The Book of Peril

by Melissa McShane

  I struck the floor harder than I’d wanted because I hadn’t been looking down and hadn’t expected it. It rang out a dull metallic peal when my shoe smacked against it, and I stood where I was and rubbed my ankle. There was a rounded doorway opposite the ladder rungs, next to which was an ordinary doorbell button. I left it alone and stepped through the doorway.

  The only lights that burned there were the kind you see on airplanes, the ones that are supposed to lead you to an exit in case of emergency. The comparison didn’t fill me with confidence. They outlined a hallway with metal walls, riveted together where the sheets of what I guessed was steel joined. It looked like the set of a cheesy ‘70s science fiction movie, the kind starring a hunky hero with feathered hair and a girl wearing vaguely Greek robes of white gauze.

  I took a few steps along the hallway and stopped, disconcerted at how the floor, which looked like the same steel as the walls, felt like foam rubber underfoot. The lights glowed more brightly, then pulsed as if in invitation. I kept walking, trailing one hand along the wall to keep my balance.

  Soon my hand found a join that was vertical, not horizontal like the others. I felt along it and realized it was a door. I pushed on it. It gave slightly and then resisted my touch. I felt around for a doorknob but found nothing. Shrugging, I moved on.

  I found two more doors that behaved the same way before I came to one that slid open when my hand brushed against it. Lights blossomed when the door opened, coming on in pairs throughout the little cubicle. It was egg-shaped and reminded me again of a ’70s movie, a space pod in which the hero and his girl escape the clutches of the evil space overlord. There was no furniture inside, no seats, nothing but a white ceramic pillar about waist-high to me. The room was warmer than the corridor and smelled of burnt peanuts. Well, I had to try something. I stepped into the pod.

  The door slid shut behind me the instant I was fully inside, and the lights brightened. I examined the pillar more closely. Its flat top had a couple of rubbery palm-sized disks embedded in it. I brushed my finger across one and met no resistance. On either side of the disks were a pair of handholds, making the pillar look like a steering wheel in the first stages of cell division. I ignored the handholds for the moment and crouched to look at the shaft of the pillar. It had a number of little sliding doors in it, concealing cubbies containing pencils in several colors, scraps of paper, and a bunch of those little magnets that look like thumbtacks. I took out a couple and tried sticking them to the pillar, then the wall. They fell off the first but stuck firmly to the second. I gathered them up and put them away.

  The last thing I found was a sliding compartment near the center of the flat top, between the disks. I prodded it with my finger, and it sprang open, revealing a sharp hollow needle like a hypodermic. I considered touching it to see how sharp it was, but remembered in time I wasn’t an idiot and left it alone.

  I couldn’t stall any longer. None of this made sense to me, so I’d have to experiment. I laid my right hand, palm down, on the right-hand disk, and pressed, applying the faintest pressure.

  The wall in front of me lit up. A notice in several languages appeared in red letters. Among the different alphabets, I found INSERT PAYMENT TO ACTIVATE. I took out a vial of sanguinis sapiens and looked around for a place to put it. Using the little cubbies did nothing. There were no slots on the wall. I looked at the tube more closely. With its rubberized stopper, it looked a lot like a vial for drawing blood.

  I upended the vial and prodded open the needle recess. Carefully, with visions of spilling raw magic all over the pillar and myself filling my imagination, I pushed the stopper over the needle until the vial touched the base of the recess. The wall filled with a list of words in green light, and I read PAYMENT ACCEPTED. YOU HAVE [23] CREDITS. I hoped it was enough for the information I needed. I had more sanguinis sapiens, but I still felt guilty at using Abernathy’s wealth like that.

