pattern is lost to time. Spider webs tangle with our hair. Our footfalls raise clouds of dust that billow in the beams of our flashlights. Ratty paintings hang at obtuse angles, the occasional glimpse of oil paint catching the light from beneath the layers of filth.
As we hit the landing, I lean on the banister. The wood crunches, rotten, and a chunk breaks away spilling down into the hallways below. Staring down, getting my balance back, I wonder if there really might be something to the contaminated ether theory Clyde dismissed earlier. This place is genuinely creepy.
“Over there.” Kayla points to an open doorway.
The room beyond is surprisingly spacious, a couch against the near wall, the others lined with bookcases. Near the room’s far end is an imposing desk that seems to have spent the past seven decades resisting the rot that has reduced the area rug that once lay before it into a few moldering strands of cotton.
“All right,” I say. “Clyde, you do the desk. The rest of us, start hitting the bookshelves for margin notes.”
“Read me the titles,” Tabitha cuts in. “I can cross-reference. Look for patterns. Research indicators.”
I smile. Sometimes we really can look professional.
I pick a spot, and grab my first book. “
The Origin of Species
,” I intone. “Darwin.” Tabitha grunts. I flick open the cover, and go to thumb through the pages. They start to dissolve as soon as my fingers hit them, crumbling to dust that spills through the room. I back up, coughing, dropping the book, which lets fly more flakes of brown paper. By the time the whole thing is over, more than half the book is lying in pieces on the floor.
“Erm,” I say. “No notes in that one.”
From Kayla’s disgusted choking, I think she’s having a similar experience.
“What’s this?” Hannah is standing by Lang’s desk holding something vaguely oblong and odd-looking. She is noticeably not checking the books on the shelves like I asked her to.
And this is the moment. Do I lay down the hammer, and try to force her into line, or do I just let it go and hope it doesn’t add up, doesn’t reach the point where I say go left in a fire fight and she goes right and one of us ends up with an extra hole in our cranium?
It would be better if I’d come from a military background. This is
military
intelligence. Then I’d have a better background in shouting and being obeyed. But usually when I shout I’m just self-conscious, and people look at me as if this is the first time anyone has ever shouted in their presence and they’re not sure what to make of the whole deal.
So, in the search for a middle ground, I go with, “No clue. Sort of why I let Clyde handle those things.” It sounds more pointed than I’d hoped it would. Sometimes I worry that I’m becoming better at the shooting-things part of my job than I am at the herding-cats part. That is not the career progression I was hoping for.
That said, there is still the throb of a hangover at the back of my head and the vague fear of PTSD.
Behind Hannah, Kayla disappears in another cloud of fragmenting book particulate.
“This is feckin’ useless.” Whether Kayla’s frustration is based on the problem itself or the fact that the problem can’t be solved through the application of a sword blade, I’m not totally sure.
“Come on,” I say, “this is hardly kicking a clockwork robot’s arse. We can do this.”
Clyde at least has the decency to chuckle.
And for a moment we really do work together. Like a team. “
Inquiries into Human Faculty and its Development
by Francis Galton,” I read off a spine to Tabitha.
“Well, I’ve got
Mein
feckin’
Kampf
over here,” says Kayla before there is the sound of a book detonating. “Oops.” She doesn’t sound sorry.
“You know,” Clyde says from the desk, “this thing actually is very weird.” I glance over and he’s holding the oblong Hannah was wielding a moment ago. “There are seams and I
As we hit the landing, I lean on the banister. The wood crunches, rotten, and a chunk breaks away spilling down into the hallways below. Staring down, getting my balance back, I wonder if there really might be something to the contaminated ether theory Clyde dismissed earlier. This place is genuinely creepy.
“Over there.” Kayla points to an open doorway.
The room beyond is surprisingly spacious, a couch against the near wall, the others lined with bookcases. Near the room’s far end is an imposing desk that seems to have spent the past seven decades resisting the rot that has reduced the area rug that once lay before it into a few moldering strands of cotton.
“All right,” I say. “Clyde, you do the desk. The rest of us, start hitting the bookshelves for margin notes.”
“Read me the titles,” Tabitha cuts in. “I can cross-reference. Look for patterns. Research indicators.”
I smile. Sometimes we really can look professional.
I pick a spot, and grab my first book. “
The Origin of Species
,” I intone. “Darwin.” Tabitha grunts. I flick open the cover, and go to thumb through the pages. They start to dissolve as soon as my fingers hit them, crumbling to dust that spills through the room. I back up, coughing, dropping the book, which lets fly more flakes of brown paper. By the time the whole thing is over, more than half the book is lying in pieces on the floor.
“Erm,” I say. “No notes in that one.”
From Kayla’s disgusted choking, I think she’s having a similar experience.
“What’s this?” Hannah is standing by Lang’s desk holding something vaguely oblong and odd-looking. She is noticeably not checking the books on the shelves like I asked her to.
And this is the moment. Do I lay down the hammer, and try to force her into line, or do I just let it go and hope it doesn’t add up, doesn’t reach the point where I say go left in a fire fight and she goes right and one of us ends up with an extra hole in our cranium?
It would be better if I’d come from a military background. This is
military
intelligence. Then I’d have a better background in shouting and being obeyed. But usually when I shout I’m just self-conscious, and people look at me as if this is the first time anyone has ever shouted in their presence and they’re not sure what to make of the whole deal.
So, in the search for a middle ground, I go with, “No clue. Sort of why I let Clyde handle those things.” It sounds more pointed than I’d hoped it would. Sometimes I worry that I’m becoming better at the shooting-things part of my job than I am at the herding-cats part. That is not the career progression I was hoping for.
That said, there is still the throb of a hangover at the back of my head and the vague fear of PTSD.
Behind Hannah, Kayla disappears in another cloud of fragmenting book particulate.
“This is feckin’ useless.” Whether Kayla’s frustration is based on the problem itself or the fact that the problem can’t be solved through the application of a sword blade, I’m not totally sure.
“Come on,” I say, “this is hardly kicking a clockwork robot’s arse. We can do this.”
Clyde at least has the decency to chuckle.
And for a moment we really do work together. Like a team. “
Inquiries into Human Faculty and its Development
by Francis Galton,” I read off a spine to Tabitha.
“Well, I’ve got
Mein
feckin’
Kampf
over here,” says Kayla before there is the sound of a book detonating. “Oops.” She doesn’t sound sorry.
“You know,” Clyde says from the desk, “this thing actually is very weird.” I glance over and he’s holding the oblong Hannah was wielding a moment ago. “There are seams and I
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