“I remember hearing about her once,” said Ruby. “A girl who can travel through mirrors. I remember wondering why she wouldn’t apply to be a Renegade, and eventually I figured it was probably just a rumor.”
“The problem,” Adrian said, tapping the end of his marker against the table, “is now we have no idea where she went, or if she’s really going to get the Librarian, or if they’re both about to make a run for it.” Frowning, he looked around.
From the main lobby, he could see a reading room to his right, the tables interspersed with short bookshelves and magazine racks. More bookshelves stretched the full length of the wall, broken up by the occasional rolling ladder or broad, dirt-covered window. To his left were the stacks—row upon row of tall, slender shelves. From that direction he could hear the occasional giggles of children.
“Ruby, Nova, let’s start staking out the exits,” he said, turning to inspect the staircase that led up to the second floor. Though the stairs were carpeted, in places that carpet had been worn through nearly to the wood steps beneath. “The Librarian or the Detonator might be trying to escape right now.”
“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.