by Gene Wolfe
Only I hadn’t. I had seen a good deal of my own world—this is what I told myself. I’d sailed its seas and flown over a lot of it with and without Colette Coldbrook. Now I wanted to spend a day, one day at least, looking over this one. My axe had been getting in my way as I climbed, so when I had settled on a one-day minimum stay I pulled it out of my belt and dropped it.
In my imagination, I asked Katrine how long she was planning to stay. My imaginary Katrine said exactly what I’d been expecting—that she would stay as long as it took to meet up with Dr. Fevre’s killer and bring him to justice.
“And you want me to tag along until you do.”
Surely you want to see justice done, Mr. Smithe.
I said, “I guess I’m supposed to nod.”
Up to you.
“All right. No, I don’t.”
Then you won’t help me?
Here it was. I thought it over before I answered that one. Finally I said, “I’ll help you for as long as it makes sense to. If you go on past that, I won’t.”
By the time I got down to her, she was sitting up, shaking her head and trying to stand. I helped her up and gave her back her pistol.
After that, we walked together, me with my axe and Katrine with her pocket rocket. There was a lot of stuff to see, none of it including people.
The trees were definitely spooky. To get the feel of how it was for us, you have to keep in mind that those trees were as big as big buildings, trees as tall as skyscrapers and different from any trees we’ve got here, giant trees watching, waiting, and listening. Once I tried to pick some fruit off one, but the fruit rolled around until it could see me, and its pupils were like a cat’s. That stopped me cold.
Maybe seeing my axe put their nerves on edge or maybe Katrine’s pistol did it. Or they both did. I never did find out. Whatever it was, their roots moved around down under the earth, making it rise in little rippling hills, and the red, beady eyes that grew on some branches kept watching us. Maybe it was just that we were people and could walk around. Trees don’t think that’s natural, or that’s how it seems to me. Whatever it was, we bugged them.
The grass was sort of spooky, too. Sometimes it moved when there was no wind, and sometimes it didn’t when there was one. Something else was going on, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. There are plants that catch bugs, but there were no bugs where we were for the grass to catch. It moved anyway, and I never did figure out what it was up to.
Right here I guess I ought to lie and make up all kinds of weird stuff I could say happened. Nothing did right then, really. The grass and trees were weird enough all by themselves, and if you’ve never been in a place like that, where you shiver in spite of a warm wind, there’s no use my going on about it.
We camped that night, if you can call it camping when you haven’t got a tent or sleeping bags or even a couple of blankets. Katrine killed a skinny white tree with her pistol, and I chopped it up. When that was done—it seemed like it was all bones—I made a pile of chips and splinters that her pistol set on ablaze. Shoes and boots off, we lay with our feet nearest the fire and our heads as far from the smoke as we could get them. I think she was expecting me to try to rape her and was getting set to kill me when I did. So I didn’t. Maybe you won’t believe me, but I wouldn’t have done it anyhow.
That night I had a dream. I was sitting at a table in Alice’s Tea Room. Everything was terribly real except that the floor was glass. I could look right through it and see the traffic way far down below where buses, groundcars, and trucks were moving along a busy street a hundred stories down. It felt awfully real and somewhere the glass was cracking, an incessant, unmistakable sound like fingernails scratching at a whiteboard. Soon the floor would fall and I would fall with it, fall far, far down onto the pavement of the street below.
Next morning we found the man we had come through to arrest; he was standing over us with Katrine’s pistol stuck in his belt. When he gestured to tell us to roll over, it was with the short broad-bladed chopper in his right hand. We rolled and he started to tie us, me first.
That was a mistake. As soon as his hands were busy with me and the rope, Katrine jumped him.
He was a lot bigger than she was, and stronger, too. She was faster, and knew exactly what she was doing. I reached into the fight, grabbed her pistol out of his belt, and shot him with it.
After that, I reached out to Katrine, offering my hand to help her stand up. I was surprised when she took it.
For half a minute, maybe, she dusted herself off and adjusted her clothes; then she said, “That does it. We’re going back.”
I nodded and handed over her pistol, then we went back through the door together. When we’d had something to eat and were drinking kafe, I said, “Maybe I’m wrong about this, but it seems to me I ought to know what you’re going to tell your bosses. If they have somebody ask me questions, our stories ought to match.”
She grinned. “Because they’ll try to beat it out of you if they don’t.”
“All right, that’s part of it. Are we going to tell them about the door?”
She gave me the look. “Do you really think I’m that dumb?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess that’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Fair enough. No. If I thought they might send somebody to see if I told the truth, I might. They wouldn’t. They’d work on me and have a shrink work on me, and I’d probably end up shuffling papers for the rest of my life.”
“What’ll you tell them?”
“The truth.” She leaned back, enjoying her little rehearsal. “I found Dr. Fevre’s murderer, but I could never learn his real name. He resisted arrest, and I was forced to kill him. Case closed.”
I said, “If they do send someone I’ll back you.”
17
SHELF LIFE RESUMED
When we were back in Adah’s house, I explained to a couple of the ladies that I was overdue; eventually they nodded. Then I said, “I doubt that anybody will question me, but if they do it would be nice if you would back me up.”
