J) Chapter 9

9.

Lance's plan had deprived Richard of valuable sleep. The plan would
have been no problem for the A-Team, Macgyver would have guffawed,
Ethan Hawke been bored, even Inspector Clouasea could probably have got
it right. Richard did not see how it could possibly work with none of
the above parties involved however. He did not see how it could
possibly work when it relied for its success solely on Lance and he.
They were simply not men of action. They were not the type who had
'plans.' They were not decisive enough for such extravagances, they
were not clever enough either. So Richard fretted, and he worried, he
was vexed and bothered, nervous and anxious. He bit his fingernails and
he gnashed his teeth. He did everything he could think of to work
himself up further into a state where sleep was impossible. What
troubled him most though was behind all Lance's planned insanity was
the absurd proposition of a book that was writing itself. A book which
had seemingly by chance landed in his lap and condemned him to
death.

Lance too was worried, though Richard's inadequacies forced him to
take a more decisive role in events and he tried not to show his
concern. His plan was quite simple really and only mildly illegal but
the chances of it being carried out in textbook fashion by Agents
Felwod and Querulous seemed nevertheless to be quite low. The plan as
it stood was thus: Richard would work late in the library, making sure
he was the last member of staff to leave. He would of course only
pretend to leave when the time came, in actual fact he would have
already slipped a powerful sleep drug into the security guard's coffee.
When the time was right he would let Lance into the building and they
would turn off the power to the library (Lance having already procured
building plans and the location of the switch they presumed would do
the job.) Lance would have brought a torch, crowbar and other
equipment, and quickly they would make their way to stack 1 and the
Cage (using the stairs because the lift would, of course, be
powerless.) They would force open the door to the Cage (if necessary)
and quickly but thoroughly search the area for clues as to the origins
of The New Eschatologist. Then they would very quickly put everything
back as it was, restore the power, and leave the building. Simple but
effective.

'I've had an idea.' Lance said the following morning on the phone to
Richard.

'About the plan? Because you know I-'

'I've got a better plan.'

'It better not involve abseiling.' Richard frowned.

'No - it's better than that. We're not going to drug the security
guard, or turn the power off, or break in.'
'No?'

'No. We're going to ask Dr.Quinn to let us in.'

'That'll never work.'

As it happened when Richard arrived at work that morning he did not
even need to seek out his superior. Dr.Quinn came looking for him,
something he considered a most auspicious and unlikely event.

'Morning' began Dr.Quinn, whilst Richard studiously avoided eye
contact.

'I've been looking into this book of yours.'

'Did you read it all?' Richard asked, worried.

'Well, no. Very big! See your problem though. All I can think of is
practical joke. Really no other explanation, book does not show up on
any records I'm afraid. I'd ask your friends about it if I were you.
Would take someone?close, to write this kind of stuff. Practical
joke.'

Richard resisted the urge to contradict Dr.Quinn's conclusion and ask
him if the book really was a practical joke then just how was it
managing to write itself and describe things no-one else could possibly
know. How was it in fact documenting this very scene in rich detail
even as the Head Librarian held the threatening tome securely under his
left arm? He merely wanted to get the book and its faultless account of
his own thoughts, words and actions over the past few days back in his
possession so that no-one else would have a chance to read it.

'Yes. We thought it must be some kind of joke.' Richard concurred,
blushing at some personal remembrance of his.

'Well, I would talk to that friend of yours.' Dr.Quinn suggested,
whilst handing The New Eschatologist back to a relieved Richard. 'If
there's anything else I can help you with, you just?' Dr.Quinn let his
sentence hang, nodded to Richard, and then turned and began walking in
the direction of his office. There clearly was something else he could
do for Richard, but the conversation seemed closed and Richard did not
know how to restart it without seeming rude. He let it go.

When Lance arrived later he found his friend sunk back rather
comfortably into his role as issue desk attendant, as if the past few
days had not happened at all.

