Page 24 of Katabasis
“But maybe there’s some order,” said Peter. “Could be it’s chronological, could be more recent arrivals are near the bottom.”
“Hold on.” Alice rubbed her temples. “Let’s just—give me a second to think.”
Pride,superbia, arrogance.Hubris, the defiance of gods;mana, the puffed-up mind. None of the sojourners’ accounts said anything about a university library, and so she had to return to first principles, philosophical basics. She riffled through texts, images, treatises, that resided in her mind. Icarus, hurtling from the sky; Arachne, limbs splitting into eight. What was pride? For Augustine, the original sin; for Pope Gregory, the root of all evil. For Plato, the First Court punished those possessed of a timocratic soul—the soul who purported to love justice and honor and beauty, but who cared more about preserving the appearance of such things rather than making the sacrifices necessary to fulfill those things themselves. For Confucius, the Court of Pride housed thexiaoren, the petty men, who chased the names of things but not their nature. A mismatch between the name and the thing—yes, that was it, the common thread running through all these theories. But what did all this have to do with defining the good? And how did one go about defining the good? If she just could figure this out, then she could retrace Professor Grimes’s path, for he surely would have cracked this in an instant.
But she found it so hard to think. Her thoughts kept flying away from her even as she tried her best to sort through what she knew. The library no longer seemed quite so hallowed. Noises kept crowding her mind—bickering, whispering, scratching, coughing, breathing, pens scratching, pens clicking—none of it above an atypical volume, but it was all so blindinglypresent, harsh to distraction. And someone the next shelf over kept moaning, an insufferable sound that grew louder and louder.
She whirled round the shelf. “For heaven’s sake!”
It was the Shade of a young man, skinny and long limbed, hunched on the floor with his knees drawn to his chest as he rocked back and forth. He had the look of a law student, though Alice couldn’t say why; she just felt this was the case. Something about his chin. Books lay scattered all around him, and streaks of spilled ink marred the carpet. At the sight of Alice and Peter, he wailed even louder. “They won’t pass me. Seventeen times, seventeen times and they still won’t pass me, I’m such an idiot...”
“Oh, no, no.” Alice was sorry she had snapped. She was familiar with sights like this, and normally when people had mental breakdowns in the college library you spoke to them in a soft, calming voice and confiscated all the sharp items on the table and sent them off for a biscuit and a nap. “You’re not an idiot.”
“But I’ve done everything,” hiccupped the Shade. “Read all the recommended texts. ReadRussell, for Christ’s sake.” He smacked his palm against the side of his head. “I even followed the regimen inTheRepublic. I studiedmathematics—oh!”
He slumped sideways and knocked against the table leg, which sent a stack of notes cascading across the floor. At this, he made a keening noise and rolled forward onto his hands and knees. “And now my notes are out of order.”
Peter knelt down to help him collect them. “Here—”
The young Shade clutched them to his chest. “They’re color-coded,” he wailed. “Not thattheycare.”
“Werner, please.” A second Shade, a shorter and older-looking fellow, hurried down the aisle toward them. He placed his hands under Werner’s armpits and, grunting, hauled him upright. “We have talked about this. You may not have mental breakdowns in the stacks.”
“They failed me again,” sobbed Werner. “They hate me.”
“Yes, I know.” The older Shade patted him on the cheeks. “But pull yourself together, please. There’ve been noise complaints.”
“I’ll never get out...”
“Crying fits are to be conducted in private, that’s library rules.” The older Shade clapped him on the back. “I’ve booked you a place. Study room C-56. Third floor. Go on.”
Werner, still weeping into his hands, stumbled obediently off toward the staircase.
“Good man.” The older Shade dusted off his palms, then turned to Alice and Peter. “So very sorry, won’t happen again—why, you look new! Just arrived?”
“Yes indeed,” said Alice.
“Double suicide,” Peter added, which Alice found rather dramatic but did not challenge.
“You’re remarkably well-presenting!” The Shade brushed the back of his hand across Peter’s shoulder. “The stitching on your collar. Incredible. How do you manage?”
“Er,” said Peter. “I really try?”
“It’s quite magnificent! You wouldn’t believe the laziness that passes here. Most new arrivals don’t even bother with a face.” The Shade bowed low before them, hands clasped as if in prayer. “George Edward Moore. At your service.”
He was the most human-looking Shade Alice had seen thus far, which was to say that every part of him was richly detailed and solid, from the gray wisps atop his head to the scuffed tips of his leather shoes. He had the slightly lopsided smile of lifelong pipe smokers—and yes, there it was, a pipe hanging from his left hand. This he waved in their direction. “And you are...?”
“Peter Murdoch.” They answered both at once. “Alice Law.”
“And where did you study, Peter Murdoch?”
“Oh, I’m—we’re at Cambridge,” said Peter. “Department of—”
“Ah, Cambridge!” Moore grasped Peter’s hand and shook vigorously. Alice he ignored. “A Cambridge man! What wonderful news. I was at Trinity myself. Come, come. Let me give you the tour.”
He set off for the staircase. Alice glanced to Peter, who shrugged as if to say,Why not?
No better options presented themselves, and Moore did not look obviously dangerous—in any case Alice did not know of any demonic entity calling itself George Edward Moore—so they fell into step. Moore, turning, gestured magnanimously toward the first floor.
