Chapter 2

It was several weeks after the final confrontation with Apep before the final inventory and return of the hundreds of artifacts and relics DOSA had stolen was complete. It was just as well as far as Jenkins was concerned. Throwing himself into the work had distracted him from his grief. It seemed to do the same for the Librarians as well, though he would sometimes catch a glance of Cassandra wiping away a tear. Jacob or Ezekiel were usually there to lay a reassuring hand on her arm or to give her a comforting hug. Flynn was still more subdued than usual, but his mood was improving day by day, thanks to Eve. Things were slowly moving back towards normal.

One crisp autumn morning Jenkins walked into the Annex's workroom, stirring a hot cup of tea as he went. Approaching his somewhat untidy work area, he was surprised to find a package wrapped in shimmering gold paper perched on his desk. Looking around the room, he saw that there were similarly-wrapped packages of different colors scattered about, one for each Librarian and Colonel Baird. Setting down the cup of tea, he picked up the rectangular parcel. The attached tag bore the seal of the Library and the word "Galahad", nothing more. The elderly Caretaker's heart turned to lead as he realized that it was from Charlene. The Library was finally settling her estate by delivering the items she had bequeathed to them.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Jenkins carefully removed the beautiful wrapping. Inside, swaddled within a thick layer of delicate gold tissue paper, he found another box, roughly the size o inch file card. It was about an inch thick, delicately made from ivory in the shape of a book and studded with precious stones. Of Frankish origin, the 'cover' was exquisitely carved with a depiction of a noblewoman being serenaded by a knight, the pair surrounded by a lush garden of jeweled birds, flowers and fruit trees. It was over 1,000 years old and a priceless work of art. Astonished by the opulent gift, the Caretaker grasped the edges with his long fingers and gently removed the lid.

Nestled inside, beneath a heavy, cream-colored envelope, was a real book, a thin, hand-bound volume of azure Moroccan leather. The cover was embossed with an outline in gold of flowering vines.

Laying the box and the envelope next his now-forgotten cup of tea, he gingerly opened the book. It contained only 50 or so pages of plain, handwritten text. It was poetry. Courtly poetry. Jenkins shook his head in disbelief. It was the kind of mawkish drivel that was de rigueur in the days long past when every young knight worth his salt was expected to pledge his love to a fair lady—ideally a woman who was his social better and married to another man. It was believed that the striving to prove himself worthy of the love and affection of this unobtainable lady—via deeds of bravery and outlandish acts of chivalry performed in her name and in her honor—would make the man a better knight. For most knights, however, such a pursuit was little more than a fashionable game and a social convention.

But Galahad—reckless, naive, brash Galahad—had fallen truly in love with Charlene, passionately and completely. So much so that, to her horror and even some embarrassment, he had pledged his heart to her, swearing to love no one else for all eternity.

Poor Charlene, Jenkins reflected as he perused the poems, shaking his head at the memory of his younger self. I must have been such a ridiculous moon-calf in her eyes! How was she ever able to tolerate me so patiently?

He was surprised to discover that she possessed such a volume. In later years she had always disdained and mocked the syrupy verses demanded by courtly love poetry.

Suddenly his mouth fell open in shock and he almost dropped the small book. These poems on the small sheets of parchment in front of him were his own words, written in his own hand!

Jenkins took a deep, ragged breath and tried to crush his rising emotions as he flipped through the rest of the book. He was stunned to see that Charlene had kept every one of the outlandish poems he had written to her so many centuries ago. All this time he thought she had surely gotten rid of the foolish things long ago. But here they were—she had had them bound into this small book and had this precious box made to keep it in. Had she truly treasured them so much? Could she truly have treasured them because he had written them just for her? Jenkins felt confused and lightheaded as he tried to take it in.

His eyes fell on the envelope. He snatched it up with trembling fingers and tore it open. Inside was a single card. He immediately recognized Charlene's tight, business-like hand.

Galahad—I'm sorry that I couldn't love you in the way you wished me to, but never doubt for an instant that I HAVE always loved you, and I always will. Charlene

The old knight's vision grew blurry as the now familiar, painful lump formed in his throat again.

He heard several cheery voices and footsteps approaching the Annex workroom from the corridor as the Librarians and Eve Baird arrived for the day's work. Jenkins quickly stuffed the card, box and book into his coat pocket while sweeping the wrapping papers into a desk drawer. He roughly wiped away the threatening tears with his coat sleeve just as the Librarians and their Guardian bounded into the room. He stood and pulled himself to his full height, hurriedly adopting a careless pose beside his desk. He caught the sharp eye of Colonel Baird raking him suspiciously; Jenkins plastered a smile on his face as he wished them all a good morning.

"Oooooo!" Cassandra squealed as she discovered the beautiful deep mauve-wrapped box on her work desk. "Someone left me a present! Was it you, Mr. Jenkins?"

The others then noticed their own packages, and puzzled questions began to flow.

"No, they are not from me," Jenkins informed the group blandly. "They are from Charlene. They're your inheritance from her. The Library delivered them last night, apparently. They were all here when I arrived this morning."

The light mood dimmed noticeably at the mention of Charlene. Baird and the others exchanged uncomfortable glances as they each regarded their unexpected gifts.

"Well, I'll make some tea, then, shall I?" Jenkins announced brightly, and headed for the kitchen.