The scholar sent his slave to Old Pup, who requested a candle for his master’s alcove. Old Pup was pleased to oblige. After the boy gave his master the candle, he was sent to the shelves on some errand. The flame by the scholar was steady. I was about to approach Old Pup when suddenly, despite the absence of any breeze, it went cleanly out. The scholar fiddled with the candle impatiently. Just as he brought it close to his face, Old Pup clicked his fingers and the wick caught in a great flash that singed the scholar’s eyebrows.
I returned to the shelves, Old Pup to his scroll. A few moments later, the scholar left, barking instructions at his slave. Old Pup winked at the boy. Then he turned to me.
It was only then, I think, that he noticed me. He frowned as if I was the one who’d done something strange. I felt suddenly afraid. His questioning eyes suggested he was in fact very responsible for the bizarre happenings with the lamps, and that perhaps I shouldn’t have seen them.
Old Pup stood. I turned to go.
‘Just a moment,’ he said.
I ducked between some shelves near the stairs. Suddenly, the scrolls slid off the shelves and slotted together like bricks. Invisible, nimble hands erected a wall, blocking my way. I turned to retreat, but another wall of scrolls awaited me, the last few volumes stacked well above my reach.
Silence. Then, the clacking of wood on marble as Old Pup made his way towards me and my prison of books. I realised then that there was no one else on the floor; in fact, I couldn’t hear any other sound.
‘I’m sorry to restrain you but it’s quite remarkable that I can, to be honest, and I must speak with you,’ Old Pup’s voice came from beyond the wall of scrolls.
I pushed on them, leaning with all my weight, then tried to climb the empty shelves. Both the shelves and the books shifted around my efforts.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Old Pup said. ‘If anything, I wish to embrace you!’
There was joy in his voice. Elation.
One of the book walls parted. Old Pup hobbled towards me. I thought of running, of shoving him aside, but his smile disarmed me, that same smile that was given so readily whenever I brought him an oddity from the ships.
Old Pup held out his hand. A scroll fluttered down to him, levitating above his palm. As he tilted his head and observed me, the scroll unravelled and danced like a ribbon caught in the breeze. As he returned his head to centre, the scroll wound itself back up and, with a delicate gesture, fluttered softly back to the shelves.
Yet it was Old Pup who seemed amazed. He said, ‘You see this!’ with awe.
‘My wife!’ I shouted.
It surprised us both. Old Pup frowned.
‘She’ll be waiting for me,’ I managed, much quieter this time.
The wall of books came up behind Old Pup. He dropped his cane and grasped my arms. ‘I’ve waited for years! I just thought this was it! But now I have you! You’ve seen it!’
‘I don’t know what I’ve seen.’
‘But you saw it!’
‘I can not have seen it?’ I suggested nervously.
‘No, it’s wonderful! We must talk! Let me buy you dinner. I can tell you of the mischief – I can tell you, I can say it!’ He lost himself for a moment, delirious. ‘Will you come? I’ll take you to the finest establishment I can afford.’
‘I must get home,’ I said. ‘Please.’
My final word was a cowardly beg. Old Pup frowned sadly at me and slowly nodded. He let go of me and gestured at his walking stick. It flew to him, slotting neatly into his hand. All his exuberance was gone.
Yet, we were still walled in by the prison of books.
‘Will you come tomorrow?’
‘Yes, yes, I will,’ I said a little too quickly.
‘I can do no harm,’ he said. ‘I’m an old man with strange tricks. That’s all.’
I nodded. ‘I will.’
The scrolls at my back parted and slotted gently back onto the shelves. I backed away, knocked my elbow and then scurried off. Once I left the library, I ran home. Only when I sat down to dinner did I realise I still had the unique book from the ships. Its novelty was suddenly lost on me.
I couldn’t sleep that night, and happily got up when the baby cried. As I rocked my son to sleep, I went over the stacks of my mind. I liked to think of my mind as a library, with memories curled up like scrolls and grouped together on shelves. I went over everything I could find on Old Pup.
