“According to keyhand Kash,” said Hypatia, describing the Foundation’s epicenter, “the Stronghold is no library. It’s made of…darker places.”
The apprentices eyed one another.
Hypatia went on. “Now that the Foundation has Petrarch’s Star, it’s imperative that we learn what exactly Whim’s Gift is and prevent the Foundation from remaking it.”
There was a wave of subdued murmuring.
“Though we don’t yet know why, Kash reported that Whim’s Gift cannot be remade in the Stronghold—or in any of the future wherens to which it alone connects. The Foundation must remake Whim’s Gift in the older wherens. In that fact lies our opportunity to stop the Foundation from succeeding.
“Our research lybrarians are doing everything they can to find out exactly what Whim’s Gift is and where the Foundation might be working on it. We know the Stronghold now opens into at least four centuries connected to Petrarch’s Library: fourth-century BCE, possibly in Athens; fifteenth-century BCE Egypt; twentieth-century Washington, DC; and the twenty-first century, possibly Passaic, New Jersey.
“We are running intelligence missions out in these centuries and in other likely wherens.”
Dorrie felt a surge of excitement, wondering where Savi might be asked to go, and her along with him.
“Though Petrarch’s Star is out of our hands for now,” said Hypatia, “we must still learn all we can about it as well.” She picked Petrarch’s journal off the table. “We have two potential sources of information in our hands right now. The first is Petrarch’s journal.” She pulled a piece of paper out from between its pages, covered over with writing. “The second is the inscription on Petrarch’s Star, copied down here. Both bear words written with the same set of symbols. Unfortunately, neither will auto-translate.”
Dorrie and Ebba exchanged glances.
“They may be written either in code or in a language.” She gestured to the big-boned lybrarian with the sharp, black point of a beard that Dorrie had seen eating with Hypatia in the Sharpened Quill. “We have asked Branch Lybrarian Della Porta, who has extensive knowledge of code making and breaking, to spend this quarter with us, and he has kindly agreed.” She pivoted and gestured to the other side of the room. “We’ve also—”
“I am honored to do what I can in service to Petrarch’s Library,” interrupted Lybrarian Della Porta.
Hypatia, her brows slightly raised, turned back to Della Porta.
He had risen. “I have every confidence that we are dealing with a code and that it will yield its secrets in a matter of weeks. I look forward to sharing what I find.”
As he sat again, Dorrie heard the faint complaint of a hinge as a nearby door opened. A heavily armed lybrarian slipped inside and signaled to Hypatia.
Hypatia nodded, then turned to where the Archivist sat, looking haunted. “Our own Archivist will continue in his efforts to determine if the symbols express a language that has been lost to the world, as he has long theorized.”
The Archivist slowly rose—gaunt and uncertain, his robes in some disarray—to nod briefly.
“No wonder the Archivist has been looking so miserable,” murmured Ebba. “If Della Porta succeeds, it’ll prove that the Archivist has been wrong all these years.”
“Well, maybe that’s for the best,” said Saul. “I mean, the Archivist’s reputation has really suffered for clinging to that idea.”
Another movement at the door caught Dorrie’s eye.
Mr. Biggs had entered, surrounded by three armed lybrarians. Dorrie felt the blood rush from her face. Her hands went cold. Incredibly, Mr. Biggs was wearing the same dark suit and red bow tie she’d last seen him in, though they had lost a good deal of its crispness. He took in a deep, slow breath through his nose and then slowly turned his head until his dead-ice eyes found Dorrie’s.
Memories of the horrible day when he’d attacked her and Marcus and Great-Aunt Alice and Elder closed in around her, their colors and sounds drowning out everything else. Dorrie began to tremble but couldn’t make herself turn away. The little vial on the string around her neck suddenly seemed large and cold and obvious against her chest.
Like a shadowy figure intent on hurrying by a set of windows unseen, Dorrie thought she saw hunger flit through Mr. Biggs eyes. She leaned back out of view, her pulse racing.
“I’m glad Darling’s not here to see him,” Ebba whispered fiercely as the lybrarians led Mr. Biggs down to the front of the room. “Think how much it would upset her.”
