and forty rows of reading
desks and chairs. It was still fairly early but most of the desks were
already occupied, mostly by university students. Surrounding this study
enclave on all sides were shelving units full of books (unsurprisingly)
that created a multitude of mini-corridors and passageways forming a
simple yet surprisingly difficult to navigate labyrinth around the
chamber.

'This is the reading room, the main collection is housed here.' Richard
declared dispassionately.

'How do you tell what goes where?'

Richard glared, 'The Dewey Decimal system of course. Have you never
been in a library before?'

'Yes!' Lance protested, shifting nervously from foot to foot. 'Not for
a while though. I don't have the time.'

'Yes you do, you just can't be bothered,' Richard accused,
typically
puritanical. 'Anyway, the Dewey Decimal system is very simple. It was
invented by a man named Melvil Dewey. He divided things into ten
classes, each class being represented by a range of a hundred numbers.
For example, anything between 000 and 099 is general stuff like
encyclopaedias and newspapers. History is 900-999, science 600-699,
literature 800-899, and so on. These main categories are divided
further and further, so as the hundred represents the main category,
the ten will represent a sub-category, say English history, and the
unit of the number will represent a further specific period. You get
decimals after that which can make things more and more specific.
Certain writers for example will have their own specific number, say
813.46 for books by or about Henry James.'

'So what number was our mystery manuscript again?'

'Well?the number was 236, which means it's classified as a religious
book. A book about eschatology to be more specific- which I guess is
pretty self-explanatory anyway.'

'And eschatology is?'

'The study of the final things, death, the afterlife, the end of the
world.'

'Well' Lance sighed, 'Has to be some kind of joke then doesn't
it?'

'Not that we ever took it seriously?' Richard replied, shrugging
quizzically.

'No?' Lance paused, dragging out the vowel sound, 'No.'

'So take me to where the book would be shelved if it did belong in this
library.'

'It wouldn't be in here,' Richard replied quickly, 'The Dewey Decimal
was preceded by a '?' symbol on the book, so it doesn't belong in the
main collection. I don't know where it would belong though. I've not
seen Greek character used like that before.'

'How about in other collections?'

'A number being preceded by a letter usually means another collection
you're right. 'B' means stack 1, '3PER' means a periodical on Stack
3.

'Stacks?'

'Smaller collections downstairs. Less used books and journals mostly.
Stacks 4 and 3 are accessible to all. 2 and 1 are lower down, have
rarely used volumes and are restricted.'

'Why are they called stacks?'

Richard opened his mouth instinctively to deliver an answer, but found
himself strangely lacking in knowledge with which to furnish a reply. A
moment or two passed before he closed his mouth again, and then
whispered 'Don't know.' He turned and started walking towards a door at
the far end of the main collection room. 'Follow me,' he
commanded.
Lance followed, still a little confused about library terminology. 'Do
they stack books on top of each other there?' He inquired of Richard's
back, whilst trying to inconspicuously adjust his pace to keep up with
his friend.

'This is Stack 4' Richard declared as the two intrepid book detectives
passed through the door from the main reading room and into a much
smaller chamber.

'But it's the first one?' Lance mused.

'Yes'

'Well shouldn't it-'

'No. Here we have journals, periodicals, photocopiers and - ' Richard
stopped and looked around in dismay, ' - people.'
Lance got the feeling that Richard's guided tour was turning out to be
more than a little truncated. Nevertheless he dutifully followed his
brooding friend on a seemingly random course through the maze of
shelves in stack 4, trying but mostly failing to catch Richard's
occasional remarks about what they were passing. A few minutes later
and they were in Stack 3, where Lance valiantly resisted the urge to
question again why what was blatantly the second stack was labelled as
the third. He was beginning to realise why Richard had never offered
him a tour before. Richard himself was in a determinedly downcast mood
and was beginning to suspect Lance of being involved in some huge
conspiracy against him. Not even use of the staff only lift could raise
his spirits.

'Bit dingy in here.' Lance commented as the lift rolled noisily down to
the lower stacks. Richard folded his arms defensively and looked
positively wounded. As soon as the doors opened on stack 2 he strode
out and announced without stopping:

'The is stack 2, it's restricted to those with the privilege.'

'Is it okay for me to come in?'

'Yes' Richard sighed, motioning Lance out of the lift, 'I permit
it.'

'Thanks Rich,'

'Don't mention it.'

