“Escape?” came a wary, broguish voice. “Have I been witlessly drawn into a trap that must be escaped from?”
Adrian turned to see a stooped man standing in the doorway to the reading room. He had a pointed white beard and scraggly white hair, he wore socks with holes in them and no shoes, his trousers and cardigan were wrinkled and baggy on his slim frame, and his skin was so pale it looked as though he had never met the sun.
Adrian stood straighter. “Are you the Librarian?”
“I am … a librarian.”
“Are you Gene Cronin?”
The man peered at him, uncertainty making the corners of his lips twitch, as if he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to smile or not. “My granddaughter said there were Renegades who wanted a word with me.” He laughed, but it was an uncomfortable sound. “I thought she must be playing a practical joke. But here you are. I should have known better. Narcissa likes jokes about as much as I do.” His lips gave up the fight and settled downward in a concerned frown. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Minutes ago we witnessed the Detonator, a known Anarchist, entering this library,” said Adrian, “and we have reason to believe your dealings with her aren’t of an entirely lawful nature.”
“The Detonator!” barked the Librarian, his eyes darting away from Adrian to scan the others. “The Anarchists? I haven’t had anything to do with them for … well, close to ten years now, isn’t it?” He reached up and spent a moment smoothing down a patch of unruly hair, though it popped right back up as soon as he let his hand fall to his side again. It hung awkwardly at his side before he reached out and pressed his palm against the doorway, knuckles turning white against the wood. “It pains me to think that, even now, the Renegades refuse to trust me. I pay the Council’s taxes. I follow the Council’s rules. And on top of all that, I provide a great service to this community.” He gestured around the lobby. “Do you know there are only nine functioning public libraries currently open within Gatlon city limits? There used to be well over a hundred. And all nine of those are thanks to the selfless efforts of people like me, who have made it our lives’ work to continue the free distribution and sharing of knowledge and wisdom. To make sure that the people have access to this … to books. Meanwhile, what has your beloved Council done to respect the work of scholars of years past? To further the enlightenment of society?”
Adrian furrowed his brow, not sure at first that the Librarian wanted an answer. “They reopened schools,” he supplied, thinking that should have been obvious. “Whereas you spent decades selling guns to villains who would just as soon keep the people ignorant and helpless.”
Beside him, Nova stiffened. He glanced at her and saw a flash of something cross her features—annoyance, or denial. But it was gone as fast as it had come.
“Insomnia?” he asked.
She kept her gaze trained to the Librarian as she said darkly, “Are you telling us you have nothing to hide?”
Gene Cronin pursed his lips until they started to turn as white as his beard. Then he huffed. “Of course I have nothing to hide. During the Age of Anarchy, I did what I had to do in order to survive. Now, I am content to make my living through more peaceful means.”
“And that includes hosting private meetings with villains like the Detonator?” said Adrian.
“You are mistaken,” said Cronin. “I have not seen the Detonator, or any Anarchist…” His gaze swiveled back to Nova. “… in a long, long time.”
“Then you won’t mind if we look around?” said Adrian.
“This is a public library,” said Cronin. “Browsing is always encouraged.”
Adrian’s fingers tightened around the marker. “Maybe you’d be willing to give us a tour of the areas that aren’t open the public. If you really don’t have anything to hide, like you say.”
Cronin inclined his head. “It would be my pleasure.” He crossed the lobby to the staircase and had gone up three steps when Adrian stopped him.
“Not that way,” he said.
Cronin glanced back.
“This building has a basement, right? Let’s start there.”
The Librarian’s face went blank. “There is nothing in the basement but the furnace and outdated stacks.”
“Then it will be a quick tour,” said Adrian.
Nostrils flaring around his mustache, Cronin abandoned the staircase and headed toward the east room. They followed him through a pair of tall bookcases and down an aisle of desks. In the far corner, Adrian spotted a stone fireplace, though there was no fire currently lit. A young man was seated cross-legged on the floor, reading a picture book to the children scattered around him.
The sight made Adrian’s blood cool. He glanced at the others, and saw the same apprehension mirrored on Ruby’s and Oscar’s faces, though Nova had her gaze intently latched to the Librarian’s back.
There was no reason yet to alarm anyone, he told himself. But still …
“Smokescreen,” he whispered, “you stay up here. Clear the library at the first sign of trouble.”
Oscar glanced at him, and if he was annoyed to be excluded, it didn’t show. Nodding, he stepped back into one of the rows of bookshelves, disappearing from view.