When he felt that he could move without attracting undue attention, Sam replaced the magazine on the table and sauntered toward the Children's Library. He felt a little like a spy crossing enemy territory. The sign over the door was exactly the same, gold letters on warm dark oak, but the poster was different. Little Red Riding Hood at the moment of her terrible realization had been replaced by Donald Duck's nephews, Huey, Dewey, and Louie. They were wearing bathing trunks and diving into a swimming pool filled with books. The tag-line beneath read:
COME ON IN! THE READINGS FINE!
'What's going on here?' Sam muttered. His heart had begun to beat too fast; he could feel a fine sweat breaking out on his arms and back. If it had been just the poster, he could have assumed that La Lortz had been fired ... but it wasn't just the poster. It was everything.
He opened the door of the Children's Library and peeked inside. He saw the same agreeable small world with its low tables and chairs, the same bright-blue curtains, the same water fountain mounted on the wall. Only now the suspended ceiling in here matched the suspended ceiling in the main reading room, and all the posters had been changed. The screaming child in the black sedan
(Simple Simon - they call him Simple Simon they feel contempt for him I think that's very healthy, don't you)
was gone, and so was the Library Policeman with his trenchcoat and his strange star of many points. Sam drew back, turned around, and walked slowly to the main circulation desk. He felt as if his whole body had turned to glass.
Two library assistants - a college-age boy and girl - watched him approach. Sam was not too upset himself to see that they looked a trifle nervous.
Be careful. No ... be NORMAL. They already think you're halfway to being nuts.
He suddenly thought of Lukey and a horrible, destructive impulse tried to seize him. He could see himself opening his mouth and yelling at these two nervous young people, demanding at the top of his voice that they give him a few Slim Fucking Slim Jims, because that was chow, that was chow, that was chow-dedow.
He spoke in a calm, low voice instead.
'Perhaps you could help me. I need to speak to the librarian.'
'Gee, I'm sorry,' the girl said. 'Mr Price doesn't come in on Saturday nights.'
Sam glanced down at the desk. As on his previous trip to the library, there was a small name-plaque standing next to the microfilm recorder, but it no longer said
A. LORTZ.
Now it said
MR PRICE.
In his mind he heard Naomi say, Tall man? Thin? About fifty?
'No,' he said. 'Not Mr Price. Not Mr Peckham, either. The other one. Ardelia Lortz.'
The boy and girl exchanged a puzzled glace. 'No one named Ardelia Lord works here,' the boy said. 'You must be thinking of some other library.'
'Not Lord,' Sam told them. His voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. 'Lortz.'
'No,' the girl said. 'You really must be mistaken, sir.'
They were starting to look cautious again, and although Sam felt like insisting, telling them of course Ardelia Lortz worked here, he had met her only eight days ago, he made himself pull back. And in a way, it all made perfect sense, didn't it? It was perfect sense within a framework of utter lunacy, granted, but that didn't change the fact that the interior logic was intact. Like the posters, the sky-lights, and the magazine rack, Ardelia Lortz had simply ceased to exist.
Naomi spoke up again inside his head. Oh! Miss Lortz, was it? That must have been fun.
'Naomi recognized the name,' he muttered.
Now the library assistants were looking at him with identical expressions of consternation.
'Pardon me,' Sam said, and tried a smile. It felt crooked on his face. I'm having one of those days.'
'Yes,' the boy said.
'You bet,' the girl said.
They think I'm crazy, Sam thought, and do you know what? I don't blame them a bit.
'Was there anything else?' the boy asked.
Sam opened his mouth to say no - after which he would beat a hasty retreat -and then changed his mind. He was in for a penny; he might as well go in for a pound.
'How long has Mr Price been the head librarian?'
The two assistants exchanged another glance. The girl shrugged. 'Since we've been here,' she said, 'but that's not very long, Mr - ?'
'Peebles,' Sam said, offering his hand. 'Sam Peebles. I'm sorry. My manners seem to have flown away with the rest of my mind.'
They both relaxed a little - it was an indefinable thing, but it was there, and it helped Sam do the same. Upset or not, he had managed to hold onto at least some of his not inconsiderable ability to put people at ease. A real-estate-and-insurance salesman who couldn't do that was a fellow who ought to be looking for a new line of work.
'I'm Cynthia Berrigan,' she said, giving his hand a tentative shake. 'This is Tom Stanford.'
'Pleased to meet you,' Tom Stanford said. He didn't look entirely sure of this, but he also gave Sam's hand a quick shake.
'Pardon me?' the woman with the mystery novels asked. 'Could someone help me, please? I'll be late for my bridge game.'
'I'll do it,' Tom told Cynthia, and walked down the desk to check out the woman's books.
She said, 'Tom and I go to Chapelton junior College, Mr Peebles. This is a work-study job. I've been here three semesters now - Mr Price hired me last spring. Tom came during the summer.'
'Mr Price is the only full-time employee?'
'Uh-huh.' She had lovely brown eyes and now he could see a touch of concern in them. 'Is something wrong?'
'I don't know.' Sam looked up again. He couldn't help it. 'Has this suspended ceiling been here since you came to work?'
She followed his glance. 'Well,' she said, 'I didn't know that was what it's called, but yes, it's been this way since I've been here.'
'I had an idea there were skylights, you see.'
Cynthia smiled. 'Well, sure. I mean, you can see them from the outside, if you go around to the side of the building. And, of course, you can see them from the stacks, but they're boarded over. The sky-lights, I mean - not the stacks. I think they've been that way for years.'