  Nothing else happened. I tried putting both hands on the disks. The wall cleared. A pinpoint of white light, brighter than the wall, traced a spinning circle in the center of the wall. It looked like a “please wait” icon. I waited. Eventually, the point spun fast enough to turn into a solid line, which blinked at me, faster and faster until it made a silent “pop” and silver glitter filled the wall. The display was pretty enough I didn’t realize the glitter was forming words until the screen was filled with them, once again in dozens of languages. I had to search to find the English option, which read:

  CHOOSE YOUR SEARCH LANGUAGE

  “English,” I said aloud. Nothing happened. I tried reading the line aloud—still nothing. I scratched my itchy nose, removing my left hand from the disk, but the words remained on the wall. “Now what?” I said.

  The English words on the wall pulsed as I spoke as if responding to the rhythm of my speech. “Am I supposed to start talking?” I said, making them pulse again. I scowled at the wall. “You could include instructions. I just want to search in English—”

  The room exploded with white light. I cried out and covered my eyes, but the light was coming from inside me, from deep within my own eyes, and there was no hiding from it. I couldn’t see the wall anymore, couldn’t see my own hands. I fumbled around until I found the rubbery disks and laid my palms against them. The brightness faded a bit, though I still couldn’t see anything, and while the light didn’t hurt, there was nowhere I could look to get away from it.

  Welcome to the Athenaeum, a woman’s voice said inside my head. I could tell I wasn’t hearing her with my ears, but it felt as if I were wearing earbuds and had turned the volume up too high. She sounded like the pleasant weekend news anchor on channel 2.

  What would you like to learn about today?

  “Volume control,” I gasped.

  The whiteness whirled like a blizzard. Specks of gray appeared, whizzing about like dusky bees, hovering and then zipping away. They left lines like jet contrails that faded with time, if jets could make right-angle turns. There are five million, three hundred fifty-two thousand records relevant to [volume] + [control]. How can I narrow your search?

  “Help?”

  There was a pause, then a man’s voice said, Accessing help files. Please state your request in the form of a question.

  So it wasn’t just Abernathy’s that did that. “How do I turn down the volume?”

  To normalize volume, say aloud “Normalize volume.”

  “Normalize volume,” I shouted.

  The man’s voice became less booming. Now he sounded like Robert Downey, Jr., which was a nice touch. Or maybe they’d gotten him to record this thing’s responses. For all I knew, Downey, Jr. was a magus. Volume has been adjusted to your tolerances.

  “How do I search for a topic?”

  The Athenaeum employs a heuristic search algorithm that engages user input at every step of the search process. It is a partner in your endeavor, not a tool. Speak your question and respond to the Athenaeum’s focusing queries.

  “Um. Exit help?”

  What would you like to learn about today? The nice lady newscaster was back.

  “I want to know about Abernathy’s.”

  There are two million, five hundred twenty-eight thousand, four hundred and two records relevant to [Abernathy’s]. How can I narrow your search?

  “Um, how many of those records are specifically about the oracle?”

  Seven hundred fifty-eight thousand, five hundred and twenty-two.

  I swore under my breath. I hadn’t realized what Lucia had meant by the Athenaeum being the modern equivalent of the Library of Alexandria.

  Please repeat your last input.

  “Sorry.” I thought furiously. “What about all records in those subsets relating to, let’s see, strange behavior by the oracle.”

  Please wait.

  I waited. My feet were cold and sweaty, an uncomfortable sensation. I removed my foot from my shoe and rubbed it against my leg, then had to fumble around to find the shoe again because I was still blind. The
gray bees had been joined by midnight blue ones that sparked with white electricity when they collided with the others. How would I see whatever records the Athenaeum found for me? Was it normal to wait like this?

  The light went red. Something hard and smooth clamped over my wrists, shackling me to the pillar. “You,” a voice thundered. “Who are you to ask such questions? Answer now, or die where you stand!”

  ’m Helena Davies,” I shrieked, yanking at the restraints. “I’m the custodian of Abernathy’s. I need to know about the oracle.”

  “Oh, is that all?” The booming voice dropped to a normal volume. “I should likely have asked that first, non? My apologies.”

