Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Second Conjuration
Seal XXII
If tickets had still been available, we would not have missed the Hinterland Express to Haven. As it was, there was still a large volume of travelers heading off to holiday. It was five days until All Hallow's Eve. Everyone, it seemed, was either going to Cairnpapple or to Haven which was the home to a massive carnival celebration. So instead, we had managed to procure tickets for the next morning train and had checked back into the Greenglass Hotel for our overnight stay.
In the late afternoon, I felt restless with nothing to do before dinner. It was then I remembered that Greenglass had a museum. Perhaps a tour of a couple displays of some classical relics would put my mind at ease.
Because Al had insisted, I put the old grimoire into a drawer of a desk in my hotel room. The Necronomicon claimed that it wanted some rest, especially since Thor had given it no peace. The cat didn't like it when I put the book into the drawer. He yowled in consternation and proceeded to pace around the desk, periodically scratching at the wood. I assumed the old grimoire had instituted some sort of spell to keep the drawer closed, even if Thor finally figured out to get his paws onto the drawer handle.
"I thought you were going to take a nap." Rhys' voice gave me a start just as I closed my room door.
"I'm not feeling tired," I replied. "I wanted to go see a bit of Greenglass before getting dinner. What are you doing about? You were the one driving half the day."
He shrugged. "I'm fine. So where were you thinking of going?"
"The museum. I heard that there were some antiquities on display."
"I know of a better place than the museum."
"What?"
"There's a library next to the museum."
"Really?" I remembered to take out a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. The smeared symbols seemed to glimmer. "I want to know the origin of the rubric. It's too bad that Al couldn't tell us."
"I somehow doubt that the Greenglass library would have the answers you are trying to find, but I suppose it's worth a look, for the books if nothing else. Where's Al, anyway?"
"It had me putting it into a desk drawer. He was getting fed up with Thor."
"Well, the cat does have a mind of his own."
A cab took us to the end of the main street where a building of classical architecture stood. The front entrance Rhys pointed out, was the museum entrance for the public. The library was at the back--mostly for practical reasons. Few people, except for book collectors, came to visit the archives just to look at moldering tomes.
The back entrance itself was almost hidden at the back, a plain door painted the same color as the building walls. Inside, there was a small dark foyer where the guardian of the library sat at a desk illuminated by a lamp, scribbling away on his accounts. At the sound of our approach, the short gnome-like man in tortoiseshell spectacles looked us over and stood up. He came around his desk to greet us. His expression revealed nothing.
"Ah, Mr. Lattimore. I did not get a call that you would be visiting. Are you trying to find a reference for an appraisal you are doing at the auction house?"
"Not an appraisal this time, Mr. Hornby. This is a friend of mine, Miss Talbot. I'm trying to help her on some research."
Hornby cocked his head and adjusted his spectacles as if he was trying to see me better. "Now this is definitely a surprise. Miss Talbot, did you say? You're not Ana Talbot, Professor Wallace's research assistant at the Institute back in Colchester?"
Startled, I replied, "I am one and the same. I did not imagine that my name ever traveled up to Greenglass. How do you know of me?"
"Professor Wallace traveled up here occasionally to use our library and he would often extol your work ethic. I had, however, imagined you to be older."
I found myself amused. "I am older than what I appear to be. I am flattered that you've heard only good things about me."
"Indeed. Otherwise, I would be questioning Mr. Lattimore's choice in companion." Hornby slanted a look at Rhys which made him cough in embarrassment. "With his reputation, I was thinking maybe the library would be a new thrill for him for his list of exploits."
I laughed. "Oh, I don't think you would have to worry about your library being violated, Mr. Hornby. I'll let you in on a secret. Mr. Lattimore actually thinks of books as people. A library would be for exhibitionists."
Rhys gave a mock frown. "How do you know I'm not an exhibitionist?"
I shook my head. "If you are, you've been very discrete about it."
That made Hornby crack a smile. "That's a bit of an oxymoron, don't you think? Is there such a thing as a discrete exhibitionist?" He finally waved a hand. "All right. The library is just down the hall. We have quite an impressive number of volumes if I do say so myself. If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask me."
The library was a maze of shelves interspersed periodically with thin windows which let in little natural light. It was gloomy once we entered, forcing us to resort to the electrical lighting. The place was cramped and claustrophobic, making me feel as if I had turned back into a book myself and somebody had crammed me onto an already full shelf filled with thick volumes of dry prose by long dead authors.
