The Infinite Library (19 page)

I tried to put myself in the mind of Castellemare – a vibrantly chaotic abyss, no doubt, swarming with enigmas. What did he think I might do if I refused to return the books? What if I decided to keep possession of them and flee? And what if I were successful? Where would I go? If there was one thing I was sure truly bored Castellemare, it was most likely the predictability of human beings. He would most likely deduce that I would go to his enemy, Setzer. And, in all honesty, I had been quite seriously considering it. But Setzer was a certifiable madman: in being denied access to the infinite library, he tried to compensate for the loss by constructing one of his own, a workshop entirely geared toward sabotaging the original. To flee from one madman to another didn't seem to me to be a feasible plan, especially since I was now craving a return to that banal normalcy I had so long ago rejected.

Although I had to hash a quick plan, I could not resist pondering over another problem. What was the true nature of the relationship between Castellemare and Setzer? Was their animosity faked, perhaps as a means of testing the loyalty of employees? Had Castellemare never trusted me in the first place and so assigned Angelo to tail me? All possible, but none of these possibilities really added up. Besides, why would I assign trust to Setzer when he and Castellemare were, despite antithetical roles, chummy enough to sip wine and play piquet together?

To be on the lam for stealing books that did not technically exist in this world. It was too absurd. But perhaps I had discovered too much in picking these exact texts... Or perhaps Castellemare assumed that I had discovered something too much that endangered a plan of his... a plan involving me. Or perhaps a plan I would have the power to prevent. I simply did not know the answer, but I certainly did not want to meet with Angelo. For all I knew, Castellemare wanted me to flee so as to better realize whatever plan he had in mind. I was becoming dizzy with speculation and had to focus on the concrete: what was I going to do? More agonizing was my firm understanding that, all things considered, I was thoroughly unimportant, and so undeserving of being thrust into this warped mystery. But, again, thrust by circumstance into this arcane arrangement, I had to figure out what I could do.

Option one: stick around and take my chances with Angelo. Decision: give back the books. Possible outcome one: to be done with the whole thing. Possible outcome two: violence and even death from revenge. Option two: flee. Possible outcome one: be tracked by Angelo, incurring perhaps worse. Possible outcome two: successful escape. If I chose the second option, where would I go? Possibility one: Setzer, but he could be in cahoots with Castellemare, or Castellemare would track me there. Possibility two: random location, go incognito for a while. Possible outcome three: could be tracked regardless, but offers potential hope of not being found.

It seemed to me then that the best option was to attempt an escape, for both could have possibly resulted in violence or death at the hands of Angelo, but there seemed to be more of a chance if I fled. And that is what I did, or attempted to do.

As I was consolidating my possessions into the category of the purely necessary and transportable, I thought of places to nest myself for a while. There was enough money in my account to skip the country, to take a flight anywhere. I called for a cab to pick me up at the front and made haste to leave just a few minutes after midnight. As I opened the door, I came face to face with Angelo, who was picking his teeth.

“Going on a merry little jaunt, guv'nor? Had a feeling you'd try to take a powder.”

Frozen in place, and stammering to respond, he draped a leather-jacketed arm over my shoulders and led me back into my apartment, taking care to close and lock the door behind us. He deposited me upon my reading chair and paced toward my window, breathing heavily as if measuring precisely what he was going to say. I felt as I did as a child when my father was so livid yet tried to keep his rage in check just long enough so that the seething within him could build up enough momentum for a full onslaught. It was that sort of tension in knowing that father would let fly, and the anticipation of violence was perhaps worse than the act itself.

“We have a very serious problem,” Angelo finally announced, still looking out the window. “A very serious problem.”

“I suppose it wasn't wise for me to make a run for it,” I offered as if to break the logjam of his doubtless prepared and long rehearsed spiel.

“Not wise? It was beyond stupid. You perhaps have no idea what deep, dark shit you're in. Very deep. very dark. You know,” he began, changing tack. “I never did like you. Right from the start you looked to me the pretentious poof. Stuck up like you're nobility.”

“I think you stated that I had a pickle up my ass, but I may be paraphrasing.”

“You're taking this quite calmly for someone in your perilous position! If I were you, I'd shut the fuck up.”

“Are you delving into this narrative of how you never liked me in order to steel yourself to do me in? Looking to rationalize your way to courage?”