  The restraints snapped back. My vision cleared. Blinking away the last vestiges of the redness, I found myself looking at a square window on the wall opposite. It looked like a television screen, but far clearer than even the best HD could manage. A man looked out at me through the window, visible from the shoulders up. He was in his late forties, blond and blue-eyed, with a pleasantly fleshy face and thin lips. He appeared to be wearing a dressing gown. “I am Claude Gauthier, the Curator of the Athenaeum. What a pleasure to meet you.” He spoke with a strong French accent, but I found it easy to understand him.

  “I—yes, it is.” I removed my hands from the disks with care, afraid of breaking the contact, but Gauthier didn’t disappear. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “You triggered a search that is restricted—which is to say, it is not restricted, but the Board of Neutralities prefers to know who chooses to investigate its charges. Though I do not think, me, that anyone has ever asked such a question. You, of course, have every right to do so.” Gauthier leaned his chin on his hand and narrowed his eyes. “Is something wrong with the oracle?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been behaving strangely. I hoped the Athenaeum would have some clue as to why.”

  “Then I will not keep you longer. Will you speak with me again, when things are not so dire? I enjoy learning to know my fellow custodians.”

  I had a sudden horrible realization. “Are you in Switzerland? It must be the middle of the night for you. I’m so sorry to have woken you.”

  Gauthier laughed and waved that away. “Sleep is for the weak. I have not slept in twenty-five years. You may see, as the years pass, that I speak the truth. Good luck, Mademoiselle Davies.” The window vanished.

  I stood staring at the blank wall for a few seconds. It hadn’t occurred to me there were other Neutralities with custodians out there in the world. Yes, there was Lucia, but she was more like local police. Besides, as the custodian of the Gunther Node, a strong reservoir of magical energy, she wasn’t as tied to a place as I was. As Gauthier appeared to be. I made a mental note to find out what other Neutralities there were like mine and the Athenaeum.

  I laid my palms on the disks again. Whiteness filled my vision like a reservoir rising. Resume search? the woman said.

  “Please do,” I said.

  There are fifty-seven records relevant to [Abernathy’s] + [oracle] + [strange behavior]. Would you like to narrow the search further?

  “No. How can you display the records?”

  You have insufficient credits to review all fifty-seven records. Please apply another payment.

  I blinked away the whiteness and saw the tube of sanguinis sapiens was empty. I popped another tube over the needle and watched that one be sucked dry as well. Insufficient credits. Please apply another payment. I only had one tube left. The Athenaeum must collect even more money than Abernathy’s did.

  Payment is sufficient. Would you prefer hard copy, visual display, or electronic files?

  I didn’t have time to look at the records here and now. “Do I have to provide my own flash drive?”

  Flash drives are provided gratis below the pedestal. There was a whirring sound, and a metal door slid open near my feet. What would you like to learn about today?

  “I’m done,” I said, and the whiteness receded. Near the foot of the pillar, a little door stood open, and inside lay a flash drive in a white plastic case. I put it in my pocket with what was left of the sanguinis sapiens. The rubberized plug had sealed itself, so not a drop of magical essence escaped. “Thank you,” I said to the air. Then I felt stupid. This place wasn’t like Abernathy’s, which was at least physically in one place. The Athenaeum seemed to be everywhere at once. Something I could ask Gauthier the next time I spoke to him. I found I was looking forward to it.

  I was breathless by the time I reached the top of the ladder. The hatch was open, and Guille gave me a hand up. “Find what you were looking for?” he said.

  “I hope so. Do a lot of people come here?”

  “Enough that I’m kept busy processing the sanguinis sapiens when I’m not actually being a florist. Not as many as come to Abernathy’s.”

  “Well, thanks for the help.”

  “My pleasure. Come back any time.” Guille parted the stripy grass for me, and I left the florist’s shop feeling nervous at how valuable the information on my flash drive might be. Twilight had fallen, and the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk in puddles I skimmed between, like an insect skipping from pond to pond. No one was going to mug me for the contents of my pockets, but I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder every five seconds. After all that trouble, losing the information would be devastating.

