The troll scratched a horn and leaned back. “That’s not normally your purview. Why are you involved?”
“Uh… this trespass involves an ancient book.”
The troll grunted. “You should not bring witnesses back here. What if they saw our work? I should report this.”
Some of the imps glared at us and scooped up their precious documents. We were non-auditors, after all. Another growled, a clear warning that we were not to even consider taking his abacus.
Ms. Cross raised her hands in apology. “No need to file a report. We haven’t seen a thing. Think of the paperwork involved. It would hold you up, and you do important work. I just thought it would be nice to visit.”
I leaned over to catch the eyes of everyone at the table and imbued my voice with my magic. “You will not report us, gentlemen.”
They blinked, and the lead troll nodded. “This visit is irregular. But I will not file a report.”
“Thanks, guys. Sorry for the trouble.” Ms. Cross backed toward the door and motioned for us to follow.
Once we were out, she ushered us down the hall. “Whew. That was close. Thanks for stepping in.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned the book. Your cover was a bit on the nose.”
“It had to be. It’s nearly impossible to lie to auditors, so it’s best to tell a version of the truth.”
I frowned. “My apologies for all the trouble.”
“Really?” she asked. “I figured you enjoyed this kind of thing—slipping in and out under your enemy’s nose.”
“I certainly don’t hate it.”
We turned the corner and crossed a skyway that led to a large, round, colonnaded stone building with a domed top. Ms. Cross gestured to the imposing structure. “This is the archives. There is no ground-floor entrance, only an emergency exit. That’s why I had to bring you through the East Wing.”
Two huge wooden doors at the end of the skyway beckoned. The intricate carvings on their surface depicted scenes that constantly changed. Knights fighting dragons, scientists making discoveries, planets and nature and mathematics flashed across the doors in a whirling array.
“The different departments couldn't decide who should be represented at the entrance, so they all were,” Ms. Cross said. “There were so many submissions for the artwork that they ended up squishing them all on there with magic.”
“I suppose that cuts down on interdepartmental bickering,” Carrow said.
“It did, though nothing keeps them quiet for long.”
Carrow chuckled.
We entered the enormous domed space. The interior of the archives seemed much wider and higher than the building we had seen from the skyway. I looked down from the third-floor balcony upon which we stood, studying the chamber. The walls were lined with bookshelves, while the lower level was filled with reading desks. In the very center of the room, a large O-shaped circulation desk ringed a massive pit that descended into the earth. Imps flew down and returned with books of all shapes and sizes.
Ms. Cross gestured to the pit. “There are sixty-seven levels of stacks descending deep below Lake Michigan. It’s supposed to keep the books cool. But boy, it seems like a pretty daft idea to keep an entire archive beneath the water table.”
“Wow,” Carrow said.
“Your book, however, is in Special Collections. It was a hassle to get access.”
We followed her down the stairs into a secondary wing of the archives. It was roofed with a high glass ceiling supported by a lightweight steel framework that simultaneously contrasted with and complimented the stodgy, neoclassical limestone dome.
We were met by a three-foot-tall curator. He eyed us suspiciously as he led us into a small open-top reading cubicle. Inside, atop a large Plexiglas block, sat a single book.
The curator glared at Ms. Cross. “You are responsible for this book. I do not think that people who are not curators should be allowed to touch books like these, but I do not make the rules.”
Ms. Cross smiled diplomatically. “Thank you for entrusting us with it.”
The small man grumbled. “I do not trust you any farther than I can spit a tooth.” He slapped a box of nitrile gloves on the table. “You do not touch the pages without gloves, or you will be evicted from the archive. You do not lick your fingers to turn the pages. You turn them gently, counting to seven as you do so. You do not sneeze on the book, or excrete any other bodily substances on the book, or you will be evicted from the archives.”
He paused for a moment, and then stalked off grumbling. “I will be watching.”