Marcus shot Dorrie a dubious glance, which she could just barely return. The room quieted again as the lybrarians escorted Mr. Biggs to a seat and arranged themselves behind him.
Hypatia spoke. “Mr. Aldous Biggs, you have thus far declined to give answers to the questions we have put to you about the Foundation’s intentions.”
Mr. Biggs crossed his legs. “I have not spoken because I do not know or trust you. You brought me here against my will.”
“Yes. After you behaved with brutality toward a keyhand of the Lybrariad, an elderly woman, and two young apprentices.”
Dorrie felt herself color.
“Do you not defend your people?” Mr. Biggs asked coldly, casting a disparaging eye on the crowd of lybrarians before him. “I only attempted to retrieve property valuable to those who depend upon the Foundation.”
“I presume you mean Petrarch’s Star.”
“The Stone Star,” said Mr. Biggs.
Hypatia nodded slightly. “The keyhand you imprisoned in the Stronghold reports that the intentions of the Foundation of the future, like those of the Foundation of the past, run counter to those of the Lybrariad. According to Kash, the Foundation wishes to once again hold humans in bondage and criminalize reading and writing among all but a chosen few.”
Mr. Biggs’s eyes locked onto Hypatia’s. “You say we wish to hold humans in bondage. I say we wish to rebuild for them the safe fold you destroyed. We have history books in the future. You flatter yourselves with the thought the Lybrariad has made the world a sweeter place. From our perspective, you are destructive meddlers.”
Protests rose from the crowd.
Hypatia held up her hand for silence.
“The future under the guidance of the Foundation is serene,” said Mr. Biggs. “Her people live in peace and security. They have what they need.” He leaned back and laced his fingers together. “Your wherens are a mess.”
There was another chorus of protests—louder this time.
Hypatia again asked for quiet. “We have reason to believe that the Foundation intends to undo the work of the Lybrariad.”
A mirthless smile appeared on Mr. Biggs’s lips. “Your belief is entirely correct.”
Dorrie gasped. A number of other lybrarians leaped to their feet and had to be pulled back into their seats by their neighbors. Francesco’s chair fell with a crash to the ground behind him as one hand went to the pommel of his sword. Only Hypatia remained still.
It took Mistress Wu ringing a bell rather wildly for people to settle down again.
Mr. Biggs recrossed his legs. “We might start by—oh, I don’t know—reversing your intervention in the case of one Algernon Sidney.”
The name caused another stir.
“Who’s that?” said Dorrie, looking urgently up the row of apprentices.
“This guy from 1600s London,” hissed Amo.
“We studied the mission to rescue him in one of Casanova’s stealth and deception practicums last year,” said Saul. “He wrote this book called Discourses Concerning Government. Someone in charge didn’t like his book and had him arrested, and then a judge sentenced him to a beheading.”
Dorrie recoiled at the image. “Why?”
“The judge said, ‘To write is to act.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Marcus.
Amo gave Ma
rcus a suffering look. “That criticizing the government with words was the same as attacking it with weapons.”
“They’re nothing at all alike!” protested Dorrie.
“The rescue was spectacular,” Saul said. “It involved a basket of fresh baked crumpets and a catapult.”
Dorrie pulled on Mathilde’s sleeve. “How could Mr. Biggs know about the Lybrariad’s missions?”
“No idea,” said Mathilde as Mistress Wu swung the bell and the room quieted.
“Please go on,” said Hypatia.
Mr. Biggs smiled at Hypatia in a way that made Dorrie think of old fish. “Return me now, and perhaps I can convince the Foundation that it’s not entirely necessary for Mr. Sidney to go to the chopping block. Perhaps the Foundation, in its gratitude for my return, would even allow you to choose a few other favorite missions to keep intact.” His smile disappeared. “Fail to return me, and the Foundation will surely reverse Mr. Sidney’s mission and every other one of which we’re aware.”
“And just how many are you aware of?” Francesco asked, his one visible eye black with restrained fury.
Mr. Biggs’s answer was to lazily wave away a fly.
