The Library at Mount Char (3 page)

“Here,” Carolyn said. “I brought you something.” She rummaged in her plastic shopping bag and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Listerine.

Jennifer took the bottle. “What is it?”

“Put some in your mouth and swish it around. Don't swallow it. After a few seconds spit it out.”

Jennifer looked at it, dubious, trying to decide if she were being made fun of.

“Trust me,” Carolyn said.

Jennifer hesitated for a moment, then took a sip. Her eyes went wide.

“Swish it around,” Carolyn said and demonstrated by puffing out first her left cheek, then her right. Jennifer mimicked her. “Now, spit it out.” Jennifer did. “Better?”

“Wow!” Jennifer said. “That's—” She looked over her shoulder at David. He wasn't looking, but she lowered her voice anyway. “That's amazing. It usually takes me hours to get the taste out of my mouth!”

“I know,” Carolyn said. “It's an American thing. It's called mouthwash.”

Jennifer ran her fingers over the label for a moment, an expression of childlike wonder on her face. Then, with obvious reluctance, she held the bottle out to Carolyn.

“No,” Carolyn said. “Keep it. I got it for you.”

Jennifer didn't say anything, but she smiled.

“Are you done?”

Jennifer nodded. “I think so. Margaret is set, at any rate. She's heard the call.” She raised her voice. “David? Will there be anything else?”

David's back was to them. He was standing at the edge of the bluff, looking across Highway 78 to the entrance to Garrison Oaks. He waved his hand distractedly.

Jennifer shrugged. “I guess that means I'm done.” She turned to Carolyn. “So, what do you think?”

“I'm not sure,” Carolyn said. “If Father is out among the Americans, I can't find him. Have you learned anything?”

“Michael says he's not among the beasts, living or dead.”

“And the others?”

Jennifer shrugged. “So far it's just us three. They'll be along presently.” She stretched out on the grass and rested her head on Carolyn's lap. “Thank you for the—what did you call it?”

“Listerine.”

“Lis-ter-ine,” Jennifer said. “Thank you.” She closed her eyes.

All that afternoon the other librarians filtered in, singly and in pairs. Some carried burdens. Alicia held the black candle, still burning as it had in the golden ruin at the end of time. Rachel and her phantom children whispered among themselves of the futures that would never be. The twins, Peter and Richard, watched intently as the librarians filled out the twelve points of the abbreviated circle, studying some deep order that everyone else was blind to. The sweat on their ebony skin glistened in the firelight.

Finally, just before sunset, Margaret stretched a pale, trembling hand up into the light.

“She's back,” Jennifer said to no one in particular.

David walked over to the grave, smiling. He reached down and took Margaret's hand. With his help she rose on shaky legs, dirt raining down around her. David lifted her out of the grave. “Hello, my love!”

She stood before him, no taller than his chest, and tilted her head back, smiling. David dusted off the worst of the dirt, then lifted her by the hips and kissed her, long and deep. Her small feet dangled limp six inches over the black earth. It occurred to Carolyn that she could not think what color garment Margaret had been buried in. It might have been ash-gray, or the bleached-out-flesh tones of a child's doll left too long in the sun. Whatever color it actually was, it had blended well against Margaret herself.
She is barely here anymore. All that's really left of her is the smell
.

Margaret wobbled for a moment, then sat down in the pile of soft earth next to the grave. David tipped her a wink and ran his tongue along his teeth. Margaret giggled. Jennifer gagged again.

David squatted down next to Margaret and ruffled her dusty black hair. “Well?” he called out to Richard and Peter and the rest, “What are you waiting for? Everyone's here now. Take your places.”

They were gathered into a rough circle. Carolyn watched David. He eyed the bull, uneasy, and in the end stood so that his back was to it.
Even now, he doesn't like looking at it
. Not that she blamed him.

“Very well,” he said. “You have all had your month. Who has answers for me?”

No one spoke.

“Margaret? Where is Father?”

