It was one of those rare spells of tranquility at the Library. Two weeks since their last mission, the Clippings Book quietly sitting on its stand without so much a flutter of a single page. After a few days of inactivity, Eve decided to take advantage of the downtime by having the Librarians do some deep cleaning and organizing. The young Librarians grumbled about the busy work, but Jenkins was delighted. One would never know by looking at his lab, but the Caretaker liked order and cleanliness. He thrived on it, in fact. Unfortunately, he was usually so busy with his research, experiments and his prodigious list of daily tasks and duties that he didn't have much time left for tidying up or organization.
Today Ezekiel Jones and Jenkins were in the Library's Archives section, dusting, sweeping, sorting and rearranging the various items stored there. The younger man was in the large room that housed the stored personal items of past Librarians. He quickly abandoned his broom in order to explore the seemingly endless shelves of boxes, trunks, baskets, ledgers and bins. Checking the names and the dates of service on the tags, he found it somewhat chilling that the vast majority of Librarians had served no more a few years at most before dying or going missing or being eaten or in some gruesome fashion being killed on the job. For most of the Librarians one single steamer trunk sufficed to hold their personal belongings. A few Librarians had nothing more than a large cardboard box to testify to their existence. For one of the more recent Librarians, there was only one large paper grocery bag.
But there was one wall that was entirely filled with trunks, boxes and baskets, all stacked from floor to ceiling—dedicated solely to one Librarian whose career had spanned millennia.
"Jenkins!" Ezekiel called out loudly, holding a label he'd picked up from one of the baskets. "Jenkins!"
"Yes, yes, yes—I hear you, no need to shout!" scolded the Caretaker as he hurried out from behind a section of shelving and over to where the thief was standing. When he saw where Jones was, a sour look fell over the old man's face.
"What have you found?" he asked, trying his best to sound disinterested. Ezekiel held up the tag.
"This tag—it says 'Oliver Judson'!" he crowed triumphantly, "Is this Flynn's Judson?" Jenkins quietly inhaled and took the tag from his hand.
"Yes, it is," he confirmed, flat-voiced. He waved the tag at the wall of trunks. "This is all Judson's property: Thousands and thousands of years' worth of collections, knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, odds and ends, tchotchkes and just plain crap!" He disdainfully dropped the tag onto the basket next to them and brushed his hands as Ezekiel gave him an amused look.
"Don't hold back, Jenkins; tell us how you really feel!" he said sarcastically. Jenkins narrowed his eyes, began to snipe something appropriately cutting back, but Jones, already bored, wandered further along the row of shelving.
"He looked like an 'Oliver'," Ezekiel commented loudly as he checked random tags. There was a derisive grunt from Jenkins.
"Judson went through a phase were he decided we needed to adopt first and last names, 'to fit in with the times'," he complained, making air quotes. Jones smiled to himself when he heard the surly tone of the old man's voice.
"I take it you disagreed," he said lackadaisically, "Shocking."
"It was ridiculous!" Jenkins shot back, "There was no need for a first name or a surname in the circles we travelled in—just A name was enough! Everyone knew who Judson was, he didn't need to add the 'Oliver'! In fact, the 'Oliver' only confused people!" As Jenkins continued his harangue, Ezekiel picked up a tag and read the name; a look of surprise passed over his face.
"Charlene Gaston!" he yelled, holding up the tag. Jenkins hurried over and plucked it from Ezekiel's hand, looked at it, his face suddenly stony.
"It's pronounced 'Ga-stone'," he peevishly corrected the Australian, giving the name a decidedly French sound. "That was her ex-husband's last name."
"Her husband?!" Jones exclaimed, "She wasn't married to Judson?"
"She most definitely was not!" Jenkins snapped, much to the thief's merriment. "Gaston was a smarmy…disreputable…seedy…little…gold-digging…gigolo who thought he was a respectable antiques dealer—which he was not!" Ezekiel hid a grin at the old immortal's agitation as Jenkins tossed the tag onto a box in disgust.
"Fortunately, Charlene had the good sense to divorce him!" he finished.
