Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  She glanced out the entrance again. “I’m sure he’ll be along presently. Let me close the door.”

  “But he’s right outside.”

  “He’ll need something to knock on then.” She started down the corridor again. “Shall we?”

  I followed.

  “My dear boy, your shoes,” Madam Madeline said sternly and stared all the way down my trousers. “Shoes off, please… the floors, you understand… so difficult to keep them scuff-free.” She handed me a pair of straw slippers with a cloth sole, and motioned for me to sit on a wooden bench. I had the feeling she watched me closely as I sat and changed. When I glanced up, she was staring at me, her eyes wide and her brow arched. Her face was wonderfully bright and alive.

  “This way…” she said and turned down the hallway. Madeline led me from the alcove into a narrow, curving passage. We came upon a wide hall. This was far more grand. At the entrance we were greeted by two black bears: one in repose, the other on its hind legs, presumably growling menacingly. “Oh yes, my late husband… Taxidermy was his calling,” she remarked to my unasked question and continued along at a slow deliberate pace. We passed actual suits of armor and all manner of things in glass cases which were hard to distinguish in the dim light. The paneled walls were covered with tapestries and dark paintings as well, most of them portraits it seemed to me. In all, the whole place was more like a museum than a home, but I also noticed numerous closed doors and a flight of stairs leading up to the second story.

  We continued down a large carpeted hallway and it soon became clear that I was entering some enormous underground domain. Madeline stopped and turned to see if I was still following. She took a puff on her cigarette and gave me a slightly seductive smile. “You must be exhausted from your travels, and hungry, too.”

  “Yes to both.”

  Madame Madeline didn’t reply but resumed her pace. She was a small woman, somewhat spidery; her clothes seemed one size too small for a woman of her age. I noticed her hips and shoulders swayed as I followed. She had an almost comical sashay, certainly an exaggerated waddle.

  Up ahead, a large room came into view, this one far better lit. I first noticed a long railing at the far end, and beyond that, what seemed to be an endless wall filled with books, yet somehow, it was impossibly far away. Madeline stopped at a high arched entrance and stepped aside, then with a dramatic flourish, ushered me in.

  “Welcome to the library… this is the Salon, of course.”

  I stood motionless quite unable to comprehend what I saw. Madeline took a step towards me and gently closed my mouth with her thumb. I was wholly unprepared for the scope of the place. Maybe awestruck is a better word. It was like stepping onto the upper deck of a giant enclosed stadium. This first room, the Salon, seemed to be perched above a cavernous arena at least a hundred yards in diameter. I dimly realized that it must correspond to the sprawl of the meadow outside. On the far wall I could see countless rooms all filled with bookshelves, and of course, each filled with books, like so many spectators.

  I walked across the room to the railing and leaned against a column that reached up to a second story ceiling. Above, I could make out a pitched roof supported by a criss-cross of rafters. At my feet was a polished parquet floor gleaming in firelight. It was interrupted by four vast Persian carpets, each ornate, though each quite different. There was a grand piano too, tucked against the far wall.

  I came to understand that this first room was a palatial balcony suspended above a much larger arena-sized library. I grabbed the bannister tightly and stared below. Some small vertigo filled me, and I clutched all the harder. As far as I could see was a spiraling nautilus that seemed to burrow into the earth. Wide at the top but slowly descending to ever-smaller chambers, and circling to a point so distant that it was difficult to say the bottom was even visible.

  Eventually, my vertigo eased, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole place was moving, the study, the library itself, even the walls. It was a crazy notion, and no matter how hard or long I stared, no movement was actually perceptible. I peered down again into the spiraling chamber. Cold, earthy air rose against my face, almost like a breeze from the bottom of a well, and it smelled a bit like old potatoes. When I looked carefully across to the far wall, I noticed an invisible column of air at the very center, roiling with heat, it seemed, and distorting my view directly across.

  Overhead loomed a massive round dome, certainly a skylight of some sort, and I couldn’t help but think of an ancient cathedral. While from the inside it was perfectly round, I could now understand that the pyramid shape outside, was merely a cupola.