Richard explained to Lance the system of shelving in Stack 2, which was
a little different due to the delicate mixture of pamphlets, papers,
older journals, and less used books that constituted the collection.
Lance tried to take it all in but was feeling a nasty mixture of utter
boredom and a creeping claustrophobia. The roof, whilst not low enough
to cause him any real problems, was still close enough to feel as if it
might hit him on the head at any moment if he stood up straight, and
the dark, labyrinthine nature of Stack 2 was highly confusing to a
novice such a himself. Richard demonstrated the light-switches that
were situated on each shelving unit and explained they were on a five
minute timer, but even with the added light Lance did not feel as if he
knew where he was. Every shelf looked the same, and every wall looked
alike so that he could no longer tell where they had come in or what
direction they were facing. If Richard abandoned him there he felt sure
he would never make it out alive. Before long however they were back in
the lift and on their way down to Richard's favourite place, his own
little sanctuary in the hubbub of information services. He brightened
up a little thinking about the ineradicably musty smell of the Stack 1
books, but not enough to alter his demeanour towards Lance, which
remained icy and impenetrable.

'This is the lowest stack. Stack 1.' Richard declared proudly as he
stepped out of the lift and drew in the a lungful of the stale
air.

'Smells a bit,' Lance commented, holding his nose for effect.

'Philistine' Richard muttered, shaking his head and glancing
apologetically at the yellowing volumes. 'This is my favourite part of
the library Lance. All the best books are housed here, away from the
prying eyes and greasy fingers of the general public.' Richard stopped
to stroke a familiar spine. 'The lowest, deepest, best stack of them
all. Stack 1.'

'So there's nothing lower?' Lance inquired 'Nothing more restricted?'
Richard flinched, there was something more, of course there was.

'Well?.'

'What?'

'There is the Cage.'

'What's that?'

'Just a little room for some of the books that are hardly ever
used.'

'Oh' Lance sighed, fanciful images of ancient, arcane tomes rippling
with dark power and three-headed Alsatian guard-dogs dispelled from
his
mind. 'The name is a bit melodramatic isn't it?'

'Yes' Richard concurred.

'Well, show me anyway.'

'No.'

'What?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'No point.'

'I still want to see it.'

'No.'

'What?'

'No.'

'I'll find it myself then.'

'No'

'Yes'

'No'

'Yes'

'N- ' Richard stopped in mid-refusal. He was flustered and
embarrassed.

'Richard, just what is the problem?'

'Only Dr.Quinn and some other university types can get in. It's
restricted.' Richard sighed. 'I have been in there once though.'

'Can't we go in again?'

'You can force the door but you'll only set the alarm off.'

'Oh'

'They'll give me access soon. I'm sure. Maybe just a few months. They
do trust me, it's just protocol. You know how it is.'

'Yeah.'

'I mean there aren't any cameras around there.'

'Is it a very noisy alarm?'

'Not too bad.'

Lance stared down at his shoes whilst hopping from foot to foot slowly.
Richard looked wistfully at the ceiling. Both knew what they wanted to
do, neither yet had the courage to do it.

'If I had a magic book I'd hide it in the Cage.' Richard
contributed.

'Can the alarm be turned off?'

'I assume so. This place is quite old so I can't imagine it's very
sophisticated.'

Lance mused for a moment. 'I have a plan Richard?a cunning plan.'

Back upstairs in his office Dr.Quinn was sitting arched over The New
Eschatologist with a look of deep concern on his face. He was
interrupted from his studies by a quiet but insistent meow, something
he clearly hadn't been expecting. Startled, his head spun around with
an instinctive sense of danger. A large black feline was sitting on the
sill of his open window and staring at him intently with the tiny black
slits of its impenetrable eyes.

'Salutations,' said Dr.Quinn, nodding cautiously. The cat closed its
eyes briefly before leaping into the librarian's lap and clawing
nonchalantly at his legs.

'Can I be of assistance?' Asked the doctor.
The cat stopped its clawing and looked directly into the Head
Librarian's eyes. Something was clearly communicated between the
two.

'If that is what our masters wish,' Dr.Quinn started in reply, 'I do
confess to find it strange?no of course I would not dare question their
will!'

Her mission completed, the cat leapt out of Dr.Quinn's lap, paused on
the windowsill briefly and then disappeared from view. She needed to
get home before Richard did.