When I was first employed as a confiscator, gossip about the library and its inhabitants were regular topics of conversation. Confiscators rarely left the port, going only between the ships and the warehouses that stored their loot, so we often mused on the goings on of the institution we all served but did not visit. Occasionally, we were required to help transfer scrolls from the warehouses to the library. Men who were given such a task came back with stories of the cloistered bookworms in their chicken coop of the Muses.
Old Pup was in charge of acquisitions. He once came to speak to us about the importance of our work. From that point on, every man who delivered scrolls to Old Pup and his team came back with rumours. He had no real name. Some said he went under the title of ‘the boy’ for decades. When he came to the library, he took the name Old Pup but no one could say when that was.
Wilder stories circulated beyond the oddity of his name. His life spanned a century. He’d travelled the world, going even further than Alexander the Great, then settled in Alexandria for a beautiful but barren woman. Others insisted he’d never left Alexandria, born within its walls and never venturing out. One rumour claimed he’d once been a slave.
In my dealings with him, he was kind. Whenever I brought him scrolls, he expressed gratitude even if he had six of the same on his desk. After he gave me the right to bypass the clerks, I didn’t gossip about him. Now I wished I’d made more of an effort to listen to the stories.
Old Pup was waiting at my door the next day.
‘You’ve got the morning off,’ he said, taking my arm to steady himself. ‘Come, let’s have breakfast. I’m sure you’ve eaten but a morning without work is a day for two breakfasts!’
He led me away from the port, away from the house I shared with my family, away from the library. I gazed at his frail, hunched frame, leaning against me and his walking stick, and chided myself for the fear of yesterday. Whatever I’d seen, surely it wasn’t dangerous.
Then again, what kind of sorcery could extinguish and ignite flames? What wicked magic could move objects without touching them?
The fear set in again as we entered the Jewish Quarter.
‘Here,’ Old Pup said, motioning down a narrow lane. ‘The place looks shabby but the food is excellent.’
I paused. I still felt nervous. Old Pup smiled as he waited for me to walk him down the alley. Then something came over me, something that lodged itself between the fear and the self-assurances that he was just a harmless old man: curiosity. I smiled back.
The café was unkempt but no more so than the restaurants near the port. Old Pup and I were not scholars; though we worked for the library, we didn’t receive a tax-free stipend or lodgings within the Royal Quarter. We existed on the fringes, often near the port warehouses. As we were served surprisingly delicate wine, Old Pup took a small piece of papyrus from inside a chest pocket in his robe. He lay it on the table in front of me, smoothing it out delicately. It was crinkled, with a small tear in the top right-hand corner, and blank save for a single word: Pup.
‘This is a memory,’ he said.
The word on the page suddenly bled, the ink dispersing across the papyrus, and then reformed back. I glanced up. Old Pup looked even more surprised than me.
‘It hasn’t done that in a long time,’ he said.
I stared back down at the papyrus. Then, tentatively, I touched it.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else. A busy agora. Walking towards a river. Athens. I drank water and choked as an old naked man laughed. I served wine to Alexander the Great. I played with fire and ran
with chickens. I defied time, slowing it. I turned sand into a dead king to threaten a living one. I took the papyrus from the stiff hands of a dead philosopher.
I snatched my hand away. The world shifted back to the restaurant in Alexandria.
Old Pup frowned. ‘Are you alright?’
I looked at my fingers and then the papyrus. ‘I saw … I saw where you got this.’
‘What did you see?’ Old Pup asked urgently.
‘The river, Diogenes … I played a trick on Alexander the Great,’ I mumbled. Finally, I looked up at him. ‘Was I … was that you?’
Old Pup smiled. Tears filled his eyes as he nodded.
I was shocked. ‘How … why did you … show me this?’
‘It’s never done that before,’ he said. ‘What else did you see?’
‘Plato’s Academy. Graffiti.’
‘No, after all that.’
‘I – you found the paper and the ink shifted.’
‘After that.’
‘That was the last thing I saw.’
‘Oh. Really?’
‘Should I have seen more?’ I asked, nervous that I’d upset this strange sorcerer.
