the library

In this case he'd been looking. Between rest and avoiding fevers, he searched cafes and approached others questioning vaguely. No success. After a week he found the door nearly at random, ran away instead of touching. An hour later he was back with Ina. Wired and hungry, second-hand raindrops pouring through some slit in the ceiling or floor or something. Panting exhausted, freezing, it was worth it for the only reliable source of information on the unreliable map. Ziv scraped the door with his fingertips.

"I haven't been here in ages," Ina breathed, closing eyes against the water. "Better have a fire, coffee..."

"Don't speak a second." Ziv heard shuffling footsteps, no feet lifted or dropped.

"Is it urgent?" A voice rasped. Ziv felt fingers close around the opposite doorknob.

"Just your two faithful oprichniks waiting in the rain without food, without knowledge or a place to stay, yadda yadda, I'd say it's urgent in need of guidance from a fiddler such as yourself and whatnot and such..." he rambled, purposely pathetic until the door cracked passively. They slipped in without hesitation.

Relief seeped as they passed the door, a warm blanket of candlelight and incense. Ziv sealed the entrance as his eyes adjusted. Ina stepped ahead, rain spreading eyelashes like spiderlegs, sniffling. The Librarian was already seated back at the table, reclining to finish last drops of tea. They crept up to the table and sat.

"Nice to see you together again. It's been awhile, hasn't it?" The Librarian's voice was thin and low. He pushed his chair back and cleared a few stray books off the table. Disappearing behind a shelf, he reappeared moments later with the original teapot and cups. He was lean and muscular, prison tattoos up arms, old by Underground standards. Somewhere in his 40s. A long time to survive by no name and no number.

"It has, but you already knew." Ziv relaxed. The scent of old books unwound his brain, but the scent was mostly exaggerated by incense and heat-thickened air. Truly, the Library only stocked a few shelves of old books and newspapers that rotated shifts. Most of the information was quickly transcribed to some digital format with an analog shadow, circuits on disks on wires. A few no name, no numbers must be Library Assistants, cautiously plugging away new stories and old texts unseen. Reverse termites, Ziv imagined. But this didn't concern him. The point was proof in anonymity, reliability, neutrality. Behind the door, they spoke plainly with faith.

“Coming with news and inquiries I'd imagine?"

"Both, yeah. If there's any gaps on the incident last week you need filled I'll help. Though the sequence of events is shakier for me." Ziv shot a look to Ina and she picked up.

"We came nowhere near any assassination, by the way," she said boldly with guarded posture. "So I don't even know if you'd call it botched. Ziv was shot as soon as we got in character. And the rest is a mess...hence us coming here."