Chapter 4

“At least you clean up for presentation,” Frage said, as she gave him the once over.

“Humpf,” Danel grumbled. “All this scrubbing and puffery for what? I’m not even allowed to wear my ceremonial knife, the most important item a man can carry for all to see. Looking at my knife, you would know I am from a horse-trading family and a blooded warrior. This,” he said, plucking at his blouse and pants, “means nothing.”

“Your clothes do speak, O brave barbarian,” she said, mocking his glare of death. “Here, clothes mean respect for others. You need to adjust your perceptions from thinking it is about you when the point of the evening is putting your elders at ease in your presence. You listen to their anecdotes, and you laugh politely at their jokes. You humor them. Pay little heed to the food, giving your attention to your dining companions. You can do this, yes?”

“I’m not dining in my father’s tent anymore,” Danel said. “Who are you calling a barbarian?”

Frage chortled, “Your own words.”

Danel pretended not to hear her answer. “Our dining room this evening is Second Floor north. We need only to seek one of the northbound hallways.”

“Or we use our docents who already know how to get there without getting lost,” she said. “I’ve no doubt that we will spend considerable time during the coming weeks wandering lost in these hallowed halls until we begin to make sense of its confounding ways. I, for one, don’t wish to waste my energy on getting lost now when I am gifted a perfectly willing guide. Apparently, our guides do more than get us to our next destination. Correct?”

Danel gave her back the same chortle she gave him. “Correct, although I hasten to add I do not ask my fellows any of the leading questions that may spark their curiosity about our docents.”

“With you leading by example, we have no need to ask most questions about our docents,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “Come. My father always told me that ten minutes early IS on time for people in our position, you know, the underlings.”

They followed their docents down a long dog leg before arriving at an ornate doorway with marble framing the two overly large doors. The other four yellow chords were already waiting in the hallway. Danel greeted them by name and bowed slightly to each as he did so, as was his custom.

“The doors are locked,” Edel said. He was a bit pudgy around the middle with thin lips under a sharp nose. His clothes bespoke of the colder climates of the great woodlands. “I tried them already.”

Danel looked around to ask his docent, but all of them had disappeared. Having no reason to doubt the man but also lacking patience, he tried the door himself. Grasping the long metal handle that was secured to the brass plate at both the top and bottom, the door did not budge. However, as he started to let go, the handle jiggled ever so slightly. He turned to Frage and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Either opening the door or breaking the handle,” he said. “I’d make a wager, but my pockets and my purse are empty.”

Edel crossed his arms and presented a look of disdain. Danel reversed his grip on the handle and attempted to rotate the handle clockwise. He felt something give. He added his other hand and the handle and its brass plate both rotated about an eighth of a turn. Something clicked and the door opened outward.

“Door’s open,” Danel announced, pulling the door fully open and inviting his colleagues to enter with a grand sweep of his free arm.

“Showoff,” Frage whispered as she brushed past. “How?”

Timidly, they moved into the room until Danel stepped in to gauge the space. They had entered at one end, which was empty. At the other end was an ornate fireplace and in front of it were twelve tables sparkling with china plateware and crystal goblets. The other Librarians were standing around in three or four clusters, looking at them.

“Well, that did not take long,” one of them shouted out. “We hardly had to wait for them to figure it out.”

“Here, here,” said another. “Perhaps they have more on the ball than the last batch.”

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” a woman called out, and everyone surrounding laughed.

Frage pressed against Danel’s shoulder and softly said, “Remember, it’s about them, not us. Be glad you passed another test and let it go. We are the new ones here and we don’t know the rules.”

Danel nodded, putting his father’s best horse-trading face on before walking to the other side of the room with an enthusiasm he did not especially feel. He walked up to the closest group, not knowing any of them, and bowed slightly while grasping his wrists and introducing himself. With half-hidden looks of amusements, they introduced themselves, giving their years as a Librarian. When they finished, he bowed again and made his way to the next group, continuing around until he had introduced himself to everyone.

The last group included the Second Librarian. When he finished, she invited him to join her at her table. Her partner held her chair for her before taking a seat himself. When they were seated, only then did Danel sit in the chair to her right. His attention was taken by the table setting and the counting of all the utensils laid out on either side of the large plate. He sighed.

“Problem?” Second asked, with a hint of mirth.

“Chopsticks are so much easier,” Danel said. “I understand the western ways, but our eastern neighbors have made our obligations for sharing a meal more elegant and easier to navigate.”

“Really,” she said. “I’ve dined with many from the Eastern Lands and while a few have arrived with their lacquered sticks, most put them away quickly enough.”

“As I am sure I will as well, now that I’ve heard your report,” he said. “Until then, I will muddle my way through this dining tradition. Surely others have come from different food cultures?”

“We Librarians are a strange lot,” she said. “No two of us hail from the place and only two or three come from the same kingdom if you can imagine. When Lassos arrived twelve years ago, he was terribly distressed that we ate on separate plates. In his culture, people who trust each other eat with their hands from one central dish using bread as a scoop. Eating from separate plates was a statement of a banished or isolated soul. He wanted to know why we isolate ourselves from each other if we are brothers and sisters of the Library of Ibados. While his dining expectations have evolved, his question continues to resonate with me. Why, indeed?”

“These dinners are served every evening?”

“Good gracious, no,” she said. “We would have a rebellion on our hands if we did. This is your first full day here and that is the reason for this grand spread this evening. In this manner, we can welcome you formally and you can meet all of us in one place at the same time. Most nights everyone goes their own way, or we meet in the common dining hall. You were in our dining hall this morning, which also serves in the evening. Midday will find most of us spread out across the building. Of course, for you first years, there is a night kitchen on the First Floor for your late cramming sessions.”

“O joy,” Danel remarked. He looked around at the tables. “Is the Head Librarian joining us this evening as you mentioned?”

“Damned fool always runs late,” her partner said. “There was a time we wanted to tie a bell around his neck to track him down. Now, we assigned him an assistant whose primary task is to get the man where he needs to be when he is supposed to be there.”

“Running this huge edifice with only fifty people? I can only imagine,” Danel replied.

“Fifty-five actually and you and your year-mates add ten percent to the total,” Second said. “Yes, we are stretched a bit thin, but make no mistake, we are on top of everything that happens within the Library of Ibados. Soon enough, you will be as well.”

Danel let the last comment linger for a moment, signaling to his superior that he was taking her words seriously. He decided another tact was probably best. “What brought you to the Library of Ibados?”