But leaving aside the fact that there was little space, I didn't even know where to start. On the first shelf I came to, I saw herbals and biographies about ancient kings stacked together.
Seeing my bewildered expression, Rhys tugged me deeper into the stacks. "The texts on symbols and sigils are a couple shelves over. You would never know it unless you had somebody who was familiar with the library guide you through."
"This place is as jumbled as that store room back at the auction house."
"On the surface of it, it does seem so. But there is a method to the madness. This collection was originally bequeathed to the museum by a very eccentric book collector. He had his own system for organizing books. And it was his stipulation that people kept using this system if they wanted to keep these books."
"Is this book collector dead?"
He gave me a strange look. "Yes. Why do you ask?"
"If he's dead, then he won't be around to really see how the books are arranged. Someone could now organize all these stacks into a more intuitive order."
"Ah, but you're not taking into account inertia. Once things are done one way, people are hesitant to change. Hornby might seem like a congenial fellow to you, but he would be the first to complain if he were forced to reorganize."
"That's too bad that laziness causes this to remain a mess."
"Well, there is one upside to this disorganization. It discourages most people from wandering into here. Ah, here they are."
I examined the volumes on the shelf that Rhys indicated. It was located in an alcove of the library, away from direct sunlight. I took out a promising candidate and flipped it open. Then I took the crumpled piece of paper from Archibald Chesterfield's summer cottage that used to contain a rubric. I tried to compare the symbols.
"Hm. Reminds me of old journals with flowers pressed between their pages. Lilac and violets, perhaps."
"What?" I twisted around, finding Rhys behind me. He seemed perilously close. Perhaps he was looking over my shoulder, examining the symbols with me. "What did you say about flowers?"
He didn't answer my question. Instead he said, "I don't think that's the right book. Try that one."
"All right." I put the book away and took out another one. "You know, this place feels like a crowded train terminal. Even if there isn't another person in here, I feel as if there's someone watching or listening."
"Does it really matter that much to you?"
"Don't make fun of me because I'm naturally more paranoid than you."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
His comment caught my notice, but I continued to examine the book in front of me. "Speaking of dreams, do you dream? I want to know because I don't."
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. Perhaps you forget your dreams once you awake."
"So you have dreamed."
"Sometimes I remember them," he replied vaguely. "Have you found anything yet?"
I tapped the page of the book. "This looks very similar although I can't be certain since the rubric is smudged. But if it is this, the spell has its origins in fifteenth century black magic. If it was going to summon something, it would be something quite bad."
"You can't be more specific?"
"No. The rest of this rubric is rubbed out." I put the reference away and the paper back into my pocket. "Thank you for showing me around this place. I would not have found anything otherwise."
"You're smart. You would have figured it out with or without my help." One moment, his hand was on my elbow as if he was about to escort me out. The next, my back was against the shelf and he was looking down at me, his eyes green. "Perhaps," he said lowly, "You should run."
I tilted my chin up took him in the eye. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Maybe you should be." He reached up to tug on a lock of my short hair and then tucked it back. The brush of his fingertips on my ear felt like a brand. "There was a time back in the day when I did not hesitate to take what I wanted."
"Why do you hesitate now?"
"I could blame social conventions." His face was close to mine. I could feel his breath on my cheek. His pupils were wide and black. "Or maybe I've gone soft and patient."
"You don't strike me as the soft and patient type."
"I think I've been uncharacteristically patient. But patience only holds out for so long."
My heart seemed to beat through my chest as he leaned a fraction closer and his bookish scent enveloped me.
"Mr. Lattimore?"
At the sound of the nasal voice at the entrance of the library, he stepped back. I turned to the shelf and pretended to look at the titles. My face felt hot and my pulse was still too fast.
"Ah, Mr. Lattimore!" A thin man appeared, his hair lacquered to his skull and his brown suit meticulously pressed. "Mr. Hornby told me that you were in town. I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet with you."
Rhys stiffly nodded. "Mr. Witford. It is good to see you again."
"Same here. Say, I've gotten some new antiquities in and I was wondering if you could do me a favor, just to look over them. I wouldn't want the museum to be fleeced, of course."
"Yes, of course."
Witford slanted me a glance. "The new load is already in one of the museum back rooms. Your acquaintance is welcome to come along. I am quite sure that it will be more exciting than all these old books."
I was an old book myself, but I replied, "I'll be delighted to accompany you gentlemen. I admit, I do have a bit of curiosity about classical antiquities."
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