“I have an idea,” I said slowly. “I know this is going to sound-undignified, but I would feel better if you would humor me about it. We can take some-charms-with us from the church here -” She raised her eyebrows. “We’ll find something-candles or crucifixes or something-and buy some garlic on the way home-I mean to my apartment -” The eyebrows went up further. “I mean, if you would consent to accompany me-and you could-I may have to leave for a trip tomorrow, but you could -”
“Sleep on the sofa?” She had her gloves on again and now she folded her arms. I felt myself flushing.
“I can’t let you go back to your rooms knowing you might be pursued-or to the library, of course. And we have more to discuss, I think. I’d like to know what you think your mother -”
“We can discuss that right here, right now,” she said-coldly, I thought. “As for the librarian, I doubt he would be able to follow me to my room, unless -” Did she have a sort of dimple on one side of her stern chin, or was that sarcasm? “Unless he can turn himself into a bat already. You see, our matron doesn’t allow vampires in our rooms. Or men, for that matter. Besides, I’m hoping he will follow me back to the library.”
“Hoping?” I was startled.
“I knew he wouldn’t talk with us here, not in the church. He is probably waiting outside for us. I have a bone to pick with him”-that extraordinary English again-“because he is trying to interfere with my library privileges, and you believe he has information for you about my-Professor Rossi. Why not let him follow me? We can discuss my mother on the way.” I must have looked more than doubtful, because she suddenly laughed, her teeth white and even. “He is not going to jump on you in broad daylight, Paul.”
Chapter 21
There was no sign of the librarian outside the church. We strolled toward the library-my heart was thumping hard, although Helen looked cool-with twin crucifixes from the church vestibule in our pockets (“Take one, leave a quarter”). To my disappointment, Helen did not mention her mother. I had the sense that she was merely cooperating temporarily with my madness, that she was going to vanish once we reached the library, but she surprised me again. “He is back there,” she said quietly about two blocks from the church. “I saw him when we turned the corner. Do not look behind you.” I stifled an exclamation and we walked on. “I am going to go into the upper stacks in the library,” she said. “How about the seventh floor? That is the first really quiet area. Do not go up there with me. He is more likely to follow me if I’m alone than to follow you-you are stronger.”
“You are absolutely not going to do that,” I murmured. “Getting information about Rossi is my problem.”
“Getting information about Rossi is precisely my problem,” she muttered back. “Please do not think that I am doing you a favor, Mr. Dutch Merchants.”
I glanced sidelong at her. I was getting used to her harsh humor, I realized, and something about the curve of her cheek next to that long straight nose looked almost playful, amused. “All right. But I’ll be right behind him, and if you get into trouble I’ll be up there in a split second to help you.”
At the library doors we parted with a show of cordiality. “Good luck with your research, Mr. Dutch,” Helen said, shaking my hand in her gloved one.
“And you with yours, Miss -”
“Shh,” she said and walked off. I retreated into the card-catalog stands and pulled out a drawer at random to make myself look busy: “Ben-Hurto Benedictine.” With my head bent over it, I could still see the circulation desk; Helen was getting a permission slip to enter the stacks, her form tall and slim in the black coat, her back turned decisively on the long nave of the library. Then I saw the librarian creeping along the other side of the nave, keeping close to the other half of the card catalog. He had reached “H” by the time Helen moved toward the door of the stacks. I knew that door intimately, went through it almost daily, and never before had it yawned with meaning for me as it did now. It stayed propped open during the day, but a guard nearby checked entrance slips. In a moment, Helen’s dark figure had vanished up the iron stairs. The librarian lingered for a minute at “G,” then groped for something in his jacket pocket-he must have special library identification, I realized-flashed a card, and disappeared.
I hurried to the circulation desk. “I’d like to use the stacks, please,” I said to the woman on duty. I’d never seen her before-she was very slow-and it seemed to me her round little hands fumbled for an eternity with the yellow slips before she could give me one. At last I made it through the doorway and put a cautious foot on the stairway, looking up. On each floor you could see up one level through the metal steps, but no farther. No sign of the librarian above me, no sound.
I crept to the second floor, past economics and sociology. The third was deserted, too, except for a couple of students at their carrels. On the fourth floor I began to feel really worried. It was too quiet. I should never have let Helen use herself as bait on this mission. I suddenly remembered Rossi’s story about his friend Hedges, and it made me quicken my pace. The fifth floor-archaeology and anthropology-was full of students, undergraduates attending some kind of study group, comparing notes sotto voce. Their presence relieved me somewhat; nothing heinous could be going on just two floors above that. On the sixth floor I could hear footsteps above me, and on the seventh-history-I paused, unsure how to enter the stacks without giving my presence away.
At least I knew this floor well; it was my kingdom, and I could have told you the placement of every carrel and chair, every row of oversize books. At first, history seemed as still as the other floors, but after a moment I picked up muffled conversation from a corner of the stacks. I crept toward it, past Babylon and Assyria, treading as quietly as I could. Then I caught Helen’s voice. I was sure it was Helen’s, and then an unpleasant scraping voice that must be the librarian’s. My heart turned over. They were in the medieval section-I knew it well, now-and I got close enough to hear their words, although I couldn’t risk looking around the end of the next stack. They seemed to be on the other side of the shelves to my right. “Is that correct?” Helen was asking in a hostile tone.
The scraping little voice came again. “You have no right poking around in those books, young lady.”
“Those books? University property? Who are you to confiscate university library books?”
The librarian’s voice was angry and wheedling at the same time. “You don’t need to fool around with such books. They aren’t nice books for a young lady to be reading. Just turn them in today and nothing more will be said.”
“Why do you want them so badly?” Helen’s voice was firm and clear. “Does it have something to do with Professor Rossi, perhaps?”
Cowering behind English feudalism, I wasn’t sure whether to cringe or to cheer aloud. Whatever Helen thought of all this, she was at least intrigued. Apparently she did not consider me crazy. And she was willing to help me, if only to gather information about Rossi for her own ends.
“Professor-who? I don’t know what you mean,” the librarian snapped.
“Do you know where he is?” Helen asked sharply.
“Young lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I need you to return those books, for which the library has other plans, or there will certainly be consequences for your academic career.”
“My career?” Helen scoffed. “I cannot possibly return those books just now. I have important work to do with them.”
“Then I will have to force you to return them. Where are they?” I heard a step, as if Helen had moved away. I was on the verge of swinging around the end of the stack and bringing a folio of Cistercian abbeys down on the nasty little weasel when Helen suddenly played a new card.