  The dome itself eased into curving walls, and as far as I could make out, those walls held separate rooms filled with books, set behind the same ornate railing that snaked to the depths. It wasn’t immediately apparent, but the far wall was not quite level with the rest of the room. It seemed to slope downward and to the right. I looked up to the skylight again. There was a ribbon of intense light reflected just along the rim of the dome. It was almost too bright to stare at, but I guessed this illuminated the entire library by some complicated arrangement of mirrors.

  I could feel myself swaying a bit and backed away from the edge. My eyes followed the row of decorative columns along the balcony. They continued to a majestic staircase bordered by the same style balustrade. It was at least twenty feet wide and cordoned off with a thick velvet rope. Presumably the place where you’d begin your descent into the main body of the library.

  There, at the top of the stairs, I saw a man on all fours. It was difficult to make out who he was, or what he was doing, though he wore some sort of uniform and had a cloth in his hand. He seemed to be furiously polishing a tiny patch of floor. He glanced up and gave me an almost guilty expression. I turned to look for Madeline again. She walked up to my side. “My brother,” she introduced, “Brigadier Thomas Bartholomew Turner. It’s his job to keep the floors in tiptop condition.”

  “Amongst other things…” the old man complained bitterly and rose to his feet with some effort. He was outfitted in the most preposterous uniform I’d ever seen, certainly not something you’d wear in real life, and a uniform tight in all the wrong places. It was some sort of military garb, comprised of an alarmingly red tunic decorated with large gold epaulets, and ending in oversized white cuffs. A gold braid strung along one shoulder, and the uniform had matching lampasses on dark blue trousers.

  The brigadier himself was well into his sixties with white hair, thin at the top, rather long, and tied back in a short ponytail. He had an eager face, though his eyes immediately struck me as odd. One hardly seemed open and the other looked as if it might not close, his eyelids misshapen and uneven. He also had a gravity-defying mustache, as white as his hair, but far thicker and groomed to a shine.

  “What now? Visitors, at this time of day?” The man rose to his full height, damp cloth still in hand. He gave me a close inspection. “Who’s this fellow? I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Fynn’s friend, or so he claims.”

  “Fynn? Don’t tell me... Constable Fynn, would it be?”

  “Chief Inspector actually… though retired now.”

  “Retired, you say?” he repeated incredulously. “Well, I’ll be…” His gaze fixed behind me to something unseen on the far wall. “What day is it?”

  “Friday, I think.”

  “Friday? Are you a day early?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Surely, it’s Saturday, is it not?”

  “He’s a new traveler, dear brother,” Madeline said as a caution.

  “A new traveler? There’s no such thing.” The brigadier walked around me entirely, his eyes going up and down. “Well then, where is Tractus?”

  “Delayed, it seems,” Madeline said. “Probably unloading our Georges.”

  “The Georges, eh? Well, the man is never on time. Not a very punctual fellow…” Madeline’s brother walked stiffly across the room and glanced at me s
uspiciously along the way. He plunked down into a worn leather chair positioned on one of the glorious carpets, and set back from a giant rock-faced hearth.

  “Wake me up when he gets here, if he gets here. I’m off for my siesta.”

  The fireplace was enormous, big enough for several people to be burned at the stake if necessary. It was set along a high wall of the same rough stone that the house was built from. Though it was the middle of August, a raging fire was burning. It’s flickering light echoed through the room.

  Across from the grand staircase was a reception area. It was separated from the rest of the salon by a low paneled wall and only accessible through double swinging saloon doors. There was a huge desk, and books scattered everywhere, as well as a basket filled with odd-looking paddles. Behind that, a large freestanding card catalog comprised of hundreds of tiny drawers; and further on, an entire wall completely filled with the same drawers reached to the ceiling, most of them only accessible by a ladder, of which I could see two.

  “The card catalogue,” Madame Madeline said from behind me. I turned around. She was standing there smiling, with one hand on her hip, swaying provocatively.

