"Got something important there?"
Jenkins did not jump at the voice suddenly sounding from above him, but it was a close call. He put down his pincers and called up, "Mr Jones, if you want to have a conversation, I will not be having it with anyone hanging from the roof!"
A laugh echoed from above, and Ezekiel dropped to the floor. "So, what is it, mate?"
"Nothing you would find worth stealing." Jenkins picked up his pincers again, peering into the intricate workings of the device in front of him. With pieces so small, it would be easier with a magnifying glass, but after today, he preferred the concentration required by going without. Concentrating on this was better than continuing to dwell on Tesla's electric town, and all the lives still lost there.
"Nothing magical?" Ezekiel hopped up onto the desk beside him, swinging his legs.
The action abruptly reminded Jenkins how very young these new Librarians were, particularly this one. Perhaps the boy had come in here for more than just to annoy him. It had been a difficult day for all of them, after all. "More of a monitor of magic. Perhaps enough to stop this from happening again."
"Something to give them back their real bodies?" Ezekiel asked.
"I did notice your disapproval of the townspeople's use of others' bodies," Jenkins agreed. He didn't look at Ezekiel, certain that if he did, the moment would be broken, and the boy would close up again. Instead, he focused on the artefact in his hands. It wasn't dangerous, just a device to aid in measuring the power levels of magical objects, but the pieces were small and made for a good distraction after days like today.
To his credit, Ezekiel didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. "I'll steal pretty much anything, but stealing someone's body is just too far."
Jenkins put down the pincers and picked up a screwdriver. Now that he'd placed one of the gears back into alignment, he could begin screwing it into place. The whole time, he kept his gaze on the gears, deliberately not looking at Ezekiel. If the boy wanted to talk, he would talk. If not, at least he could enjoy some quiet companionship.
Silence reigned for a long moment.
"When I was in MI6," Ezekiel started, gaze fixed on the tiny gears inside the device, "they used to tell stories. Not to me, I was just there to steal things, but they'd tell them to each other when I was around, on the way to a job. My handler, his favourite story was about a serum, one that he said they used to give to captured enemy agents. It was called Project Pinocchio. The way he always told it, they called it that because it made people into puppets - whoever gave it to them could control their every action, make them betray their friends, even make them stop breathing - the agent couldn't do a thing to stop it."
Jenkins remained quiet, keeping his eyes on the screwdriver as he carefully nudged a piece into its new position. While that would explain some of Ezekiel's disgust with the townspeople, it still did not feel like the whole story, and after being at the Library as long as he had, he had a sense for stories.
Ezekiel stayed quiet for long enough that Jenkins started to think he must have been mistaken. Finally, Ezekiel whispered, "He told me he'd use it on me if I ever tried to leave. That no one would ever know. Only other agents knew I was there, and even they didn't know my name. He could use me to do anything, and I'd never be able to stop him. I'd never be free."
The screwdriver clunked as Jenkins' hand twitched, throwing a gear out of alignment. He took a deep breathe, forcing his hands to still. "No one here would ever forget your name, Mr Jones. And we would certainly notice if you were not acting yourself." He looked directly at Ezekiel. "As you so often say, no one else is as 'awesome'."
Ezekiel's lips twitched in what could have been a smile. "Thanks, mate." The smile grew into something more genuine, before twisting cheekily. "Glad to hear someone else admit it."