"What was his first name?" Ezekiel asked, genuinely curious.
"I don't know and I don't care!" the Caretaker huffed, turning to glare at the thief. Jenkins realized that his temper was getting away from him, and he made a conscious effort to calm himself before speaking again. "Charlene only ever referred to him by his last name. Which should have told her right from the beginning that they were completely incompatible!"
Having gotten a final dig in at the deplorable Mr. Gaston, Jenkins took a deep breath and turned to go back to the section he'd been working on. As he took his first few steps, his sharp ears caught the sound of a cardboard tag being flipped coming from behind him, followed by a smug Australian accent.
"And then there's Jenkins, first name M—"
"DON'T!" bellowed the large man with such ferocity that Jones flinched, the smirk melting from the young man's face. Jenkins stabbed a warning finger at Ezekiel and began stomping back toward him.
"Never utter that name aloud, ever!" Jenkins thundered, the old man's dark brown eyes blazing. "Not to me, not to Cassandra, not to Mr. Carsen, or Jacob, or Colonel Baird or to anyone! If you do, I will end you, Mr. Jones, Librarian or no!" Ezekiel unconsciously took a couple of steps back from the angry man, then pursed his lips, his head tilting to one side thoughtfully.
"So what's that worth to you?"
"What?!" Jenkins barked, pulling himself upright. "What do you mean 'what's it worth'?" Ezekiel gave him a lazy shrug.
"I've already seen the name, mate; can't un-see it," he replied amiably, "So what's it worth to you for me to keep it to myself?" Jones had to press his lips together tightly to keep from bursting into laughter at the look of sheer impotent outrage that darkened Jenkins's face. He understood at once that he was beaten, and that was a bitter pill for the proud old knight to swallow. Jenkins looked away for a moment and closed his eyes, took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders backward to ease the taut muscles while he cooled his temper. When he was ready he turned his head back to Ezekiel and opened his eyes.
"What do you want?" he growled in a low tone, his eyes hard as flint. Ezekiel pretended to think, making a show of crossing his arms and tapping his lips with a forefinger, humming to himself. After less than a minute, Jenkins's temper began to fray again.
"Mr. Jones, I swear by all the gods of Britain, if you don't tell me what you want I'm—"
"I want out of the Library's inventory week!" he cut in quickly. Jenkins narrowed his eyes, suspicious.
"That's all?" he asked. A wry half-grin twisted Ezekiel's lips.
"I want out of the Library's inventory week—for the rest of my life!"
"WHAT?!" Jenkins hollered, incensed, and he began waving his long arms vehemently in denial. "NO! No! Impossible! Absolutely not! Inventory week is—"
"Fine," Ezekiel said with a careless shrug and started to walk past the furious man. "Guess I'll see you later, then, Mr. M—"
"ALL RIGHT!" Jenkins shouted, glaring daggers at the impudent thief. "All right, fine—Have it your way!"
"Have what my way?" Jones asked, his voice dripping with false innocence. Jenkins looked ready to strangle him, but he held himself back.
"You are hereby excused from inventory week duties—" Jenkins had to look away for a second before he could finish the sentence, and even then only with great effort. "For the rest of your life."
"There, see? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Jones grinned, and gave Jenkins's shoulder a friendly punch on his way to the Archives' exit. Jenkins turned and glared at the young man's back.
"This isn't over, Mr. Jones!" he rumbled loudly in warning. Ezekiel raised his arm and waved a cheerful farewell without bothering to look back. Jenkins watched him disappear through the door, continued to stare after him for several seconds before narrowing his eyes. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of the crafty immortal's mouth.
It had been a long time since Jenkins had last visited Australia.
The smile spread across his face and turned positively feral.
Perhaps he would stop off in Sydney, visit Mr. Jones' mother and his sisters. Do some reminiscing about young Mr. Jones. Listen to some family stories, look at some old childhood photographs.
Make copies of those photographs.
"No, Mr. Jones," he purred as a wicked gleam came to his eyes.
"This isn't over by a longshot!"