  I made it home with no trouble and let myself in Abernathy’s back door. There were semi-magical alarms on both doors, but I had the only key to the back one, which opened on the stairs leading to my apartment above the store. The Warden who’d installed the alarm had told me it was set to go off if any key but the right one touched the lock plate, which of course made me paranoid that I’d accidentally set it off. The same Warden, when I’d asked what the alarm did, just grinned and said, “Try not to find out.” I’d put my door key on a separate chain, just to be safe, and made sure to arm the thing every night before I turned in.

  I hadn’t done anything to alter the study, which looked like a well-heeled lawyer’s office, except hang a pair of matching Asian prints on the wall facing the door and buy one of those scented-wax melting lamps. It made the room smell like apples rather than leather and paper, a scent I loved but found overwhelming.

  I dropped my purse on Silas Abernathy’s desk, a vast oak and brass thing that looked like it ought to weigh down someone’s Fifth Avenue office, and booted up my laptop. While it warmed up, I took out the flash drive and examined it. It looked perfectly ordinary. I hoped whatever information it held was valuable enough to justify all that sanguinis sapiens. I also hoped it was in a format my computer could read.

  I typed in my password, then inserted the flash drive into the port and waited again. The computer whirred, and a browser window opened. Were my files on a website somewhere? No, in the address bar was a file location, and above that in the tab header were the words [Abernathy’s] + [oracle] + [strange behavior]. In the body of the browser was a long, long list of clickable file names—long enough I had to scroll down to see all of them. The file names were meaningless letters and numbers, but next to each was a title like “The Times” or “Private record” and then a sentence that looked like a summary of the contents.

  I skimmed over them, but found myself slowing to read more carefully. Most of them were journal entries, but there were a few that came from something called History, whatever that was, and some titled “Letter: Harkness” or “Letter: Morales.” One or two were newspaper clippings from The Times, which I remembered was an English newspaper. Eventually, I cursed and shut the machine down. I had to leave for Viv’s club soon. I’d have to go over my treasure trove later.

  As I got dressed in proper clubbing attire Viv would dismiss as not flirty enough, I tried to put the Athenaeum records out of my mind. I couldn’t carry my work around with me and stay sane. I deserved to have a social life. Maybe I should think about dating seriously. I’d had a handful of dates since becoming the custodian, all of them at Viv’s instigat
ion, but I shouldn’t depend on her to find me guys all the time. It also might stop me hopelessly pining after Malcolm.

  I swore again and shoved my feet into a pair of heels Viv would approve of. Even thinking about not thinking about him started me smiling in a goofy way. I needed to get over him. Starting tomorrow, I thought and locked my door behind me.

  “Judy, can I ask you to do something tedious and possibly pointless?”

  “You can,” Judy said, eyeing me like she expected the other shoe to drop, “but I might say no.”

  “I hoped you could go through the instruction manual looking for clues about Abernathy’s strange behavior. I have all these files from the Athenaeum to read.”

  Judy’s eyes narrowed. “What files?”

  “Journals, letters. Some excerpts from a book.”

  “All right, but I want to read those files too.”

  “Thanks. I could print them out for you.”

  Judy made a scornful noise. “Who reads hardcopy anymore?” She picked up the instruction manual and took it with her out of the office.

  I settled in at my desk with my laptop. I had about an hour before the store opened, enough time to do a little digging. I decided to start with the journals. Maybe I did need to start keeping one of my own, though the thought that any journal I kept could end up a public record in the Athenaeum was off-putting. I clicked on the first link, whose summary described it as the journal of Ada Abernathy. One of Silas’s relatives.

  June 6, 1916 Today I placed an augury into the hands of a customer and heard it speak in clear if accented English the answer to the man’s question. As it was a question relating to his marital fidelity, the customer was extremely embarrassed, as would I have been were I the sort to become embarrassed at such things. Seven auguries performed today and only one with this result. I shall keep a record of any more such incidences. Fighting continues near Ypres, but Abernathy’s assures us war will not reach our shores.