The Infinite Library

by Kane X Faucher

  “Have you ever used the letterhead of this institution before?”

  “Yes, which makes this potentially risky. I’ve actually used it before since this library is one of those where the boss’ books seem to pop up most frequently. A weird kind of rift thing he would be better disposed to explaining. So the general rule is supreme caution, no matter what. I’m the backup in this. That is, ask to see the book first before showing the letters. Have it in your hands, and then top up the performance with the official business. Introduce yourself as a visiting scholar right from the start, ask to see the book, and then provide the evidence of your claim to it. This works five times out of ten, depending on the librarian, and the other times you have to have the letter first for their inspection. Should there be any problem, I am dressed appropriately to function as plan C. If I suspect that things are going to make a turn for the worse, then I will cause a spectacle, maybe some public drunkenness, a violent tipping over of shelves, something startling… at which point you can fade away into the crowd or bolt - it’s your choice. Either way, we will have to dodge security. I only hope that I don’t have to resort to this unpalatable option.”

  “So what is plan B, since you have C covered.”

  “Ah! This is where you can start practising the gift of gab. What would you do if the librarian knows the letterhead to be stale, and therefore a forgery?”

  “I, um… hm. I guess I would stall.”

  “Your hesitation, even now, speaks volumes on your immediate guilt, gives away the game before it even starts. Here’s what you do: you have to act, perform, and believe yourself to be the genuine article and not some rogue goliard. Your first reaction must be shock, then consternation, and then confusion – the best one-two-three psycho-punch. This is convincing because it makes you appear as though you are as much a victim of fraud as the librarian and everyone else involved. You’re just some innocent and meek scholar who had applied to get this permission, but only through distance correspondence. You assumed everything was copasetic. You never once imagined that someone would sink so low as to implicate you in some twisted joke, making you an unwitting accessory to attempted theft. Yes, this must be some kind of cruel joke played on you by some nasty colleague who is trying to jeopardize your bid for tenure. Start speaking more to yourself at this point, puzzling out who could have done this to you. Apologize profusely, but meanwhile maintaining that your apology is on behalf of some cretin who is trying to sabotage your illustrious and impeccable reputation. Express your disbelief that someone would resort to such infantile tactics – this is key since it casts the whole framework of the suspicion and accusation as patently absurd, thereby softening up the librarian to the idea of predictable reason. Ask the librarian for contact information since you are now explicitly committed to getting to the bottom of this, of locating the culprit and putting an end to this sorry act of fraud. Don’t ham it up too much, make it believable, which is to say truly believe that you have been unduly placed in the wrong by cruel and vindictive forces. Get it? This old trick is the ultimate suspicion buster, the old shared victimization gag. Sure, I’m actually on your side. Ha!”

  “Doubtless, I have plenty of questions before I start--”

  “I’ll field one now. Shoot,” he said, winking and making an obnoxious cliché gun with his thumb and index finger.

  “Why not just find a sneaky way of bypassing the security system? Most books have that little magnetic strip inserted in the spine. With a small blade, and a delicate incision, it can be removed. After that, repairing it would be easy if one isn’t sloppy in mangling the text.”

  “Hey, Gimaldi… That’s pretty shrewd of you,” he eagerly applauded, followed by his deflating evaluation, “but not foolproof.”

  “When I was younger and foolish, I used to steal books from my public library.”

  “Well, looks like you’re at the foot of the circle. However, listen, we’re not lifting Nancy Drew or your run-of-the-mill academic slop freely available on the shelves for any grubby undergrad to rifle through to make a term paper… The books we are trying to retrieve are behind the desk. In some cases, and at some libraries, you need special letters of permission to even see them. But, you knew that already… Weren’t you at the Vatican Library? They don’t just open it up for any schmuck… You need authorization and a personal invite.”

  “Yes, of course. How foolish of me to make the parallel - “

  “Well, hold on a second, Gimaldi… Don’t be too down on yourself. The boss’ books can occur anywhere: under librarian lock and key, in someone’s personal collection, on the shelves at the public library, in one of those big mega-chain bookstore-slash-kitschy coffee shops…anywhere books are. Some jobs will be easier to pull off than others.”

  “Have you ever failed to retrieve a book, even with all your planning?”

  “Once,” he said, his face suddenly darkening with clouds of memory. “The poor guy who had it in his possession went mad. I really blew it, but the circumstances... I suspect something was working to counter my efforts, some kind of nudge or attempt to plant the text, well... I... never mind… I’d rather not get into that morose tale, especially when we ought to be keeping sharp and the morale high. No sense swapping stories on past failures when we need to go about the business of successful reacquisition.”

  And I left it at that, for now. Angelo would tell me one day…The story of Leo and the Red Lion book. He gave me a conspiratorial wink before gently tugging me in the direction of the library.

  4

  The Hidden Smirk

  As it turned out, the Dionysus book was the easier of the two books put in my charge to procure, and I was beginning to warm to my apprenticeship to Angelo… despite my earlier sewn-up judgements of his person. He was indeed a wealth of tricks, tips, and resources - a kind of veteran pirate or a shadowy prelate. Our next stop was Essen, Germany. Once my first procurement was confirmed via Angelo, Castellemare wired me the agreed-upon funds to finance my trip. Meanwhile, Angelo was already comparing return flight details and hotel prices.