“I do not know,” she said. “He is not in the forgotten lands. He does not wander the outer darkness.”

“So, he's not dead, then.”

“Perhaps not.”

“
Perhaps?
What does that mean?”

Margaret was silent for a long moment. “If he died in the Library, it would be different.”

“Different how? He wouldn't go to the forgotten lands?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

Margaret looked shifty. “I shouldn't say.”

David rubbed his temples. “Look, I'm not asking you to talk about your catalog, but…he's been gone a long time. We have to consider all possibilities. Just in general terms, what would happen if he
had
died inside the Library? Would he—”

“Don't be
ridiculous
,” Carolyn said, not quite shouting. Her face was red. “Father can't be
dead
—not in the Library, and not anywhere bloody else!” The others muttered agreement. “He's…he's
Father
.”

David's face clouded, but he let it go. “Margaret? What do you think?”

Margaret shrugged, not really interested. “Carolyn is probably right.”

“Mmm.” He didn't seem convinced. “Rachel? Where is Father?”

“We do not know,” she said, spreading her hands out to indicate the silent ranks of ghost children arrayed behind her. “He is in no possible future that we can see.”

“Alicia? What about the actual future? Is he there?”

“No.” She ran her fingers through her dirty-blond hair, nervous. “I checked all the way to the heat death of normal space. Nothing.”

“He's not in any futures and he's not dead. How is that possible?”

Alicia and Rachel looked at each other and shrugged. “It is indeed a riddle,” Rachel said. “I cannot account for it.”

“That's not much of an answer.”

“Perhaps you ask the wrong questions.”

“Do I?” David walked over to her, grinning dangerously, jaw muscles jumping. “Do I
really
?”

Rachel went pale. “I didn't mean—”

David let her grovel for a moment, then touched a finger to her lips. “Later.” She sank to the ground, trembling visibly in the moonlight.

“Peter, you're meant to be good with all that abstract crap. Figures and so forth. What do you think?”

Peter hesitated. “There are aspects of Father's work that I was never allowed to see—”

“Father kept things from all of us. Answer my question.”

“When he disappeared he was working on something called regression completeness,” Peter said. “It's the notion that the universe is structured in such a way that no matter how many mysteries you solve, there is always a deeper mystery behind it. Father seemed very—”

“Oh, for fuck's sake. Do you know where Father is or don't you?”

“Not exactly, but if you follow that line of thinking, it might explain—”

“Never mind.”

“But—”

“
Stop talking
. Carolyn, get with Peter later and translate whatever he says into something normal people can understand.”

“Of course,” she said.

“Michael, what about the Far Hill? Was there any sign there?”

The Far Hill was the heaven of the Forest God, where all the clever little beasts went when they died—something like that, at any rate. Carolyn hadn't been aware that it was real. For that matter, she hadn't been certain that the Forest God was real until just now.

“No. Not there.” His speech was better now.

“And the Forest God? Is he—”

“The Forest God is sleeping. He has massed no armies against us. Among his pack there were the usual intrigues, but nothing that concerns us directly. I see no reason to think—”

“Think? You? That's almost funny.” He turned away. “Emily, what about—”

“There's something else,” Michael said. “We are to have a visitor.”

David glared at him. “A visitor? Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“You hit me in the mouth,” Michael said. “You told me to be quiet.”

David's jaw muscles jumped again. “Now I'm telling you to not be quiet,” he said. “Who is coming?”

“Nobununga.”

“What?
Here?
”

“He is concerned for Father's safety,” Michael said. “He wishes to investigate.”

“Oh
fuck
,” said Carolyn. This was startled out of her—she hadn't
expected Nobununga quite so soon. But she had the presence of mind to speak softly, and in English. No one noticed.

“When will he arrive?”

Michael's brow furrowed. “He…he will arrive, um…when he gets here?”

David gritted his teeth. “Do we have any idea when that might be?”

“It will be later.”

“Like, when, exactly?” His hand curled into a fist.