After that Chandra and I strolled down the hill to the library. That short walk should have seemed familiar—but it felt terribly, terribly strange. Every step we took was rerunning a part of my life that I remembered much too vividly, running my life backward. I understood that, but my heart snatched at straws. For maybe half a minute, I thought we’d stop for cantaloupe smoothies, but Chandra vetoed that, so we didn’t. As we strolled along, she told me what a good idea it had been to check me out, and I explained to her what a bad idea it had been.
When she had returned me and my card had been stamped, she collected the deposit minus the overdue fee and gave me a kiss on the cheek; before I could think of a good way to say good-bye, she had gone.
“She enjoyed you.” One of the part-time librarians smiled.
I nodded and decided it would be safe for me to say that she was a good reader, so I did. Then I asked about Rose and Millie.
“That’s right, the three of you came together, didn’t you?”
I nodded, thinking about our ride in the truck and half a dozen other things.
“What is it?”
“I was just wondering about them. I happen to know that the patron who checked them out is dead.”
That got me Prentice, something I ought to have seen coming. She wanted to know exactly how I knew what I had said I knew.
I took my time telling her about it, trying to pronounce everything clearly while she stared at my lips. “The girl who came here to pick me up for her mother is the daughter of the man who checked out Rose and Millie,” I explained to Prentice. “He and his wife were separated but they were still married. No divorce.”
Prentice nodded. “Go on.”
“Naturally she and the daughter were notified when he passed away.” I wondered whether Prentice was getting most of those words.
After a second or two, she said, “His heirs ought to return both the resources he borrowed
.”
I agreed and added that we could only hope they would do it.
“You know them. Will they?”
It’s not easy for one of us to be deceptive; deception is something we rarely require. I said I doubted that they knew where he lived.
“Do you?” That was Prentice in a nutshell—no extra words.
I shook my head.
She turned, her slurred words drifting over her shoulder. “Come to my off’ce, Smit.”
That sounded bad, but I had to do it. Like so many deaf people she made a good deal of noise opening windows, shutting doors, and so on. When she had settled herself behind her desk, she said, “When a library resource like Millie or Rose is overdue, we send a card urging that it be returned. No doubt you know.”
I seated myself on her desk and nodded.
“That is what we did in this case. Our card came back marked ‘deceased.’ Does that surprise you?”
I shook my head.
“You didn’t see that patron die, did you?”
I admitted that I had not, adding that I had spoken to his daughter and his widow and felt quite certain that he was in fact dead.
“I don’t suppose you know Charlotte Lang.”
The name rang a bell. After a moment I said, “I’ve met her. I don’t know her well.”
“She is a volunteer here at the library. Was that how you came to meet her?”
I nodded.
“I might even call her an eager volunteer.” Prentice smiled. “Am I speaking well, Smit? Can you understand me, provided you concentrate?”
I nodded. “You are actually speaking quite clearly.”
“Few of our volunteers can be called dedicated, yet it seems that Ms. Lang is. She has offered to try to locate the missing resources for us.”
I nodded again. “You accepted?”
“I did. She asked then whether we had a disk or cube, or even a book, that might be of help to her.”
I didn’t mean to sigh, but I did it anyway. I thought it was easy to see where this was going.
“I was able to direct her to a book. You look surprised, Smit.”
I said, “That’s because I am.”
“Investigation for Amateurs is the book. Perhaps you know it?”
I shook my head.
“I have not read it, but I wished to be helpful and could think of only one thing better. I also directed her to you. I feel sure you must be pleased.”
I lied manfully.
“You are not familiar with the book?”
I said, “Correct.”
“It would be well if you could look into it now. Unfortunately she has yet to return it.”
I said, “Perhaps I’ll be able to look into it when Ms. Lang checks me out.”
Prentice nodded. “My thought exactly. You are very fortunate, Smit. Rarely is any resource in this library so fortunate.”
Back on my shelf, I found that I could not read, study the patrons, or even reminisce; all those much-loved idle resources were denied me. I could only wait for Charlotte Lang now. Nothing else.
18
BUCK BASTON
“Howdy!” the tall man who had stopped at my shelf said. He had a good voice and a better grin, so I smiled and said, “Doing pretty well so far. How about you?”
“Got taken out yesterday.”
I had figured him for a patron; I tried to readjust my thinking.
“Don’t reckon we’ve met up.” He offered a sun-browned hand. “Name’s Baston.”
We shook; his hand was callused and somewhat larger than mine. Stronger, too. “Smithe,” I told him. “Ern Smithe.”
He cleared his throat. “Pleased. I hail from Westerns an’ don’t git over this way much. Reckon it shows.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever been to your section of the library either, Mr. Baston. My loss, I’m sure.”
“You git checked out more’n most. I flat out admire that, Mr. Smithe.”
Something was up, but at the moment I had no idea what it might be. I said, “Not as much as I’d like, Mr. Baston.”
“That’s good.” Baston paused. “I’m a resource myself, same as you. Born in Texas and growed up on a ranch. You had me figured straight off, didn’t you?”
It seemed safe to nod, so I did.
