dematerialization —see THIN AIR, POWDER, LAMB.” Then there was a whole list of odd items under DECEREBRATION: persuasion by quartering, screws for screws, breaking codes without bones, fundamental flaying, and so forth. But I was tired of leafing through these dusty tomes; I wanted to see Major Erms. Yes, Erms would help me, I’d tell him everything! Suddenly there was a shuffling—the old man had returned. He eyed me sharply from the doorway, smiled and raised his spectacles to the top of his bald head. It was only now that I noticed he was cross-eyed. That is, one eye watched me while the other wandered up, as if seeking inspiration from above.
“Find what you wanted?”
He squinted, whistled under his breath. (A signal?) Then he saw a card on the floor, one I’d missed, looked at it and said:
“Ah … that too?” He clucked appreciatively as he picked it up with grimy fingers. “In that case, won’t you come this way, sir? It’s hard for an old codger like me to carry out such heavy volumes. Of course, they’re not all heavy, but … you’ve been cleared, haven’t you? You look like one of General Mlassgrack’s men, you do. Professional secrecy, confidential, top security, don’t I know, heh-heh! Follow me, follow me, watch yourself, don’t get dirty … the dust, you know!”
Rambling on in this way, he led me down a narrow, winding passage into the stacks. I kept bumping into atlases and folios as we went deeper into that murky labyrinth.
“Here!” my guide exclaimed at last in triumph. A bright, naked bulb lit up a fairly roomy alcove. We were surrounded by shelves that sagged beneath the weight of gray, crumbling books.
“Cake!” he snorted, waving the card in front of my nose. That was indeed the word on the card. “Cake, sir, help yourself to a slice … heh-heh! It’s all here—there’s your Splanchnology, Innardry, Disemboweling and Reembowelment, Viscerators and Eviscerators. An original edition over here, De crucificatione modo primario divino , second-century, the only copy in existence, wonderfully preserved, and with illustrations. Look at those shackles, will you, and here’s flaying alive, there’s playing dead, hamstringing, stringing up, tests of personal endurance… Now, on the next shelf—no, that’s Physical Tortures. I’m sorry, we’re in this section here—Bruises on the left, and on the right, Juices.”
“Juices?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Juices, juices. For example, a spit, an open fire, and you have juices, don’t you? Yes, and on the next shelf—Empaling. Mahagony, birch, oak, ash. And Bruises, they’re easy—but you must know all about it! Ah, nobody ever drops in any more, one gets so lonely… It’s so nice to have a little company, sir, if you know what I mean… They say this is all old-fashioned, obsolete.”
“Obsolete?”
“Oh, yes. Leave it to the butchers, they say. Top secret sirloin, tenderized—Lieutenant Pirpitschek likes to joke. But things are picking up again, it seems, in our department… The dust here, the dust is just awful!”
He beat the dust off his sleeves and went on:
“Allusions to cake, revolutions for cake—let them eat cake, wasn’t it? Ninety entries, all in all, a regular bakery, like our General says—oh, there’s a real man, the head of something terribly important, don’t you know! ‘Custodian Kappril, at your service, sir!’ I say. But he, does he give me the book number right off? Not on your life! He hums a little tune—hum hum, hum hum—and I know exactly what he wants. Every time!… Dr. Mrayznorl is in charge here—what’s this? De strangulatione systematica occulta . Somebody must have put it here by mistake, that’s physical—and Mummification too, tsk-tsk. Excuse me, that’s Cryptanalysis over there, you don’t want that—or do you? Take a look if you like, by all means… We have some very interesting books. That one you’re holding, allow me, I’ll wipe it off for
“Find what you wanted?”
He squinted, whistled under his breath. (A signal?) Then he saw a card on the floor, one I’d missed, looked at it and said:
“Ah … that too?” He clucked appreciatively as he picked it up with grimy fingers. “In that case, won’t you come this way, sir? It’s hard for an old codger like me to carry out such heavy volumes. Of course, they’re not all heavy, but … you’ve been cleared, haven’t you? You look like one of General Mlassgrack’s men, you do. Professional secrecy, confidential, top security, don’t I know, heh-heh! Follow me, follow me, watch yourself, don’t get dirty … the dust, you know!”
Rambling on in this way, he led me down a narrow, winding passage into the stacks. I kept bumping into atlases and folios as we went deeper into that murky labyrinth.
“Here!” my guide exclaimed at last in triumph. A bright, naked bulb lit up a fairly roomy alcove. We were surrounded by shelves that sagged beneath the weight of gray, crumbling books.
“Cake!” he snorted, waving the card in front of my nose. That was indeed the word on the card. “Cake, sir, help yourself to a slice … heh-heh! It’s all here—there’s your Splanchnology, Innardry, Disemboweling and Reembowelment, Viscerators and Eviscerators. An original edition over here, De crucificatione modo primario divino , second-century, the only copy in existence, wonderfully preserved, and with illustrations. Look at those shackles, will you, and here’s flaying alive, there’s playing dead, hamstringing, stringing up, tests of personal endurance… Now, on the next shelf—no, that’s Physical Tortures. I’m sorry, we’re in this section here—Bruises on the left, and on the right, Juices.”
“Juices?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Juices, juices. For example, a spit, an open fire, and you have juices, don’t you? Yes, and on the next shelf—Empaling. Mahagony, birch, oak, ash. And Bruises, they’re easy—but you must know all about it! Ah, nobody ever drops in any more, one gets so lonely… It’s so nice to have a little company, sir, if you know what I mean… They say this is all old-fashioned, obsolete.”
“Obsolete?”
“Oh, yes. Leave it to the butchers, they say. Top secret sirloin, tenderized—Lieutenant Pirpitschek likes to joke. But things are picking up again, it seems, in our department… The dust here, the dust is just awful!”
He beat the dust off his sleeves and went on:
“Allusions to cake, revolutions for cake—let them eat cake, wasn’t it? Ninety entries, all in all, a regular bakery, like our General says—oh, there’s a real man, the head of something terribly important, don’t you know! ‘Custodian Kappril, at your service, sir!’ I say. But he, does he give me the book number right off? Not on your life! He hums a little tune—hum hum, hum hum—and I know exactly what he wants. Every time!… Dr. Mrayznorl is in charge here—what’s this? De strangulatione systematica occulta . Somebody must have put it here by mistake, that’s physical—and Mummification too, tsk-tsk. Excuse me, that’s Cryptanalysis over there, you don’t want that—or do you? Take a look if you like, by all means… We have some very interesting books. That one you’re holding, allow me, I’ll wipe it off for
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