He would never admit it to anyone, but Jenkins was very close to despair. Thanks to Eve Baird, the Library had been invaded by DOSA, and at this very moment it was being plundered of all of its artifacts by General Rockwell and her soldiers. Apep was still out there somewhere, a ticking time bomb of Chaos and Evil inexorably winding down to the world's destruction. And here he was, heavily chained, loaded onto a military transport vehicle bound for God only knew where, unable to do a damn thing about it.
Actually, this disaster is all my fault, Jenkins thought bitterly. He was the Caretaker, after all; it was the Caretaker's job to protect the Library and its contents, and he had failed abysmally. How could he have misjudged Eve Baird so badly? How had she been able to slide beneath his radar SO completely? He, who had learned the painful lesson over his many long centuries to never trust anyone, had trusted her completely. What would become of the Library now because of his carelessness? Who would keep order in the magical realms now? How could he possibly atone for his failure? Jenkins hadn't felt the bitter pain of such a ruthless betrayal as this since the fall of Camelot. And then she had dared to try and justify her actions!
Was Mr. Carsen alright? Had he been captured as well? Or had something worse befallen him? Did she use the gorgon's head on him, too, if he had dared to put up a fight? He was a clever, brilliant man, a born Librarian, but he, too, had been completely blindsided by Colonel Baird's treachery. Had she truly loved him at all, or had that all been playacting? What a viper that woman has turned out to be! He swore to himself that if he ever saw her traitorous face again, he would gladly snap her neck with his own hands.
And what of the young Librarians, still on that wild goose chase she sent them on in South Dakota? He could only imagine their shock when they returned and found out what had happened in their absence. No doubt they would blame themselves, but they were guiltless, of course. Baird had betrayed their trust, too. The immortal again berated himself pitilessly for not seeing though that bitch's lies. He was the oldest, the most experienced; he of all people on this planet should've been able to see what was going on. Jenkins angrily slammed the back of his head against the backboard of the dolly he was chained to. DAMN his stupidity!
The large truck finally jolted to a stop. Jenkins heard soldiers running and barking commands. The tarp was thrown back, flooding the darkness with bright sunlight. Jenkins squinted at the shadowy figures climbing aboard and coming towards him. They wheeled him to the edge of the truck bed, lifted him down to the ground with a thud, then wheeled him into a large, ramshackle-looking metal warehouse. The soldiers ignored his questions and demands, and then ignored his curses. He wasn't even human to them, he realized; he was just another DOSA trophy.
The inside of the warehouse was exactly the opposite of its outward appearances. Everything was new and spotless, a sea of steel, glass, electronics and plastic. It was cold, sterile, and utterly alien to the ancient Caretaker. There was no warm oak woodwork here; no old-fashioned furnishings; no quaint tools that, while decidedly obsolete technology-wise, were familiar and comforting to him; no rich, calming smells of aged leather and paper. No books. No curios. No tea.
He fell silent as they pushed him into an elevator and took a long ride down. The doors opened onto a cavernous, dimly-lit room. Jenkins stared around him with mounting apprehension as they pushed him through long aisles between high-security cases containing the Library's stolen artifacts. He heard a thumping noise on the other side of the aisle. Turning towards the sound, he saw the Clippings Book throwing itself frantically against the glass over and over again as he was pushed by it. For some reason he couldn't name, the sight chilled Jenkins's blood.
They arrived at the end of a row of display cases. There stood a tall, narrow steel box slightly larger than an old-fashioned phone booth, its thick door standing open. The soldiers dropped the dolly in front of the box and began to remove the massive chains holding Jenkins immobile. He was unable to resist an act of defiance, so as the soldier working as his feet stood up, the immortal jerked violently towards the DOSA man. "BOO!" Jenkins yelled.
The soldier threw himself backwards in a panic. He tripped over his own feet and fell hard onto the floor, nearly cracking his head against the edge of the door to the box. The Caretaker laughed harshly, and was rewarded with a backhanded fist to his mouth.
"Oh, come now," he chided mockingly, insolently spitting blood onto the floor. "Is that any way to treat a senior citizen?" The only response the soldiers gave was to roughly shove him into the box and slam the door shut behind him.
Jenkins glared out the round window in the door as the soldiers gathered the equipment and departed. He noticed that he could hear absolutely nothing from outside the box. It must be soundproofed, he thought dully as he watched the men disappear down the corridor.
He turned and looked around his prison. There was nothing inside, only smooth, hard metal walls, floor and ceiling. The only breaks in the metal were some tiny vents in the ceiling, hopefully for air. There wasn't even a chair. He couldn't lie down full-length on the floor; he would have to sit upright or curl up on his side when he needed to sleep. He had been in worse prisons, but he had the feeling that his stay here wasn't going to be any more pleasant.
With nothing else to do, the tall man flopped down onto the floor, drawing his long legs up in front of him. He wrapped his arms around his knees and let his head drop with a sigh of frustration. Now what? Interrogation? Doubtless they expect him to give them information about various artifacts, doubtless also with an eye as to how they could be used as weapons. Doubtless in the interests of 'national security'. He would refuse to help them, of course, but what would that lead to? Torture? And then there was the fact that Jenkins himself was a living artifact. Would that lead to experimentation? That was sure to be bad for him. What would happen when they discovered his true identity, that he was Galahad of Camelot? They would never free him, he would be their prisoner forever. Any way he sliced it, Jenkins's future was grim. He struck the wall with his fist in frustrated fury; there HAD to be a way out of this!