“He doesn't understand, David,” Jennifer said softly. “He doesn't see time the way people do. Not anymore. Hitting him won't change that.”

Michael, panicky now, flitted his eyes from Jennifer to David. “The mice have seen him! He approaches!”

David unclenched his fist. He rubbed his temples. “Never mind,” he said. “It doesn't matter. He's even right. Nobununga will arrive when he arrives. All we can do is make him welcome. Peter, Richard—collect the totems.” The twins bounced up, scrambling to obey.

“Carolyn—I need you to go back into America. We need an innocent heart. We will offer it to Nobununga when he arrives. Do you think you can handle that?”

“An innocent heart? In America?” She hesitated. “Possibly.”

Misunderstanding, he said, “It's easy. Just cut through the ribs.” He scissored his fingers through the air. “Like so. If you can't get it out yourself, send for me.”

“Yes, David.”

“That will be all for tonight. Carolyn, you can go whenever you're ready. The rest of you stay close.” He glanced at the bull, uneasy. “Richard, Peter, be quick about it. I want to, um, get back to Mrs. McGillicutty's,” he said, winking at Margaret. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Rachel sat down on the ground. Her children crowded around her. In a moment she was entirely hidden behind them. Carolyn wanted to speak with Michael, but he and his cougars had faded into the woods. Jennifer unrolled her sleeping skins and lay back on them with a groan. Margaret drifted into orbit around David.

David rummaged around in his knapsack for a moment. “Here you
go, Margaret,” he said. “I brought you a gift.” He pulled out the severed head of an old man, hoisting him by his long, wispy beard. He swung the head back and forth a couple of times, then tossed it to her.

Margaret caught it with both hands, grunting a bit at the weight. She grinned, delighted. Her teeth were black. “Thank you.”

David sat down beside her and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “How long will it be?” he called over his shoulder.

“An hour,” Richard said, running his fingers through the bowl of totems—Michael's hair of the Forest God, the black candle, the scrap of Carolyn's dress, stiff with blood, a drop of wax from the black candle. These would be used as nodes of an
n
-dimensional tracking tool that they were quite sure—well…fairly sure, at least—would point them toward Father. Well…probably. Carolyn had her doubts.

“No more than that,” Peter agreed.

Margaret took the head into her lap and began fussing over it—caressing its cheeks, cooing at it, smoothing its bushy eyebrows. After a moment of her attentions the dead man's eyelids fluttered, then opened.

“Blue eyes!” Margaret exclaimed. “Oh, David, thank you!”

David shrugged.

Carolyn snuck a peek. Perhaps the man's eyes had been blue once, but now mostly what they were was sunken and filmed over. But she recognized him. He had been a minor courtier in one of Father's cabinets and, once, the prime minister of Japan. Normally such a man would be protected.
David must be feeling bold
. The head blinked again and fastened his eyes upon Margaret. His tongue stirred and his lips began to move, though of course without lungs he could make no sound.

“What is he saying?” David asked. After six weeks of banishment, most of them had picked up at least a smattering of American, but Carolyn was the only one who spoke Japanese.

Carolyn leaned in close, her nose wrinkling at the smell. She tilted her head and touched the man's cheeks.
“Moo ichido itte kudasai, Yamada-san.”
The dead man tried again, pleading to her with sightless eyes.

Carolyn sat back and arranged her hands in her lap demurely, left over right, in such a way that the palm of each hand concealed the fingers of the other from view. Her expression was peaceful, even pleasant. She
knew that Emily could read her thoughts easily. David, too, could sense thoughts, at least the basic flavor. He knew when someone bore him ill will. In battle he could peer into the minds of his enemies and see their strategies, see the weapons that might be raised against him. Carolyn suspected that he might be able to look deeper if there were a need. But it didn't matter. If Emily or David chose to look into Carolyn's thoughts, they would find only the desire to help.

Of course,
genuine
emotion is the very essence of self. It cannot ever be unfelt, cannot be ignored, cannot even be rechanneled for very long.

But with practice and care, it may be hidden.