Day 59,
Morning thought: I forgot to mention earlier between the headaches and running around looking for Theo, but when Lin left the day before yesterday she gave her archive key to Cass. That should make some things more convenient. Also, fitting that the apprentice should have a key.
I finally met Theo.
Mere seconds after I unlocked and opened the door at the top of the archive stairs to the library entry room the door to the street opened up and in walked a grizzled old man with a lined face, a close-cropped grey beard, and a guard’s signature spear and breastplate. Unlike every other guard I’d seen, he carried a shield and wore a hooded ochre robe under his breastplate and a jagged metal shoulder pad on his shield arm. Without bothering to introduce himself, he closed the door behind him and said that he’d heard I was looking for him.
I told him that was correct and thanked him for stopping by. When I said that I had some questions for him about his time as interim archivist he told me that Pat was the one to go to if I wanted advice. He claimed he just recited whatever people wanted to know from memory so he rarely touched the books, and he’s no good with kids so Pat handled the rainy season lessons.
Throughout the exchange he never moved from his spot in front of the door, staring me down, and I reflexively mirrored this, staying rooted to my spot at the top of the stairs, tense without really knowing why and struggling to look directly at him for more than a few seconds at a time. Was that last part social anxiety, nervousness, or something else?
Doing my best not to sound accusatory, I explained that my question wasn’t a matter of seeking advice. That I’d come to the conclusion that there were volumes missing from the archives and wished to inquire if he knew anything about that.
He asked me what made me come to that conclusion.
I explained, as I had to Lin and Vernon, that I often found references to events, but no first had records of the events themselves. That there was nothing about the Village’s founding. Or even any records more than two hundred years or so old (and even those are all re-transcribed copies) even the oldest records I could find implied that the library and the role of archivist had been around longer than that. That after months of reading, I still can’t find anything on Cloud Tower besides being referenced as a landmark and only know people have ever been inside because Pat told me. And that’s still more than I’ve seen the ruined cathedral - not an hour’s walk out of town - mentioned, which is not at all. That all the stories written down appear to be brought by outsiders, and I can’t bring myself to believe that the villagers have no stories, myths, or folklore of their own. That there’s seemingly no record of events that Pat told me about, the voyage to the edge of the world being chief among them. That at least one person I have talked to about this was able to recall a specific volume of historical records that we couldn’t find.
By the time I was done saying that I realized that I was out of breath from talking fast and raising my voice. I’d gotten more worked up about this than I’d expected.
Unperturbed, Theo simply asked me if I had proof. That everything I’d just said was just a long way of saying the archive doesn’t meet my expectations. That doesn’t necessarily mean that books were there and then removed. They could have simply never existed in the first place. Surely I must realize by now how easy it is for an archivist to get cooped up down in the archive and not notice things going on to write down while they wait for news to come to them. Or maybe the really old books just all deteriorated too much to have worthwhile copies made. Being underground helps, but the Village is still warm and humid enough to be hard on paper and ink. And if someone thought they remembered a now-missing book being present before, it could just be checked out. Or that person could be misremembering. Most people’s memories aren’t as reliable as they’d like to think. No solid reason to think there was something nefarious afoot.
I remarked that I never said I suspected something “nefarious”.
He said that I wouldn’t be so nervous bringing this up if I didn’t.
I insisted that it didn’t make sense for there not to be books like the ones that seemed to be missing.
The old guard, hints of irritation beginning to show, said outsiders are always going on about that. Complaining that things don’t make sense. Never stopping to consider that maybe things just don’t make sense to them. Rarely able to accept that things are what they are and getting consumed looking for answers that aren’t there, usually dragging others down with them.
He paused for a moment, sighed, and then in a more sympathetic tone he told me that the outsiders that live the happiest lives here are the ones who learn to simply accept the world as it is and be at peace with that. By all means, go out and explore, see what’s out there and find sights that no one’s seen before. But just worry about the What and the Where of things. Don’t obsess over the Why and the How or else one day I’ll be throwing myself into the Endless Abyss or losing myself in Cloud Tower.
As he turned to leave after imparting that advice, I asked him if he was keeping something from me.
Without turning around he asked me why I bothered to say that. If he wasn’t hiding anything he’d tell me he wasn’t, and if he was hiding something he’d just lie and say the same thing anyway. And even if I came to the conclusion that he was hiding something, I’d have no way of getting it out of him. I have no way of knowing for sure one way or the other, so I may as well believe what makes me happiest. Just like everything else. Mysteries don’t have to have answers.
And then he stepped out onto the street and closed the door behind him, leaving me still standing in my own doorway at the top of the stairs.
What do I even say to that?
On the one hand, his parting words practically sounded like a confession of guilt to me. On the other hand his whole point was that, like most outsiders, I keep looking for foul play and mysteries that aren’t there, and those last things he said were a case in point.
And what exactly do I think he’s guilty of? Taking a bunch of books out of the archives and hiding or destroying them? For what purpose? To keep people from reading them? But the sort of books that would have hypothetically been taken would have by their nature been around for a long, long time without having caused trouble. To keep me, specifically, from reading them? But he would have had to do it before I arrived, and no one knew when that would be, much less that I would end up as Archivist. To keep outsiders in general from reading them? But the old archivist was an outsider and one of the ones that were content like he suggested I try to be.
I left the Village early today. Not really able to concentrate on anything else after that conversation. Spent the rest of the day at home (funny how I’m calling it that more and more without thinking instead of “the house”) with my mind going in circles, trying to decide what to make of that conversation, replaying it over and over in my head, and ultimately not coming to any conclusions.
Well, maybe one conclusion. I need to talk to Pat.
What to say to him about this, I have no idea yet, and I sort of doubt I’ll get any more answers than I got from Theo. But still…