“You're unbelievable. Where was I before you so rudely interrupted me? Ah, yes, how I never liked or trusted you. I know what you think of me, but like a fool you judge entirely by appearances. It makes you the biggest rube. I don't look the fancy-pants scholar you affect – and it is merely affectation, I might add. Do you want to compare accreditation, kiddo? I have two doctorates from more credible institutions than you, for one, but I don't need to use my intellect to browbeat others in order to feel better about myself. Your insecurity issues are fucking
common
. I have no interest in transitioning you to become a real human being or resolve the issue of your mummy not loving you enough. Now... This is a serious situation. We are not talking about an overdue public library book fine here, and the consequences are not going to be taking away your fucking library card. You contravened a very serious law here, man. You didn't
just
rob my employer through something trivial like pocketing his snuff box – you
violated the very idea of the Library
. You freely pissed all over the security we perform in protecting the contents of the Library from being passed around and read by you jelly-fingered idiots. You never did get it, did you? - And quit looking at me like I'm some ridiculous Kelly, you git. You endangered much more than you know. You fucked with things in a serious way. Who gave you the license and the entitlement to not only snatch those books, but to feast your greedy eyes on 'em? You fancy yourself above the law? You think curiousity alone is enough to pardon your actions? There isn't any amnesty for fucking curiousity, and you're not even a smidgen as bright as you think you are.”

“You've come for the books. You can quit the lecture.”

Angelo's eyes widened with angry incredulity, which was followed by his sudden kicking over of my work desk. I steadied myself the best I could.

“I can
what
now?”

“And I'm not giving the books back. I've decided to keep them,” I said, testing against better judgement what would come next. Silence.

“You know what? You're the type of worm who would have xeroxed them anyway. You lack any shred of respect. You're an audacious sot, aren'tcha?”

“I pass on the lecture, and I'm not keen on the personal attacks,” I said, surprised by my own steely calmness.

“Oh, really?”

“And your theatricals don't amuse me either. Nor your dialect that tries to pass itself off as Brit slang. Let me set things straight for you. I refuse to live in mystery and fear like you and Castellemare would have me do. I will not be intimidated in any way. Personally, I think you play your 'edgy smart and tough guy' role too heavily that it comes off unconvincing and false. You don't scare or impress me. You may know a little more than me about the Library, but not that much more, and only as much as Castellemare tells you. In all honesty, you're just a hired goon who is having a hard time reconciling his low-born task with his pretensions to intelligence. That's your big chip on the shoulder. I am not indentured to you or Castellemare in any way. I have my options.”

“Run to Setzer, you mean?”

“That's for me to know. Right now, I am going to ask you politely, but firmly, to leave my apartment and never bother me again. You will not get the books. You can tell your employer that you failed to re-acquire them because the current owner refuses to relinquish them. Perhaps I will return them once I am done reading them. I care not about any of the peril you speak of.”

“That the way it's going to have to be?”

“I'm afraid so. And if you get any fool notions about attacking me, I will kill you,” I said evenly, surprised at the way it just leapt out.

“Kill me? You? Undernourished geek?”

“This is the final stand I make. I am going away for a while and I'm not going to say where. I am going on vacation. I will
not
be followed. Get out.”

Angelo let a smirk twist upon his face but did not leave.

“You think you can just lay down your law and all will abide?”

“The moon is not in your favour, Angelo. It is in mine. I am no longer spooked by shadows of men.”

“You know not what you have wrought. So be it -”

“I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have a cab waiting outside and must go. Let me show you out.”

I brazenly placed my hand on his shoulder to lead him out, but he violently recoiled, giving me a shove.

“You little fucker!” he stormed. “You
don't
just walk away.”

“I do, and I am. I am leaving,” I responded with an equally stern rise in my voice.

He pulled out a switchblade. It was almost comical. I immediately opened my shoulder bag with the books in it, pulled out one of the volumes and held it like a shield between us.

“Let me ask you,” I asked, barely able to mask the quavering in my voice. “I understand that the existence of these books here in this world presents an inconceivable danger. But... what would be the cost of destroying them, so irreplaceable in the Library?”

I began backing away into the kitchen, and with one hand behind me and the other still shielding against the slowly advancing Angelo, I turned on the gas stove. Blue flames licked the air.

“Books for ransom?” he said.

“Put away the knife and leave.”

“You're just playing for time.”

“I said for you to put the knife away and leave, now.”

I steadied the book close to the flame, seriously intent on an act of biblioclasm. I waited to see if he would take my bluff.

“Your time will come,” he said, followed by the click of the blade nesting itself back into the handle. Angelo backed out of the kitchen and left the apartment. I turned off the stove and hastened to meet the cab already waiting outside for some time. We sped away toward the airport just as the rain was starting to slash across the slick streets, and the moon had been entirely occulted by a sickly yellowish nighttime tinge. Once I arrived at the airport, I was able to book a last minute ticket to Madrid, boarding time in an hour. I spent the hiatus reading this next chapter of the
Backstory
: