Episode 3: Annoying and Cryptic, Chapter 2
"I don't see why I have to stay here," grumbled Ezekiel, his arms full of yet another pile of books as he made his way down the stairs to Jenkins' desk. "You know every book in the Library, you don't need me here. There are whole rooms full of uncatalogued, unknown scrolls, books and manuscripts over there and nobody but our very own Benedick and Beatrice to sift through them. They probably spend half their time distracted by each other anyway. They need my steadying and calming influence."
"Hah!" Jenkins replied, not bothering to look up as the pile of books thumped down on his desk. "You hate research in any shape or form. You hate the cold, and I happen to know that those rooms are kept at a temperature you would definitely put in that category. I have heard you called many things in the time that I have known you, Mr Jones, and steadying and calming have never once been mentioned. No, I do not think you're efforts would benefit Mr Stone and Miss Cillian. Nor do I think you would spend your time in Dunvegan filing through ancient manuscripts. You forget: I know you, Ezekiel Jones. I know exactly why you want to 'help out' at the castle and I know exactly from whom you would obtain your 'research'!"
Ezekiel picked a book off the top of the pile and waved it at the old man. "I resent the implication that I have not listened to a word you have said on that matter. I listened. I listened very closely."
"And then went ahead and ignored everything you'd listened to," added Jenkins. He plucked the book out of the young man's hand, turned it round, and handed it to him again right way up. "That which I cannot achieve by persuasion, I must achieve by force. You're staying. Go read it. Where I can see you, please."
Jones took a breath to prepare for his next riposte when the back door slammed open and Stone stormed though. His face was set in a downcast grimace of anger and pain. He neither noticed nor looked for anyone else's presence. Both men watched the newest arrival turn and ascend the stairs two at a time. He disappeared wordlessly into the shelves of the mezzanine and after a long pause, the door of the reading room slammed shut. Ezekiel looked back to Jenkins.
"Trouble in paradise?" Jones wondered aloud. "I guess Cassandra's stuck with all that work on her own now. She really could do with some help, and maybe a shoulder to cry on too."
"Hmm," Jenkins murmured watching him. "As sure as I am that Miss Cillian can cope with this and multitude of other setbacks that may come her way, an extra pair of hands would help the task along."
"Exactly!" Ezekiel cried in triumph.
"Indeed," murmured Jenkins, raising his head in the direction of the Library itself. "Charlene!"
"Oh, come on!" Jones complained loudly. "Really?"
Charlene elbowed her way through the office doors, a towel in her hands. "You bellowed, milord?"
Jenkins rolled his eyes and tipped his head towards the back door.
"Oh, come on! Really?" Charlene echoed. Ezekiel looked at Jenkins, a smug grin plastered all over his face, and extended an arm towards Charlene. The retired receptionist dumped the towel on the central desk and continued towards Jenkins. "I thought we agreed two people would be enough for there?"
"We did," Jenkins explained, ever patient. "One has returned."
"Chuckles or Sabrina?" Charlene frowned.
"Let us simply say," said Jenkins, "if you are staying, you may wish to forego the former nom de guerre in said gentleman's presence."
She winced. "Well, that's not good. Other shoe?"
"Probably," Jenkins shrugged. "He was not particularly communicative, but if one had to guess."
"Oh, joy," groaned the older woman. "And you're sending me to go and make sure missy is fine and dandy and keeping up with the workload, right? You do realise I don't do tears and tantrums. We got enough of those from Flynn and it was far better to just stand back and let him get it out of his system. Leave them be: they'll be fine once they've calmed down and talked it through sensibly."
"Miss Cillian may benefit from your steadying and calming influence," replied Jenkins, ignoring the daggers being glared at him by Ezekiel. "I'm sure the ladies of the house are used to dealing with tears and tantrums, but they will still need an extra pair of hands with the work."
"You go then," smirked Charlene, folding her arms and meeting Jenkins glare. "You're a much more experienced archivist than I am."
Jenkins held her gaze. "You know perfectly well I cannot. Ezekiel is equally unavailable. I refuse to ask da Vinci. Even you must agree that he would be a disastrous choice of personage in the circumstances. That leaves you. I do not see why that seems to be a problem."
"Oh, it's not a problem, Galeas," she replied, a sly smirk curling one side of her lip. "I just wondered what excuse you'd try to use this time."
Jenkins narrowed his eyes at her, folding his arms and holding her gaze. The silence dragged out between the two, reaching the point at which even cats would have given up and turned away. Standing to one side, his eyes shining with merriment, Ezekiel watched the mute battle of wills. Finally Charlene sighed. The folded arms dropped.
"Fine," she grumbled. "If I come back from that castle covered in purple warts, I expect you to persuade your..." Jenkins' eyes snapped up to Charlene's again and her smirk broadened before she continued. "To persuade your witchy friends to fix it."
Smiling like butter wouldn't melt, Charlene sauntered over to the back door and out. Ezekiel took a step closer and leant conspiratorially against Jenkins' desk.
"You know what three words really stood out there for me?" Ezekiel said, grinning up at the old man. "Aside from the wealth of unspoken ones in that little look there."
"I have neither interest nor necessity to know," he murmured in reply.
"And yet I feel I have both," quipped the thief. "Now what were they again? Oh yeah: 'excuse' and 'this time'!"
Jenkins looked up at the eager face and groaned inwardly, silently cursing Charlene. He pointed to the book in Ezekiel's hand, then to a chair nearby. "Book. Sit. Read. Go!"
XXXX
Cassandra looked down at the weighty tome on the table lectern and sighed. She pressed her fists into the table itself on either side and shut her eyes. It made no difference. Open or shut, all she could see was the look on Jacob's face when he realised she was going to say no. She thought explaining might have softened the blow somewhat, but it hadn't seemed to. If anything, the more she explained, the more hurt he looked. Maybe she should have brought it up sooner. Maybe she should have said something else, something other than just 'no'. Something like 'do we have to' or 'maybe one day' or 'not yet'. But was it fair to say 'not yet' if what she meant was 'never'? A hand fell on her shoulder. She straightened and looked round. Flora was looking up at her, her kind old eyes reading the troubles in her heart and mind as clearly as she read the archaic scrawl on scrolls that were utterly unintelligible to Cassandra. She looked down at the old woman, shrunken and frail from her excessive years, and wondered just how old she really was.
"Explain it to me," said the Cailleach. "Then, perhaps, you'll be better able to explain it to him."
"I just... I don't see the point," Cassandra began, turning and leaning back against the table. "We know how we feel about each other, so does everyone else. We practically live together already anyway. What difference does a piece of paper and a different name make?"
"You're not religious then, child?" Flora asked, leading her over to a settle by the wall. "Were you ever?"
Cassandra shook her head. "My parents were both scientists. They brought me up to see the real world. The scientific, mathematical, predictable universe. They believed in things that could be proven, even if we hadn't quite managed it yet. Believing in the Higgs boson was the closest they got to faith."
"And you feel the same?" Flora's keen eyes watched her.
"I guess so," shrugged the redhead, turning her gave away from those eyes. "I mean, I believe in magic, but that's not so much belief as knowledge. I know magic is real. I know monsters are real, and myths, and gods and goddesses, and heroes and villains... I don't see why that should change how I feel about marriage, though."
"May I ask you a little about your parents, Cassandra?" Flora asked, and Cassandra nodded in silence. "Were they married, themselves?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Did they love each other?"
"I think so," Cassandra frowned.
"But you're not sure. Why is that?" Flora took both of the younger woman's hands in hers and turned her towards her.
"I... I guess I'm not really sure that they loved me. I know I, that is, my tumour, was a huge disappointment to them. As soon as I was diagnosed, it was like I was already dead. Like some project in a Petri dish that had been contaminated and ruined. I guess I always saw them more as professional partners than romantic ones after that."
"Then why do you think they got married?" Flora persisted.
"Oh, I know why," replied Cassandra, looking up at last. "I remember them taking about it one year. One of their colleagues had joined us for dinner and was asking what they intended to do for their anniversary. My mother told him that they weren't doing anything, that they never did. There didn't seem much point since they only married for legal reasons in the first place."
Flora nodded. "And this is your only experience of marriage? No grandparents? No uncles and aunts? No friends or family friends?"
Cassandra shook her head. "I didn't really have many friends before the Library came along. None before the tumour. They would have been 'distractions', according to my parents. My mother had a brother and sister up in Canada, but we never really spoke to them. I don't even know if either one was married. My father never had any family that he spoke of. The only friends they had were colleagues. I don't recall ever meeting any spouses, if any of them had any."
"And what about your young man?" Flora asked, changing direction. "Have you met his family?"
"Well, yes..." Cassandra looked away again.
"Were none of them married?"
"His parents," admitted Cassandra, "but I got the impression it wasn't exactly happily ever after for them either."
Flora laughed. "Remove that idea from your head right now, my girl. Marriage isn't about 'happily ever after'. Nothing is. None of us get to sail through life without a care in the world. Marriage simply means that when those cares become too great, you have someone to help you bear them."
"But we do that now anyway," Cassandra pointed out. "He has been there for me at every turn, whenever I needed him, even when I didn't know I needed him or didn't want to need him. I know he always will be. And I will be there for him, whenever he needs me, whether he's willing to admit he needs anyone or not."
"Okay," nodded the old woman. "What about the rest of his family?"
"There's quite a lot of them," smiled Cassandra. "I've only met them once, though, at his sister's birthday party. I met so many people I could hardly keep track of who was who."
"Were any of them married?" Flora pressed.
"Oh, yes," she replied, red curls bobbing, "but you can't really tell anything about a marriage from a party, can you? Everyone's on their best behaviour, adults and children alike."
"Oh, I don't know about that," laughed the McLeod matriarch. "There's many a hoolie where I've seen both the good and the bad of a marriage show through. Think back. Who was relaxed? Who was smiling? Who was forcing it? Whose children didn't dare set a foot out o' line? Whose children dragged their parents into the games, and were they happy to be dragged? Whose laughter was real, and whose was fake? Who treated their partner as an extension of themselves? Who ignored them as far as possible, or worse: treated them as their own personal servant? I've seen all sorts of couples in my time, and all sorts of marriages, and no two ever ran the selfsame course. In this much, though, they were all alike: they had their triumphs and their disasters, their fights and their celebrations. Some have more of one than the other, and all have them in different quantities, but all have them, just the same. Marriage is difficult. It is hard. There will be times when you think your heart is breaking. But if you truly love him, as you say you do, marriage is what will make that love complete. It binds you both together in a way that no simple piece of paper can. It is so much more than just that. It changes how you see each other. It changes how you see yourself. No matter how much you think it won't, if it's right, it will. And if it is right, no matter what crosses it must bear, bear them it will."
"And there never were two people more right for each other than you and Oklahoma's finest there," added Charlene from the doorway. She pulled her cardigan closer round her and walked over to the table. "So," she continued, pulling on a pair of white gloves, "where exactly in this pile of parchment have we got to?"
XXXX
Ezekiel Jones, world class thief, sat obediently in the chair he had been ordered into, watching his mentor at work. Not that 'work' was really an applicable term in this instance. Not unless that 'work' included drumming one's fingers on one's desk and glancing up at the mezzanine, in the direction of the reading room, every ten seconds. To be fair, thought Ezekiel, if something caught his eye in the book he was allegedly reading, he did sometimes manage to go a whole minute without looking up.
"You should probably go talk to him," suggested the thief. "Offer some fatherly, or maybe grandfatherly, advice."
Jenkins' eyes swung in his direction and narrowed. "And leave you alone down here? I think not."
"You are the patriarch of our little clan while Flynn's away," pointed out Ezekiel. "It's practically your duty to offer support and pastoral care when one of us is in emotional turmoil."
"What do you think I've been doing with you for the past six months or so?" Jenkins waggled a finger at the young Romeo. "I know you're sneaking off to the castle every chance you get to visit that dainty little blonde thing. No good will come of it. And if my watching you like a hawk at all hours of the day prevents two hearts being broken, that's fine by me."
"Seonaidh is not some 'dainty little blonde thing', she is a beautiful, vibrant, intelligent, fascinating young woman whom I happen to think very highly of," Ezekiel retorted, his voice rising and his brow darkening. "And anyway: If you're so sure two hearts are in danger of being broken, you must think we both feel the same about each other. If that's the case, I see even less reason to stop us, sorry, try to stop us seeing each other. I get that her granny has something to say about it, and you two are old friends and all, but that doesn't give you the right to decide who I get to fall in love with. Or her. Both of you have spent your lives locked away on opposite sides of the globe doing jobs that kept you away from other people most of the time. How does either one of you know Seonaidh and I couldn't make it work? It's worked this far, and so far we've had to deal with a lot more than just distance and duty."
"That is precisely why we are trying to stop this before it gets to the part where one or both of you ends up really in love," replied Jenkins, his back straightening. "Flora and I have both lived with the demands of our respective callings far longer than either you or Seonaidh. We know how little time or space is left in either of those callings for things like love. To try and bring the two together is untenable. It will lead to a lifetime of misery and heartache, if you are lucky. If either of you live as long as Flora or myself, or even that damned da Vinci, it won't be one lifetime of pain you have to deal with, it'll be several! You have to stop this now before either one of you gets in too deep."
Ezekiel kicked back his chair and grabbed a few more books from the pile. "Too late," he snapped, pushing past the Caretaker and heading towards the Library's main floor.
Jenkins sighed. He had known it was coming. It had been blindingly obvious for months. Try as he might, the wedge he had been attempting to insert between the two young lovers simply would not hold, and he knew Flora had not been any more successful at her end. He ran a hand over his eyes. Librarians were not supposed to fall in love. The work was too important, and too dangerous. There was nothing he could do about Flynn Carsen and Colonel Baird. For a start, they both outranked him. Mr Stone and Miss Cillian were carved in diamond from the very beginning. Even magic couldn't separate them. Besides: both couples worked side by side, doing the same job, together. A Librarian and a McLeod, though: that was a different matter. A dangerous matter. No good could come of it. Few enough Librarians had married, even fewer had become parents. Of those who had, however, their children had usually shown a distinct aptitude for magic and for Library work. Children of the McLeod line, though, had another magical repository to protect. The girl was a direct descendant of the Cailleach. If they married... If they had a daughter... He shook his head. Sufficient unto the day, he thought. Right now there was another emotional meltdown for him to deal with, and one for which he felt heartily unprepared. If the Colonel was here... But she wasn't, Charlene was busy, and da Vinci would be worse than useless if Jenkins suspicions were correct. He straightened his bow tie, poured a fresh cup of tea and, cup and saucer in hand, ascended the stairs.