Francesco surged toward Mr. Biggs, and Dorrie was sure he would have kept going if Hypatia hadn’t put a restraining hand on his arm.
“I will make a different proposal,” said Hypatia.
One of Mr. Biggs’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly.
Hypatia fixed him with a steady gaze. “It may interest you to know that the Foundation possesses Petrarch’s Star again.”
Mr. Biggs’s eyes filled with veiled triumph. “I’m not at all surprised.”
Hypatia nodded slightly. “Tell us where Whim’s Gift is being remade and what we need to do to acquire it. With Petrarch’s Star in the possession of the Foundation and Whim’s Gift in the Lybrariad’s, neither will have the advantage, and you can go free.”
Cold rage replaced the triumph in Mr. Biggs’s eyes. His lips pursed so tightly that the pale skin around them turned even whiter. “Never.”
The word hung in the air.
“Thank you, Mr. Biggs,” Hypatia said, turning away from him. “You’ll be taken back to Crackskull Island for now.” She gestured to Mr. Biggs’s guards.
Before they could move, Lybrarian Della Porta leaped from his chair. “With all due respect, Hypatia, this brute just told us the Foundation plans to reverse some multitude of our missions. Is the Lybrariad just going to let him go back to sunbathing when it’s likely he possesses all the information we need to stop the Foundation in its tracks?”
There was a whirring sort of silence.
Lybrarian Della Porta turned to face the room at large. “I think circumstances require that we hear more from Mr. Biggs.”
Flocks of whispers traveled through the packed room, circling and spreading, separating and reforming. Dorrie looked from Hypatia to Lybrarian Della Porta.
“Just what are you suggesting?” asked Hypatia.
Lybrarian Della Porta hesitated, moving his lower jaw from side to side. “That we employ force.”
A hundred gasps flew up from the crowd, but Dorrie thought she heard a few “Hear, hears” mixed in as well.
“Torture, he means!” the Archivist cried shrilly, standing.
Dorrie stared at him and then back to Lybrarian Della Porta, shocked, as the apprentices around her murmured.
Della Porta pulled himself up to his full impressive height. “Use the worst word for it you can choose. I won’t flinch. I don’t suggest it lightly, but in this case, I believe the end justifies such a means.”
“If we measure the means by the worth of the end, then we might as well be the Foundation,” said Hypatia.
“Not true,” Della Porta said. “Were we ever like the Foundation because we both used parchment? Ink? Do we have so little faith in our discipline as lybrarians that we can’t trust ourselves with the careful application of our strength? We would be lybrarians about the process through and through.”
“That is a logical impossibility,” said Hypatia. “The principles we pledge ourselves to specifically forbid lybrarians to do harm except in the most extreme, clear, and immediate moments of danger to others or to ourselves.”
“Principles are fine things,” said Lybrarian Della Porta. “But desperate times call for desperate measures. How many lives might this man’s silence cost? Is there no place for consideration of the greater good?”
The room shook again with talk. Mistress Wu looked entirely discomfited and was patting her face with her handkerchief with such energy that Dorrie feared she might strain her arm. Francesco looked at war with himself.
Hypatia held up her hand again. “The Board of Directors will confer.” The lybrarians at the table went into a sort of huddle.
The apprentices did the same.
“Maybe Della Porta’s right,” said Izel. “What Mr. Biggs knows could save a lot of people! Definitely that Algernon guy.”
“Could,” said Sven.
Dorrie felt unsettled. She trusted Hypatia, but Mr. Biggs was an awful man who’d done awful things. What did I matter if they hurt him a little if that saved Algernon Sidney’s life.
Hypatia stood. Her gaze swept the room. “It is tempting to use any and all effective means when we only want a just end and innocent lives are on the line.” She paced the length of the table. “If we agree to inflict pain on Mr. Biggs, it’s true that we may be rewarded with information that could help us stop the Foundation from carrying out the reversals Mr. Biggs has threatened. The information could perhaps save many lives.” She glanced at the statue of Athena. “But then again, we many learn nothing and cease being lybrarians in the process. Dark means have a dangerous way of becoming dark ends.” She nodded again to Mr. Biggs’s guards. “For now, the Lybrariad will stick to its principles and pursue other strategies.”