  “Angelo,” I asked as he was thumbing his PDA, “why did I have to posture as a scholar from SUNY when the text was on a ‘to be shelved’ pile?”

  “A precaution and a practice. You can’t take too many chances - circumstance already plays fast and loose with life as it is. Besides, this is part of your tutelage. You’re in a probationary period. Reacquisition is a high stakes game, and failure is never an option.”

  I would not be the only one to find the cliché unbearable, or the association between books and Hollywood high-action drama amusing.

  Just then, Castellemare had sent an email to Angelo.

  “Huh. Looks like the boss has a side job for us. Some banking magnate’s house. A Hemingway novel dated 2018. Luckily, it’s only an hour’s drive away, but I suggest we do this right now.”

  “But it’s daylight! Someone will certainly see us.”

  “Oh, would you prefer to dress up as burglars and take bullets from the veck’s antique Luger as he protects himself from a perceived home invasion in his bedroom slippers and nightcap? We’ll go over in broad daylight as electricians – that way I can carry the necessary lock picking tools in an inconspicuous toolbox of electrician’s gear.”

  “But where will we procure any of these things on such short notice?”

  Angelo merely shot me an amused grin and indicated his PDA, his communication key to anything.

  In less than an hour, we had our uniforms and the right tools. We arrived at the house, a Patrician style home of wealthy proportions. There were scattered bookshelves on all floors.

  “In many ways,” Angelo mused aloud, “This is like a game of Whack-a-Mole: the books pop up, and we have to hammer them back in before unauthorized eyes see them. Anyhow, we’re going to have to work really fast; the house is probably rigged with a silent alarm. Why can’t these damn books appear more often in slums where the only thing on their shelves is Reader’s Dige
st and Auto Racer magazines? So I am going to count on your ability to scan spines fast, and I mean with maximum celerity and an eagle’s eye for details. All those years of scouring used bookstores for underpriced gems is really going to pay off here. You work downstairs, and I’ll check the upstairs. We split the house evenly so that we aren’t doubling and overlapping our labour.”

  Angelo was much faster than I was, and the honour of finding the AWOL text went to him. The job was fairly easy and went off with no incident. The book was in Angelo’s search domain, and he plucked it within fifteen minutes of poring over about 2500 books. It was nested between two bloated books of German history in gothic script, sandwiched there like a svelte whisper between two baritone blasts. We had made good time on the side job and hastened to complete our real reason for being here. Within six hours, we would be on a plane back. Again, the honours of doing all the legwork and reacquiring went to Angelo. I felt somewhat pedestrian.

  Angelo continued to regard me with mistrust, and I could tell by the patient and penetrating way he would look at me, as if at any moment I was about to spring a deceit and betray him. Although we had eased into an amicable working partnership, there was a lingering hostility or begrudging attitude manifest in Angelo that was noticeable from time to time, especially when I peppered him with questions. I had attributed this to my being a novice at this job, and his need to train me was slowing him down. Or perhaps my employment under Castellemare was taking away funds from Angelo’s own feedbag.

  “Have you worked with a partner before?” I asked him, breaking the silence on our way to the airport.

  “Yes. We won’t always be paired up. Some jobs require two reacquisitionists, while others are manageable for just one. But for now, while you learn the ropes, you aren’t ready yet for solo ops.”

  His action flick dialogue was getting the better of my credulity.

  “Is your other partner still working for Castellemare?”

  “No. He was canned. He was a good one, too, knew the job perfectly. An intuition and predisposition for it, as if he were born to work in this trade. That was Setzer. He was perhaps too good, and the fatal flaw was that he knew it, he knew he was indispensable – or at least thought he was until he took one too many liberties. You might say that he was to me what I am to you. I apprenticed under him for a time until I gained my second degree.”

  “What did he do?”

  “There are rules to this gig that you should know and follow. We have ironclad protocol for a reason since detection or greed-based betrayal of any kind is unacceptable. I should apprise you of these rules so that you will never pull a Lucifer on Castellemare. You see, Setzer got greedy and began bending the rules – of course, the rules were implied back then, much to the boss’ later chagrin. On account of that incident, everything had to be written down as law. Setzer nailed every job thrown his way, which made the boss immensely happy. Setzer was a pro, and he did it with an efficiency and ease that is still remarkable. He was even better than I am now, which is saying a hell of a lot. So, like any pro who gets bored with no increase in challenges, he started upping his price to the boss, and the boss – drunk with the delight of Setzer’s fine work – assented. But even that wasn’t enough. Setzer started making unreasonable demands to keep some of the books he reacquired on the boss’ behalf. He wanted to have his own library of Babel, and he began challenging the boss, even outright lying to him. The clincher was when, on a routine reacquisition, he effectively held the book for ransom and demanded in exchange not only an obscene amount of cash, but a list of books from the boss’ Library. That was a flagrant abuse of power and trust, so Castellemare cut him loose.”