  Finally, I took in the remaining part of the salon, namely a far alcove to the left of the entrance. It was dimly lit but had church pews and writing desks lined up against the wall. And that seemed to be the only flat wall in the building, also hewn in giant boulders. In stark contrast though, two beautiful stained-glass windows were fitted, delicate compared to the troll-like masonry. Between them was a clock, or rather three clocks set in a row, and a calendar just below them. Next to that, was an enormous cork board with a jumble of faded notes pinned to it.

  I looked at the clocks and immediately noticed the hands on one of them were moving too fast. What I took to be a second hand really counted minutes, and they seemed to be passing at an alarming rate. The next clock appeared perfectly normal, and the third clock had probably stopped, the hands not moving at all. I checked the date on the calendar: Saturday, August 19th 1933. Off by six days, I guessed, though I was hardly an expert.

  Above it all, set near the triangular peak of eaves, was another delicate stained-glass window; this one round, depicting a hunting seen. All three giant windows were ablaze in the late afternoon light. Their colors danced across the floor.

  “Beautiful windows,” I commented.

  “Do you really think so?” Madeline came nearer and smiled. She brushed against me and I felt her hand on the small of my back.

  “And this calendar… with the clocks?”

  “Oh… our horologion. That’s a gift from Mr Mekanos.”

  “Who?”

  “Why, he’s Fynn’s friend. Haven’t you met him?”

  “No.”

  “The windows I had commissioned,” Madeline continued. “The two on the bottom are Matisse, the one up top is a Chagall. Charming, aren’t they?”

  “I thought they were painters,” I commented, but was more curious about the strange triple clock.

  “They are, my dear man… yet, I persuaded them to design a few windows.”

  “When was that?”

  “Hmm, let me think… quite a few years ago, I would suppose. Gertrude introduced me to Henri… Took a bit of coaxing, I’d say. Ah, but Mr Matisse… what a lovely man, so very modest and he’s worked wonders with the garden outside. Certainly taught Ming a thing or two.”

  “Don’t you mean Monet, dear sister?” the brigadier called out from his chair, apparently not quite asleep.

  “Do I?” Madeline thought for moment. “Oh... perhaps I do. They both wore beards if memory serves. Was it Claude or Henri?”

  “It was Henri who designed the windows. Claude was never here, if you remember.”

  “Wasn’t he?”

  “No... And Marc won’t see his window for another ten years or so.”

  “Really, brother? I’m a bit confused. What am I thinking of?”

  “The Bibliothèque Internationale… in Provence.”

  “Of course… and… what a glorious garden. That was Claude… am I right?”

  “Exactly right, Maddy.”

  I had no idea what Madeline and her brother were going on about. Their conversation faded from my attention and I stared out again at the main library. My first look had been barely adequate. Each floor of the nautilus was the same as far as I could see: a continuous baluster, a gently sloping ramp, and endless rooms lined with shelves. Perhaps the far walls were slightly illuminated because each chamber was fairly well lit. And each room had a portico with an arch, as well as a reading table and chairs.

  This time though, I must have blinked instead of just stared… And more than once, because each time I did, a few shadows flickered by. I started to wonder if I was seeing ghosts again. Dark shapes seem to flitter to and fro among the books. I turned to Madame Madeline. She had been watching my every move.

  “Am I seeing ghosts down there?”

  Madeline laughed at my question. “Ghosts? Good heavens, no. They’re patrons most likely.”

  It didn’t occur to me that people might be there. I strained my eyes but saw nothing definite.

  “You can only see them when you blink… A kind of delay… Something to do with photons…” Madeline offered up a feeble explanation.

  “How far down does it go?”

  “No one really knows,” Madeline replied.

  “All the way to Hades and back,” the brigadier said from his chair.