'Hey' Lance began, declaring himself present and placing himself
deliberately in Richard' s line of sight in an attempt to cut through
his friend's daydream. 'Hey,' he said again a moment later, this time
waving his hands in front of Richard's face. 'HEY.'

'Oh, hello Lance,' Richard replied, finally, straightening himself up
from his slouch.

'Any news?'

'On what?'

'You know what Rich, the book. Is that it there?' Lance noticed the
unmistakeable large black tome resting conspicuously on the desk near
Richard's left elbow. 'You've seen Dr.Quinn then? Did you ask
him?'

'Ask him?'

'About the Cage?'

'Oh,' Richard looked a little confused and stared into middle distance
for a while.

'Oh?'

'Forgot.'

'Do you actually want to get to the bottom of this?' Lance was getting
annoyed again.

'Yes,' Richard replied, meekly. A moment or two passed where the two
friends locked their gazes and Richard stated again a little more
firmly, 'YES. I just need some time to think about it that's all. We
can go chasing off on all the fool's errands we like but maybe if we
went through this logically we could?come to a quicker
conclusion.'

'What are you saying?'

'Nothing. I'm just saying maybe the answer lies closer to home.'
Richard arched his left eyebrow quizzically. Lance took a few steps
back and assumed an air of innocence, was Richard saying what he
thought he was saying? No, he would not think that way, Lance
concluded, not even he could be so paranoid. Could he?

'Fine,' Lance replied a few moments later. 'I'll go and get permission
to enter the Cage from your Dr.Quinn myself.'

'He'll never let you in.' Richard shouted pessimistically as Lance
walked away, 'but go ahead and try if you like.'

Lance did go ahead and try, whilst Richard, all alone on the issue
desk, slumped into a familiar and fusty funk of doubt. Picking up The
New Eschatologist he flicked through the chapters to the one about
himself, and began reading from the very start. It was an extremely odd
experience to read such a detailed account of his past few days.
Another reader might presume it to be a diary written in the
third-person, but Richard knew better. Though in a way he wished he
knew nothing of it at all. It knotted up his stomach to think about it.
How was this trick possible? Was he being monitored everywhere he went
by some sinister power? If so how was that information being
transmitted onto the pages of the book? There was no electronic
component to the tome, nothing that could render it susceptible to
remote control of any kind. It was merely a very old-looking book
(despite apparently having been published that year.) The binding was
thick leather, the pages were yellow and musty-smelling, the ink was
black and of a regular typeface. Yet still new print was appearing on
previously blank pages, ink that had not been there before and had no
conceivable way of manifesting itself. Richard shuddered to think about
the supernatural implications. Where were Mulder and Scully when you
needed them?

'Excuse me'

'Eh?'

'Excuse me'

Richard became aware of another's presence. Did he have a
customer?

'Hi, hello.' A young, gangly looking fellow with a bad side parting
thrust his face towards Richard's quite rudely, 'Hello, hi.'

'Hello' Richard stood up straight and backed away from the young man
with all his customary distaste for humanity.

'Do you know if the new Shaun Hutson is any good?' inquired the
customer, pointing at a paperback in his right hand.

There followed a painful silence. Richard looked away to his left and
closed his eyes with a tortured expression. If there had been
tumbleweed available, it would be rolling despondently across the
library floor right at this moment. The customer looked a little
panicked at this reaction. He felt nervous and embarrassed but did not
know why. He felt the perspiration process beginning under his armpits
as the silence dragged on. It worsened with every passing minute and he
was growing gravely concerned for its potential visibility.

'Sir,' Richard began imperiously, 'I read books, not pulp in
waiting.'

Mortified, the young man sidled away quickly to hide his shame. After
his departure Richard noticed that there was in fact quite a few people
hovering around the issues desk, unsure as whether or not to form a
queue. None looked particularly threatening. Next to approach him was a
young boy, no older than twelve years of age. He tip-toed up to the
issues desk and ventured timidly, 'Do you have the new Harry Potter in
yet?'

Richard bent down so the boy could hear him better and said, very
nonchalantly, 'Fuck off.'