  “So what happened to the book Setzer kept?”

  “The thing you have to understand about this business, Gimaldi, is that if you can reacquire a book, someone else can reacquire it from you. That’s where I came in. It was the toughest assignment I ever had because he had been expecting this very thing to happen. I had to wait for months and months until he let his guard down for a moment, and it was a very small window of opportunity. Setzer was not a reacquisitionist like us, but a deep-down thief. It was really tough for me since my loyalties were put to the test, divided like that. I had spent a long time with Setzer, you have to understand, and he was my teacher. The nature of the business is that you see more of your partner than you do your boss, but I had my scruples about me; I knew what was at stake, so I chose to be on the side of angels, really.”

  “So, I take it that one of the rules in this job is to not follow Setzer’s bad example.”

  “Yes, that is one of the rules. The other is to work diligently and never arouse suspicion, never give up any information no matter what. If you get caught, you say that you were working alone. Never implicate the others, and least of all the boss. But the most important rule of all is never violate the boss' trust. Always obey, give back the books you reacquire, and never think yourself clever enough to run off with them, or try to sneak in a bit of naughty reading. Big no-no.”

  “So if I follow these rules, I should expect continued guaranteed employment?”

  “Yes, and one more thing. There is also another way of getting fired, and it is this: if you fail even once to reacquire a book, then you are sent packing. Every mission is vital. Any loss is unacceptable.”

  “But didn’t you tell me that you once failed?”

  “I didn’t fail to reacquire the book, but my method turned into a catastrophe. The mark had looked into the book before I was able to snatch it back. There are some books in the library that are exceptionally dangerous, and this one in particular has a tendency of popping back into the open often and at the most inopportune times in the most treacherous hands. It is our most cursed book, and any of us who have been placed in charge to reacquire it has had all manner of tragic luck associated with its reacquisition.”

  Angelo fell into a silent, brooding reverie as he wheeled the Audi into the banker’s driveway. I attempted to pull him out of his funk with more bothersome questions.

  “You said earlier about acquiring your second degree -”

  “Gimaldi, this is a very sacred fraternity, and there are levels in what is called the Craft.”

  “Like freemasonry.”

  “No, you dunce! Not like freemasonry... We aren't a bunch of stinky old codgers trying to impose some rigid universal morality upon the world by meeting once a month and drinking beer in funny bathrobes. You have to reach back farther... to the same source the freemasons borrow from even though they got it all piss-backward. To the guilds themselves.”

  “Have I been... inducted? Initiated, or whatever your Order calls it?”

  “You're an employee. Proxy labour. We're not a religion, Gimaldi, and membership isn't given just by proximity. You have to choose it. We don't choose you. Christians do that sort of nonsense.”

  Our tasks were, in Angelo's estimation, a real light load without too much strain. Angelo informed me that such jobs without hitches or unforeseen events to negotiate were particularly rare, and seemed somewhat disappointed that my first real run with him was not more indicative of challenge.

  “I don’t want you to think any of this is a cakewalk. Be on all your cat-like points at all times. What may seem like a routine reacquisition can turn ugly and complicated in a flash.”

  “I wouldn’t make the mistake of considering this series of jobs the standard measure,” I said while flagging the air steward down for a glass of wine.

  “What’s next?” I asked.

  “Nothing on the docket for you at the moment. Lay low. The boss has a solo job for me in Chicago, but we’ll be in touch.”

  We spent the rest of the flight in silence, and we parted at the customs gate with a rather perfunctory handshake.

  I returned to my apartment in just the way I had left it, as if my departure was as noteworthy as my arrival in the stony indifference of the space. I went about the business of showering and settling in front of my com
puter with a stiff scotch. An email popped up:

  Gimalding,

  Angelo tells me things went smoothly. How ideal! You will learn much from him in the coming while, so keep your ears long and wax-free.

  You will note that the money for your services has now been wired to your account. I am mildly pleased with your performance, but every employer knows that he cannot judge his employees fairly until they engage more difficult tasks as they enter into their sophomore season. That is when the desire to please wanes, and performance generally wavers. I hope I am not describing you.

  The nature of contract work means that there will be prosperous times and lean times; I would suggest that you carry on with your other means of employment until I have something for you. Never fear: something uncanny always pops up, and it usually does so in a bookshelf very far away.

  I am sure that Angelo’s rather brash way about him may have briefly unsettled you. I am partial to him for his dedication and resourcefulness, as I am sure you have since discovered for yourself – between two covers lies an infinite expanse. I do hope he has given you the talk on our rules and regulations. You might say that I am like Lenin and my decrees are divine commands. Anyhoo, good work and all that. Don’t spend all your time with your beak in the books!

  Ciao

  Castellemare

  “O Geoffrey, what have I done? I’ve conquered the moon, yet there is nothing left to do!” - Dominic Perstia, The Purloined Galaxy.

  ------

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  I wrote back:

  Castellemare,

  Angelo did apprise me of the rules, and I do not intend to break them. Much was said, and I have to inquire about Setzer since I am curious.