“He’s not an ordinary wolf. You’d better believe it.”
“Oook?”
Windle lowered his voice. “And she might not technically be a woman,” he added.
The Librarian looked at Ludmilla. His nostrils flared again. His brow wrinkled.
“Oook?”.
“All right, I may have put that rather clumsily. Do let go, there’s a good fellow.”
The Librarian released his grip very cautiously and sank to the floor, keeping Windle between himself and Lupine.
Windle brushed mortar fragments off the remains of his robe.
“We need to find out,” he said, “about the lives of cities. Specifically, I need to know—”
There was a faint jangling noise.
A wire basket rolled nonchalantly around the massive stack of the nearest bookcase. It was full of books. It stopped as soon as it realized that it had been seen and contrived to look as though it had never mo
ved at all.
“The mobile stage,” breathed Windle Poons.
The wire basket tried to inch backward without appearing to move. Lupine growled.
“Is that what One-Man-Bucket was talking about?” said Ludmilla. The trolley vanished. The Librarian grunted, and went after it.
“Oh, yes. Something that would make itself useful,” said Windle, suddenly almost manically cheerful. “That’s how it’d work. First, something that you’d want to keep, and put away somewhere. Thousands wouldn’t get the right conditions, but that wouldn’t matter, because there would be thousands. And then the next stage would be something that would be handy, and get everywhere, and no one would ever think it had got there by itself. But it’s all happening at the wrong time!”
“But how can a city be alive? It’s only made up of dead parts!” said Ludmilla.
“So’re people. Take it from me. I know. But you are right. I think. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s all this extra life force. It’s…it’s tipping the balance. It’s turning something that isn’t really real into a reality. And it’s happening too early, and it’s happening too fast…”
There was a squeal from the Librarian. The trolley erupted from another row of shelves, wheels a blur, heading for the hole in the wall, with the orangutan hanging on grimly with one hand and flapping behind it like a very fat flag.
The wolf leapt.
“Lupine!” shouted Windle.
But from the days when the first cavemen rolled a slice of log down a hill, canines have also had a deep racial urge to chase anything on wheels. Lupine was already snapping at the trolley.
His jaws met on a wheel. There was a howl, a scream from the Librarian, and ape, wolf and wire basket ended up in a heap against the wall.
“Oh, the poor thing! Look at him!”
Ludmilla rushed across the floor and knelt down by the stricken wolf.
“It went right over his paws, look!”
“And he’s probably lost a couple of teeth,” said Windle. He helped the Librarian up. There was a red glow in the ape’s eyes. It had tried to steal his books. This was probably the best proof any wizard could require that the trolleys were brainless.
He reached down and wrenched the wheels off the trolley.
“Olé,” said Windle.
“Oook?”