The Caretaker stepped through the doors and entered the Library proper, starting down the marble steps as he perused a shipping manifest of items being sent to him from a dear friend of his in Katmandu who was also an antiquities dealer. As he reached the bottom of the steps, the tall man was startled by the echoing sounds of shattering glass, a high-pitched shriek and frantic barking.
Dropping the stack of papers onto a reading table, Jenkins rushed toward the source of the sounds. About forty feet along the main aisle he came to an intersecting aisle. Just to his left the floor was covered in thousands of pieces of broken safety glass from an overturned display case. Peppering the clear shards that littered the floor were the remains of a priceless collection of ancient Sumerian clay cuneiform tablets—the Inanna Collection—many of them now shattered into tiny pieces with the glass.
His face registering a mixture of horror and nausea at the damage, the immortal slowly looked up to see who was responsible for this outrage. His dark eyes immediately beheld the two culprits: One small, iridescent-green tea dragon and one gleaming, double-edged longsword. Stretched between the two was one of Jenkins's long neck-ties. One silken end was still clamped between Franklin's teeth, the other end wrapped around the sword's hilt. The middle of it was partially wrapped around one leg of the destroyed display case—the unfortunate casualty of their fierce game of tug of war.
"Franklin? Excalibur?" he gasped as he stared at the offenders in complete disbelief. Franklin and Excalibur turned to stare at each other for a moment. Both turned to stare at the increasingly irate Caretaker. The pair turned to look at each other again.
Franklin suddenly dropped his end of the tie and turned to run as fast as his legs would carry him, squealing like a piglet as he disappeared into the stacks. At the same moment, Excalibur let loose his end of the ruined tie and flew off in the opposite direction like a shot, yipping hysterically as he disappeared around a corner and into Medieval Wing.
"FRANKLIN! EXCALIBUR!" thundered Jenkins after the fleeing malefactors. Unable to decide in his fury which of the miscreants to chase after first, he ended up frozen impotently in place, eyes blazing and fists clenched in fury.
Realizing that he was far too angry right now to deal rationally with this situation or anyone involved in it at the moment, the immortal closed his eyes and forced himself to slow down his breathing. He counted his breaths deliberately, unhurriedly, until he reached ten—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Push out the jive, bring in the love, he chanted, whispering as he extended his arms on the exhale and then drew them in slowly as he inhaled. He called to mind a pleasant, soothing scene: His beloved Cassandra, her long red hair curling softly over her shoulders, wearing a pair of butter-soft, thigh-high boots of pale ivory leather—and not a stitch of anything else. She was laying on their bed, a sweet, alluring smile on her face as her sky-blue eyes longingly beckoned him...
A foolish grin spread across his face as his anger dissipated.
When he was ready, he opened his eyes and surveyed the damage again. He shook his white head slowly at the mess as he picked up what was left of his neck-tie. Jenkins took a final, deep cleansing breath and exhaled, squared his shoulders and resolutely lifted his head. If ever there was a situation that called for the use of restoration magic, this must certainly be it, he decided. And of course Franklin and Excalibur would have to be dealt with as well.
But not until I've had a cup of tea and made some plans for tonight with Cassandra, he said to himself, turning to head back to the Annex.
