“Whether there were books I’d been forbidden in the library. Where I was at 3 a.m. I was here, sleeping, until their alarm went off. It wasn’t just me, either—they’re keeping all the faculty from their work, and I had twelve students late for the same reason. This place is supposed to be secure, not overrun with ignorant, monosyllabic savages. I can’t work like this! I repeat: what do you know?”
Trumbull angry was only a little more alarming than Trumbull at any ordinary moment. Still, I caught my breath. I put up a hand to halt whatever story Audrey might tell; for all that we feared her interference, Trumbull was one of the few people who might do something useful with the truth. “We did go to the library last night, but we stole nothing. We only wanted to see our own books—how large the collection really was, where it was stored. We went in, we looked, and we left. Then when we were well outside, the alarms started. Now Barlow and his thugs claim books are missing and cases broken.” I glanced at Neko, to whom this was also new. She nodded, considering. “I think they set off the alarms themselves, to get access to the restricted books. And perhaps to keep them from us.”
“They wouldn’t let Spector help them search,” added Audrey.
“He doesn’t know we were inside ourselves,” I said. “And is working hard to maintain his ignorance.”
“Thank you,” said Trumbull. She seemed calmer. “I’m slightly reassured if they’re acting incompetent to cover for an actual attempt at learning—even if the results are obnoxious.” She wove her fingers together. “Still best to go to Hall today, I think. Staying on campus would only result in useless irritation. But perhaps the right words in a few ears—no need to mention how close your witness was, but a rumor about their motivations could make their work considerably more difficult. Perhaps even drive them off, eventually.”
“I can do that,” said Audrey. “They seem awfully determined, but I’ll give it my best shot. How soon are we leaving?”
“Spector wanted to make some phone calls,” said Trumbull. “Perhaps some good will come of that as well. I expect him here within the hour.”
“All right.” Audrey stood and stretched. “Let me fix up my face, and then I’ll just slip out and find someone to talk to. I finally got permission for library access, and I was so disappointed to find it closed. But you’ll never guess what I heard…”
I looked after her, a little envious. “I have no idea how she does that.”
Neko shrugged. “The same way you put on your—” She sat straighter in her chair, folded her arms in front of her in a passable imitation of me trying to look dignified and stern. “Everyone’s got their faces. I think hers are more what normal girls pick up.” There was a trace of wistfulness in her voice as well.
“Females of this period aren’t usually so aware of what they’re doing,” said Trumbull. She pursed her lips. “Though more aware than the males think they are. I suppose she falls within the normal distribution.”
Audrey returned with her hair neat and her lips and eyes darkened; she waved cheerfully and slipped out the door. Half an hour later she was back, looking pleased with herself, and trailing Spector and Charlie and Caleb behind her. They seemed less pleased, but eager to quit Miskatonic for the day.
*
Audrey slipped off when we reached Hall—to make her excuses, or find out what excuses were needed. The rest of us went to the library. It was open, bustling with students, unnoticed by the outside world.
The reference librarian who’d pointed us at Upton had the desk, and smiled when she saw us. “I wondered if you’d be back. I’ll get your room ready.”
In short order we had a table full of Kirill’s notes, along with the relevant texts and a smattering of other Aeonist material that she thought we’d be interested in. Hall’s collection came nowhere close to Miskatonic’s, but the difference in attitude made up for it. Especially on a day like today, when I sought refuge as much as information.
I followed the librarian back into the main room. “Thank you for all your help. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name last time?”
“Birch. Edith Birch. And I’m glad to help.”
I realized that everything I wanted to tell her—that we had visited Upton, and why—would still be no kindnesses. But more immediate events might well affect her. “There was a breakin at Crowther last night. Government agents have shut everything down.”
She sucked in a breath. “That hasn’t happened for a while. It’s always trouble, when someone’s that eager to get into their collections.”
“We’re more concerned about the agents.” Here, away from Miskatonic’s politics, I worried I might sound a little ridiculous, but said anyway: “We think they may have set off the alarm deliberately, to gain access to books they’d been forbidden. Knowing even a little of what they’re after, it’s possible they might come here as well.”
To her credit, she took me seriously. In some ways we’d made a tacit agreement last time, to trust one another’s absurd claims. “Oh dear. I’ll warn the rest of the staff. But Miskatonic’s trouble rarely makes it to Kingsport.” Her lips quirked. “They don’t consider us troublesome.”
“Their mistake?” I asked.
She smiled. “We have our ways.” The smile turned thoughtful. “If whatever you’re looking for is in those notebooks, I’m sure you’ll find it. But I also know you’ve been exploring the Miskatonic collections. If there’s some specific topic you’re researching, it’s possible we have material here that you don’t know about, especially if it’s something they might have overlooked.”
It was my turn to consider—it was a generous offer, but I had reason to be cautious about taking her up on it. And Spector might not be pleased. Still … ultimately, we’d have trouble find anything of use without aid. “You mentioned that Asenath could … you said hypnotize people. Make them feel as if they’d changed identity, in some fashion. We’re looking for books that claim to know something about that—but more than that, we’re interested in people like Mr. Barinov, who might have written commentary on such books.”
“I see why you’d be interested in Miskatonic’s esoterica. But I’ll look.”
I settled in with one of the texts—Skinner had claimed Dawson for the day to help deal with his professors’ complaints, so our ability to search Kirill’s notes was limited. Neko started paging through them systematically, noting down English marginalia, volumes, and pages (which he had numbered intermittently for his own use). After a couple of hours Audrey appeared.