‘I don’t know. I just … I’ve done a lot since then.’
We went silent as a serving woman delivered warm bread to our table. Old Pup indicated that I should take some, but he did so absently, waving his hand limply. He took a piece himself, but his eyes never left the papyrus.
‘I didn’t expect it to do that,’ he said. ‘But I’m surprised it only showed you one … event.’
He put the bread down without taking a bite. He finally looked at me.
‘You know what I am now, or at least, what I came from. This mischief, magic, whatever you wish to call it, has been with me since those memories you just saw. The papyrus –’ he picked it up and tried to rip it ‘– it doesn’t tear, burn or stain.’
He dipped it in his wine and lifted it out dry. ‘I don’t know what these abilities are for, but I’ve done such wondrous mischief. When I was younger, I’d leave small slips of paper; ‘A. Mischief’ I called myself. I calmed storms when I crossed the seas, slowed time to steal scrolls from kings. But I couldn’t do anything when someone was looking at me.’
He then placed the papyrus back down in front of me. ‘Until now. You’ve seen me.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Not even my wife knew. I lost my voice when I tried to speak of it. I wrote letters but the ink always shifted into something else. She died some time ago now. It never allowed me to tell her.’
I felt uneasy. What did he mean by ‘allowed’?
‘I thought about this yesterday,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you are to be the next mischief.’
‘But … this seems wicked. I don’t want this.’
Old Pup took my hand, his eyes full of sympathy. ‘Maybe you’re just to record it before I die so the scholars will have something new to ponder. I don’t know. But you mustn’t worry.’
I nodded. He let go of my hand and finally, we ate. The serving woman came with two bowls of stew. She winked as she gave me the one with more chunks of meat. Old Pup smirked as she left. He clicked his fingers and our bowls magically switched places.
When we finished our meal, we walked slowly through the streets, Old Pup showing me a few of the things he could do. We found that when he slowed time, it slowed for me too. Even as he hobbled along, we overtook passers-by, all of whom failed to notice us. He encouraged me to try to snub out candles in shop windows, but my attempt to stare down the humble flames only garnered confused frowns from the shops’ patrons. Old Pup waited until their backs were turned, waved his hand, and the whole street went dark.
Suddenly, I remembered the odd book I found the day before. We would pass by my home, so I insisted we drop by to get it. When we arrived, Adoni, my wife, was flustered by the impromptu visit. She ran fingers through her uncombed hair as she held our son.
‘Don’t worry, dear, you’re a vision,’ Old Pup said.
She smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. Please sit. I’ll bring some wine.’
He sat as I retrieved the book. When he saw it, he took it eagerly, almost snatching it. He held it up to examine what bound it together.
‘It’s a book, isn’t it?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes,’ he said.
‘You’ve seen one before?’
Old Pup didn’t respond, lost in his inspection. Adoni served wine but he didn’t notice. I tried to penetrate his thoughts.
‘So, this cut-up scroll –’
‘Codex,’ he said. ‘The future of the book.’ He used his mischief to hover it above his hands. The pages fanned out elegantly. ‘Look at it. I tried telling Eratosthenes but had no example to show him.’
‘Have you seen many codexes?’
He smiled warmly. ‘Codices,’ he corrected. ‘And no. Only heard about them. Long ago.’
I waited for an explanation. Instead he pointed through the single window behind me. The sun was almost in the middle of the sky. My shift would start soon.
We set out towards the library. Old Pup grasped the codex under his arm. When we arrived, he fished a piece of papyrus from his pocket and placed it into my hands. For a moment, I thought he’d given me the old page he’d taken from Diogenes. I looked down to find an address.
‘I live nearby. I’m old now, so the king moved me closer to the library. You may come any time you wish, especially if you ever notice anything unusual.’
We both knew what he meant. I nodded and wondered what mischief he performed to get himself so close to the scholars’ official lodgings.
‘Do visit me though, even if nothing changes. At least, you can record my story. I’d be very grateful,’ he paused, bowing his head in some small embarrassment, ‘even for a little company. Bring the family.’
‘I will,’ I assured him.
