Page 83 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

Livira sat with Arpix listening to Master Logaris. The idea that a handful of old men with political and personal axes to grind could see her thrown into the streets, when she already knew more about the library than they did, made her furious. But short of running off into the chambers and living wild among the books, there seemed to be nothing she could do about it.

On her new table Livira had already received more personal instruction from Master Logaris than she had during her time at all the others combined. Today he had broached the subject of the difference between what the library’s customers said they wanted and what they actually wanted. He began by inviting the trainees to offer their own opinions, and Arpix walked into the trap.

“Truth?” Master Logaris scoffed at the idea. “We deal in affirmation. People don’t want truth. They say that they do but what they mean is that they want the truth to agree with them. Take ninety-nine books that say one thing and one that says the opposite. If that opposite was what the customer was hoping to hear, they’ll put their stock in the single volume. In this manner we learn more regarding human nature from closed books than from anything that might be written within them.”

Logaris went on in this manner for some time, exposing the source of the weary cynicism that seemed to infect most of the senior librarians. It seemed to Livira that there was a message in the way librarians demonstrated their rank with a shade of grey, white for juniors, shading darker with seniority. A symbolism concerning the way the fortress of facts that seemed so dependable, rather than being reinforced by the library’s endless knowledge, was in reality eroded by it, a sandcastle before the waves. The black and white of truth blurred into grey under the relentless assault of an infinity of context, interpretation, perspectives, and opinion.

As soon as Master Logaris turned his attention to the final table and the most promising immediate candidates for the white, Arpix picked up his book again. He’d brought it to the table that morning, on a trolley since it was half his height, and had been running his hands over its metallic pages all day, using his fingertips to read the language of bumps and ridges embossed there.

“What’s it about?” Livira had avoided asking, having realised that Arpix rarely showed an interest in her own research. But curiosity got the better of her.

“Topology. The mathematics of surfaces and volumes.” Arpix didn’t look up, even though it was his fingers rather than his eyes doing the reading. “Champart, the inventor—”

“I know who Champart is.”

“Well, he’s hit a dead end and has requested books focused on certain aspects of topology. Which means I have to know enough about the subject to find what he needs. It’s fascinating stuff. Did you know that topologically we’re tori? All animals are.”

“Ewww.” Livira tried to press a disgusted smile from her lips. He was right though. Arpix had a talent for reducing a problem to its essentials. Every animal she knew of was basically a tube with elaborations. Yet such reductions could leave you blind to the world’s beauty. Livira rather liked the elaborations. If Arpix really did see her as just another tube, though, it would explain the way he’d looked at her on the few occasions she’d attempted to flirt with him. Before Carlotte had gone to be a house reader for Lord Masefield she’d said she thought that Arpix would end up marrying a book and raising a clutch of papery babies.

Livira was about to ask which animal was most like a torus when the schoolroom door opened without a knock and a frowning, white-robed librarian hurried in.

“You.” He pointed at Livira. “You’re to come with me immediately.”

This was it then. A summons to stand before the deputies and be dismissed. Livira stood, a cold fist of regret clenched in her stomach.

“And... which one is Meelan Hosten?” the librarian asked.

Meelan lifted a hand. Everyone knew Livira, though not always for a good reason. Meelan maintained a lower profile in the complex.

“You too, then.” The librarian nodded. “Come with me.”

Livira couldn’t guess why Meelan was involved. Perhaps they had evidence of the many times he’d helped cover for her. But Arpix was just as guilty of that.

Master Logaris raised a bushy eyebrow then shrugged. “Don’t beat the boy. It was probably the girl’s fault.”

Livira followed Meelan out, aware of the many pairs of eyes studying her departure.

The librarian was a man in his mid-twenties named Tubberly, or just Tubby to the trainees, owing to the length of time he spent in the refectory polishing off second, third, and sometimes fourth helpings. He gave Livira an even deeper frown and closed the door behind them.

“You’re to present yourself at Master Yute’s house within the hour wearing your finest clothes. Don’t ask me why. I’ve no better idea of that than I do of why that man thinks I’m his messenger boy.”

“Master Yute?” Livira blinked.

“They do say you’ve a remarkable memory.” Tubberly paused to suck his teeth. “I’m unconvinced. Master Yute, pale fellow, deputy head librarian. Ringing any bells?”

Livira opened her mouth to unleash a hot retort but an elbow in her ribs cut her off. “We’ll get ready immediately,” Meelan growled.

Tubberly waved them off and turned away. Meelan led the race back to the trainee bedrooms. Livira’s head was too full of theories to contest him. And besides, who runs to their execution?

—

“I don’t have any finest clothes!” Livira complained.

“Well, make do.” Meelan opened the door to his room.

“I’ll go as I am,” Livira said.

“You can’t do that!” Meelan turned back towards her.

---