The dejected Caretaker put his back against the wall and closed his eyes against the harsh lighting in the box. As bad as his situation was right now, he was more worried about the young Librarians. What would become of them if the Library was beyond saving? Baird had said they were not part of the deal she had struck with DOSA, that they were free, but was that the truth? Or was that just another lie to keep him quiet?
Mr. Jones would probably slip back into the life of crime, thieving for a living, a mercenary. Black markets, gangs, scams and cons. No lasting relationships, nothing to tie him down, nothing to look forward to except the next job.
Mr. Stone, now that he was publishing under his own name, would probably be able to make some sort of a decent life for himself. Jenkins hoped he could. Or would he also slip back into his old life simply because he didn't know what else to do without the Library to guide him? Would he let feelings of guilt or obligation to his family drag him back into a life of frustration and emptiness?
Miss Cillian...
Jenkins's heart grew heavy at the thought of Miss Cillian. Her tumor had made life tremendously difficult for her before the Library chose her, but how she had blossomed during her short time there! The tumor was gone, but now she struggled to understand and control her frightening new-found abilities. Of all the Librarians, she would likely have the most difficulty finding her way in a post-Library existence.
The thought saddened the Caretaker, but what troubled him even more was the realization that he may never see the vivacious young woman again. She, of all the librarians, had done the most to draw the reclusive immortal out of his isolation. And, if Jenkins was honest with himself, his loneliness, too. She was the only one of the three to show an interest in all things magical, and her eagerness to learn and experiment with magic had impressed him. He was gratified to spend time teaching her and sharing his knowledge with such an enthusiastic pupil. And while it had been jarring at first, one of the things he now secretly looked forward to was her arrival each morning—her bright smile, the cheerful greeting that was always accompanied by a soft kiss on his cheek and a gentle squeeze of his arm. A small smile softened his worried features at the comforting memory. It faded again as he wished that he could see her again, just for a few seconds, just long enough to thank her for bringing such a beautiful warm light to his world-weary existence.
He stood up again to stretch his legs, pacing around the small box restlessly. He had to get out of here. There HAD to be a way out, somehow. It might take him a while to find it, but he WOULD find it. Once free, he would make sure the Librarians were safe and well, next they would salvage what they could of the Library together. Finally, he would work on evening some scores, no matter how long it took. He had all the time in the world for that.
He peered absentmindedly out of the window, and stopped short. He thought he saw some sort of movement. He craned his head, desperate to see who or what it could be. His heart raced excitedly as he caught sight of Mr. Stone, then Mr. Jones, and finally Miss Cillian—all of them safe and sound. They spotted and ran to him, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he watched the trio examine the outside of the cell. If anyone could get Jenkins out of the box, it would be the Librarians. He didn't know how they got back to the Annex so quickly or how they were able to find him, but that didn't matter right now. Perhaps things weren't so bleak, after all...
Early one morning after Apep had been defeated and the Library's treasures had been restored to the Librarians, Jenkins waited patiently for Cassandra Cillian to arrive. Soon the Annex's back door whirred into life and the doors swung open. He stood up and straightened his suit, adjusted his bow tie and checked his pocket square. Then, hands clasped in front of him, he waited. As soon as she entered the room and spotted the tall Caretaker, Cassandra's face lit up.
"Good morning, Mr. Jenkins!" she sang breezily as she ran up to him. She squeezed his arm as she stood on tip-toe to reach his cheek and planted a light kiss. She turned and started for her desk, but the tall man took her hand and held on to her. She turned back to him, confused. "Is something wrong, Mr. Jenkins?"
"Indeed there is, Miss Cillian," he rumbled somberly, his twinkling eyes belying the serious tone of his voice. "I haven't thanked you properly for rescuing me from the wicked clutches of DOSA." Holding her small, delicate hand in his large, strong one, the knight, with his most polished courtly bow, lightly kissed her fingers.
"Thank you, Miss Cillian, for saving me from a fate truly worse than death." Dropping her gaze to the floor, Cassandra blushed and smiled bashfully at the grandiose gesture. With a small smile of his own Jenkins closed the space between them, and, placing his long fingers beneath her chin, tipped her face up so he could look deeply into her blue eyes.
"It's not common for the damsel to rescue the knight, you know. But then—" He bent and softly kissed Cassandra's cheek. "You are a most uncommon woman."
He straightened up and dropped his hand from her chin. "Thank you, Cassandra. For everything."
Without waiting for a response, a perfect Mona Lisa smile on his face, he walked past her, his other hand still holding hers, reluctant to let go until the very last moment. Cassandra watched Jenkins walk away, astonished by what had just happened. She placed a hand on her cheek where he had kissed her, and felt herself blushing again. A radiant smile lit up her face as she turned and playfully skip-stepped to her desk, humming a cheerful tune softly to herself.