“Same here, only I got checked out ’bout a week ago an’ I’m gittin’ renewed right this minute. Same lady.”
I waited.
“This next is hard, ’cause I don’t want you to git the wrong notion. I ain’t puffin’ up, jest tellin’ the truth.” He hesitated. “You kin call me Buck. I ain’t one to stand on church-day manners all week.”
I gave him the best smile I could manage. “Nor am I, Buck. Call me Ern.”
“Ern? I never heard that ’un.” Buck paused. “Know what it means?”
“Yes. It’s eagle.”
“Like to a Injun name?”
I nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Then that right there’s a name I’d be proud to bear. Not that I ain’t proud of the one I got, only my friends mostly sez Buck.” Buck Baston hesitated. “All right if I say Ern? Seems like we might be pullin’ in the same team.”
That sounded odd and interesting. I said, “You’re being checked out again, you say.”
“An’ where’s your patron? Ain’t that the rest of it, Ern?”
“A fraction of the rest.” I grinned and added, “I’ll concede that.”
“Nice watch you got there. What time’s it say?”
I glanced at it. “A quarter to ten.”
“She’s goin’ to meet us up front. Ten sharp she said, only she’s got errands to run. That’s what she called it. Errands. Reckon she might be beforehand. Think we might set out front an’ keep a lookout?”
I said, “They’ll want us to go back to our shelves.”
Buck Baston grinned. “You ever see the big dictionary, Ern?”
“The one on the reading stand?”
He nodded. “Been there nigh on to forty years they say. Takes two jest to turn a page. They don’t like it there, only three of ’em tried an’ couldn’t even close it. They give up after that is what I heard.”
When I said nothing, he added, “I’m the same way.” Abruptly his right hand held a gun. He spun it and returned it to a tooled leather holster under his jacket almost as swiftly as he had drawn it. If the librarians at the desk had seen it, they gave no sign.
There were two long benches in the lobby as well as a scattering of plain ponticwood chairs. When we had settled ourselves on one of the benches, I asked his patron’s name.
“She’s Miz Harper Heath. Ain’t you wonderin’ ’bout my gun?”
I admitted I was, and asked whether his patron knew he had it.
He chuckled softly. “She knows an’ this library don’t. She give it to me, bullets too. You want one? Have your own gun?”
“Perhaps. I’ll let her know when I know what she wants me for.”
“Haunts, I call ’em.”
“Ghosts? Are you serious?” I was afraid I had not misunderstood.
“I’ve shot a couple. Bullet goes clean through an’ into the wall.” Baston paused. “The girl does it, is what I figure. That girl’s brought ’em along, only she didn’t know. Still don’t, is what she claims. Won’t believe it.”
I waited.
“Reckon you’re puzzlin’ what all this has got to do with you.”
I nodded. “Wondering, and hoping you’ll enlighten me soon, Buck.”
“That there’s the girl’s doin’, too. I told Miz Heath to shy off from you, ’cause of that.” Baston sighed. “She didn’t pay no heed. Might as well tell you now. You’re certain sure to find out ’fore much longer.”
I said, “Who is the girl you mentioned? Is she a fully human?”
“Tells everbody she is, only she don’t have no paper. Miz Heath bought her from that big school back east, or that’s what she tells. Says she used to belong to some doctor that was a teacher
in there.”
Memories swooped down at me like so many vultures. Mostly to myself I muttered, “Dr. Barry F. Fevre.”
“That’s the one. He’s passed, is what I hear.”
“Yes. He has.”
“Probably they just found her settin’ in his office, er somethin’ like that, is what I figure.”
“No doubt you’re right. Is her name Ricci?”
Baston nodded. “Sure is. Reckon you know her.”
“I do.” I paused, remembering. “I comforted her once. Someone—it doesn’t matter who—had spoken in a way that hurt her deeply. I tried…” I paused again. “Well, I’m glad she hasn’t forgotten me.”
My new patron, Ms. Harper Heath, returned. We followed her out of the library, and Baston opened the door of her sleek silver flitter and helped her in. To my surprise, she patted the seat beside her own, saying, “Sit with me, Smithe. I need to talk to you and ask some questions, and this will be a good time to do both.”
More than a little apprehensive, I walked around to the other side, opened the curved, tight-fitting door there, and somewhat clumsily climbed in. When the flitter was well above a sunlit sea of cloud, Ms. Heath asked, “What do you know of the occult, Smithe?”
I was tempted to say only that it didn’t exist, but it seemed clear that would be imprudent. In place of it I put, “No more than the average person, I’m sure. Possibly less.” Eager to enlist an ally, I turned in my seat to glance back at Baston. “What about you, Buck? Are you well acquainted with the occult?”
Silently, he shrugged and shook his head.
“Yet a librarian recommended both of you.” The flitter rose, shoving us back in our seats while our patron spoke.
Stubbornly, Baston shook his head again.
“Do you insist that you have had no experience with the supernatural, Mr. Smithe?”
I said, “I do,” making it as strong as I could. “Ricci and I met briefly in the ice caves of Lichholm. She’s not exactly a friend, though I wouldn’t call her an enemy. I take it you know about Lichholm? The island of Lichholm?”