“What luck for me that I’m dealing with shrinking violets,” said Mr. Biggs as his guards escorted him back up the aisle. “What luck for me that I’m dealing with shrinking violets. You’d do well to start composing a speech begging for the Foundation’s mercy now. My people will not be pleased at my imprisonment, and they fear no means.”
Dorrie felt rage course through her as well as a keen desire to knock Mr. Biggs’s legs out from under him. He stopped short at the door and flicked his eyes from the Archivist to Lybrarian Della Porta and back again. “As for the writing on the Stone Star…” He gave a slow lizard-like blink. “Code or language? An interesting puzzle, indeed.”
“He knows,” said Izel, her eyes avid. “He knows how to make sense of the writing!”
A look of fury crossed Lybrarian Della Porta’s face. The Archivist went visibly gray. To the sound of a great, angry buzzing among the lybrarians, Mr. Biggs and his guards disappeared.
“Please!” called Mistress Wu, ringing her bell with desperate zeal. “Come to order, please.” She cleared her throat. “We have a last piece of business. Mission lybrarian Layla Al-Zarqua has sustained injuries that will prevent her from completing her reconnaissance mission in Constantinople, 1397 CE. It’s an important mission, and we need a replacement. The mission will be long and dreadfully arduous, with much time spent in the field. Do I have any volunteers?”
A hand shot up in the crowd. “I have experience in the 1397 CE wheren well.”
It was Bang. Beside him, Egeria was gazing up at him admiringly. Dorrie glanced at Marcus, whose eyeballs seemed to be swirling around in their sockets.
“A bit of a newly minted lybrarian to be taking on such a mission,” said Francesco appraisingly.
Mistress Wu looked to Hypatia.
“He’s going to chuckle amiably any second now,” muttered Marcus wretchedly. “I know it.”
With a glance at Francesco, Hypatia gave her assent, and the room erupted in applause. Bang grinned and did in
deed chuckle amiably as a lybrarian in a sari clapped him on the shoulder.
“That is all the business for today’s Council but for one thing,” said Mistress Wu. “I need to see the apprentices up here, please.”
The apprentices eyed one another curiously and made their way through the departing lybrarians. Bang taking on the mission had made Dorrie wonder again what exciting thing she and Savi would be asked to do.
Reaching Mistress Wu, Dorrie saw that she’d pulled out a fresh handkerchief and had begun to pat the back of her neck with it.
“As you heard,” Mistress Wu said, “the Lybrariad is under terrific pressure. There are more missions to run than lybrarians available to take them on!” Forgetting herself, she patted her underarms. “I’m very sorry to have to break the news to some of you that not all your apprenticeship requests can be honored this quarter.”
Cries of “What?” and “No!” and “I don’t believe it!” rose up around Dorrie.
“It’s been necessary to assign some of you to alternative staff lybrarians, who, having extra work themselves, could really use your help.”
Blood pounded in Dorrie’s head with punishing force. Clearing her throat a bit desperately, Mistress Wu began to read off the names of the apprentices and the lybrarians they were to serve. Dorrie heard Millie assigned to Master Callamachus and Marcus to Master Casanova, as they’d requested. Ebba gave a great sigh of relief when she was assigned to Mistress Hamsa again. But then things started going wrong. Mathilde make a choking sort of noise when her name was paired not with Lybrarian Davis as she had requested but with Lybrarian Della Porta. Izel and Sven were assigned to him as well.
“He felt he needed a great deal of help,” Mistress Wu said, responding to the apprentices’ confusion and looking not entirely gracious. “And who’s left. Yes.” She looked up and smiled weakly. “Our Dorrie. She will serve Master Ishaq.”
For a moment, everything seemed hazy around Dorrie except for the clear, sharp, terrible shape of her disappointment. Savi had promised. She had fought at his side and earned the chance to be his real apprentice. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust her disappointment not to swallow her whole.
The Ninja Librarians: Sword in the Stacks Page 9