He grasped my arm again. ‘But be careful.’
I nodded.
‘Those letters I wrote to my wife. The last time I did it, the ink shifted into the most horrible note. She cried for days. I couldn’t tell her I didn’t write it.’
‘You speak of it like it’s a living thing.’
‘It is. It’s not always you wielding the mischief. Sometimes it wields you. And sometimes, it will punish you.’
I nodded, trying not to show how terrified I was. I waited for him to enter the library and then ran out of the Mouseion, my eyes on the sky. I would be late. Yet, if I think back on it, I made it to the port so quickly it was as if time had stopped.
Six ships, all with hidden manuscripts. I’d never seen so many actively hiding their literary cargo. Yet, after the fifth ship, I began to wonder if maybe this wasn’t so unusual. Perhaps it was me who’d changed, suddenly able to know where things were hidden as if a beacon marked them on every ship. As I parroted the same request for books, my mind was elsewhere; a captain’s mattress, a bag of wheat, the stitching of a lady’s skirt. Otus, a fellow confiscator and friend, laughed as I insisted the woman forfeit the scrolls in her gown or have her clothes removed.
‘You’ve found more scrolls this afternoon than I have all week,’ he said. ‘In fact, you’ve found more than you’ve found all week!’
By home time, the thrill of finding so many books drained away. I felt sick. My eyes went in and out of focus. Otus steadied me, holding my shoulders as he walked me away from the port.
‘Just a bit of seasickness,’ he said. ‘Bound to happen when you jump from ship to land all day.’
No, that wasn’t it. Something was wrong. The beacon that showed me all those hidden books now called to me from the library. It came with pain, dizzying pain. Otus had to carry me to my door. When she saw me, Adoni took me to bed and stroked my hair. Just like Old Pup, delicately stroking the pages of the codex.
The next morning, I knew I had to see Old Pup. I left home before sunrise. If I had the correct address, his flat was right next to the scholars’ marble lodgings opposite the library. I knocked bu
t no one answered.
The sun was lighting up the streets as I made my way to the library. It seemed strange that he’d leave for work before dawn, especially when he lived so close, but the acquisitions team famously spent more time at the library than the scholars themselves. I met Cleon on the way. Old Pup’s wry second-in-command looked weary.
‘Little early to be coming from the ships,’ he said.
‘I forgot to give something to Old Pup,’ I lied.
Cleon sighed. ‘Come on then.’
We made our way through the gardens. As we came towards the main doors, I felt sick again. There was someone lying on the ground. Their robes were spread out, stained red. That violent colour pooled beside them. The blood slowly spread, fresh.
Old Pup. His eyes open wide and unblinking. He stared up at the windows on the highest floor, as if he was still glaring at the place from where he had fallen. Or been pushed. His mouth was open. He looked surprised.
‘For goodness’ sake, call the guards!’ Cleon shouted.
I stumbled, my sight blurred. Cleon barked something about watching the body as he ran, shouting, towards the gates. My sight returned to normal and a sense of urgency gripped me. I went to Old Pup’s side and lifted the robe at his chest. The hidden pocket was empty.
I took off. I ran all the way to acquisitions. The codex was missing. I ran to the top floors, to where Old Pup’s dead eyes stared with fear and accusation. Scrolls were scattered on the ground. But still, no codex.
I returned to a garden full of people. Guards surrounded the body. Shouts, gasps and questions drowned out the subtle sound of the sea in the distance. Cleon touched my arm. I looked down at him and noticed I had blood on my hands. I shivered. His robes were stained too.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’
In an unprecedented move, the king closed the library. Work at the port was to continue, but the library itself was closed. Never had its doors been shut, its scholars sent scurrying back to their dormitories. Guards from the palace came to the library on the king’s command, and Cleon and I were questioned for so long that the blood on our robes stiffened. Finally, we were given leave to clean ourselves in the kitchens, with fresh clothes given to us and our own sullied ones taken. We were then pushed out the gates as officials from the palace came in. We stood there in silence, our backs to the hushed voices and barked commands that filled the gardens.
The History of Mischief Page 5