  A giant thought began to form in my mind… I was beginning to understand this place… the spiraling shape… what I believed to be imperceptible movement, clocks counting at different speeds... Somehow, time flowed differently than normal in this place. That was my best guess anyhow. I started thinking about Einstein and his crazy ideas about time dilation… like when a clock slows to a stand still if one gets too close to a black hole. I reckoned something similar was happening here at the library.

  “You must tell us all about yourself, Mr Patrick. Tractus has said precious little,” Madeline said, interrupting my theorizing. “Well, then again, he may have spoken about you, but I’m afraid I don’t remember a single word.” She smiled at me. “Why exactly are you here?”

  “I came with Fynn.”

  “That much seems apparent, but why now? Why nineteen thirty-three? Are you an astronomer of some sort?”

  “No… Fynn wanted help with this timeline.”

  “Really, that doesn’t sound like him at all. Heaven forbid the Collector gets wind of it.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone you haven’t been introduced to, obviously.”

  “What is it that you do, Mr Patrick?” the brigadier asked this time.

  “I’m a reporter.”

  “A reporter, ah... a journalist.”

  “More the former.”

  “Well, we could do with a good reporter around here. I haven’t glanced at a newspaper in months,” the brigadier called out from his comfy chair. I stood staring at the immense fireplace. “We have a fire year round, dear boy… never seems to take the chill from the room though.” The uniformed man seemed able to guess my very thoughts. He beckoned me closer. I walked from the hearth and finally chose to sit in a massive leather sofa. It was opposite the brigadier but still afforded a good view of the library. Madame Madeline had parked herself by the hearth and was eyeing me, sometimes taking a puff from her cigarette at the end of its long holder.

  “When do you hail from?” the brigadier asked from his seat. “Don’t be shy.”

  “You mean where?”

  “Well that too, I suppose… they are part and parcel.” He paused to grin from underneath his mustache. “But what time period do you call home?”

  “Oh… the next century, two thousand ten, or thereabouts…”

  “Interesting… you’re from the time of computers, eh? I knew a fellow from there. What was his name? An enterprising sort of chap, a real schemer… something about buying and selling domains, I think. Not s
ure it all worked out for him though.” He paused to chuckle. “I doubt we’ll ever see those contraptions here in the library…”

  “Computers, you mean? Why not?”

  “No electricity, my dear fellow,” he replied as if it were obvious.

  “It’s a terrible nuisance,” Madeline agreed. “Candles and torches, indeed. Hardly anyway to run a library.”

  “And, is that your nexus self?” the brigadier asked.

  “I’m not sure what that is.”

  “Oh… well, I suppose it’s the self that you are always returning to.” The brigadier straightened in his chair. “I hail from the eighteen fifties, the Crimean War, Welch Fusiliers… My sister is from Egyptian times, their heyday, or so she tells everyone. I rather doubt it, really.”

  “But she’s your sister… you should know if it’s true or not,” I said.

  “Ha, I suppose you’re right. Frightfully complicated to keep track of, between you and I.” The brigadier looked at me with one eye that hardly opened and the other that refused to close.

  Madeline gave her brother an indignant stare, then turned to me with a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous, Thomas, you know as well as I, that I hail from a distant future… I forget exactly when, but I drop in from time to time, and quite regularly.”

  “Where is Fynn from?” I ventured the question.

  “You mean when, I suppose.” Both Madame Madeline and her brother gave off hearty chuckles. “Well, our friend Tractus might be the exception to this rule…” He laughed again. “He’s rather elusive, that Fynn.”

  “I remember he mentioned someplace in Geneva, an asylum maybe?”

  “Is that what he calls it these days? The Beau Rivage… I recall it as a rather grand hotel.”

  Madame Madeline sauntered over and sprawled herself across the sofa, sitting a little too near to me. She dangled her feet perilously close to my thighs, and she let her straw slippers drop to the floor.

  I’ll admit that very briefly, a small anxiety passed across my mind. I feared that Fynn had simply left me in this place, maybe so he could jump off and do whatever it was he did— and that I’d be subjected to the likes of Madame Madeline for some time, as if an indentured apprentice.