We set out from the warehouse for the last time that day. Dusk. The sun looked ready to drop into the ocean and fizzle out, but the world still glimmered from the light that shone off the waves. There were five of us, a small company given the ship we were to inspect, but the merchants were not considered hostile. We wore only thick leather, no armour today, though our swords were heavy at our hips and we had daggers strapped to shins and chests in positions chosen more for visibility than practicality.
The ship itself was a sight to behold. Ships were as common as books in Alexandria, yet I’d never seen one of this shape, with pointed corners and glorious red sails that fluttered like silk. I’d been told the ship came from the East, but ships from the East didn’t look like this, at least not the ones I’d seen. We were greeted by a man and a woman, both dressed in thick, embroidered clothes. Behind them, seamen went about their business. I recited the speech I’d already given five times that day.
‘Please allow me to welcome you to the city of Alexandria. I am Aristophanes, a humble servant of our king Ptolemy III. On behalf of our great monarch, I pray that your visit is as fruitful and joyous as our fair city itself.’
‘Thank you, Aristophanes. It is humbling to finally visit the glorious Alexandria,’ the man said, his accent foreign but his Greek perfect. ‘We’re here for trade, yet we already feel richer for having come to your shores.’
‘We are pleased to have your trade, my lord,’ I said. ‘As this is your first time in Alexandria, you may not be familiar with our many laws and customs. One in particular must be adhered to before you leave this ship. I hope you’ll permit me –’
‘We know we are required to forfeit every manuscript to the Library of Alexandria,’ the man said. ‘We commend your wise king for his policy. If every empire collected books like him, perhaps we’d have a much more enlightened world.’
I wasn’t sure how to respond. We were normally met with refusal, outrage, sorrow, shock and disheartened resignation. Though copies were often made for our visitors, the taking of their original books did something to them. Those who were lucky enough to be provided with a rushed replica were rarely appeased. Never had we been congratulated for the king’s policy of searching every ship that came into port and confiscating all their books.
‘I’m pleased to hear that, my lord,’ I managed.
‘We’ve already taken the liberty of collecting the books in our possession.’
A seaman came forth, carrying a small chest. He opened it to reveal a collection of scrolls, about ten or so.
I gestured for my men to retrieve them.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I hope you won’t mind if we inspect your ship for other manuscripts. It’s merely procedure.’
The woman’s smile faltered but the man bowed, smiling warmly. ‘Of course.’
Three of us set out, descending below deck. We split up as we went through the many barrels and bags of grain. I prodded the bags, keen to check them quickly and be on my way.
It was then that I felt something hard in a bag almost my height. It didn’t feel like a scroll, but something about it felt foreign, perhaps dangerous. Together with the men, one of whom had found a scroll in the merchant’s quarters, I dragged the bag up to the deck. I deposited it at my hosts’ feet. The man gestured to the scroll, ignoring the bag.
‘Forgive me, that is an inventory of our stock. You’re welcome to inspect it, but I hope you’ll let us keep it,’ he said.
‘My lord, may I ask what’s in this bag?’
The man still wouldn’t look at it. ‘Rice.’
‘There appears to be something hidden inside.’
‘Not at all. Rice forms into clumps if the moisture gets in. It can feel quite hard.’
I bent down and felt through the rough fabric of the bag. It had a definite shape, with sharper corners, and no amount of squeezing or prodding broke it up. I drew my dagger. The woman cried out as if I’d cut her. The man placed his hand on mine.
‘Please, sir, you can feel, it is not a scroll.’
‘Scrolls are often stored in intriguing ways. We just have to check. You will, of course, be compensated.’
I cut the bag open and rice spilled over the deck. Inside I found a strange object. It was like a box, rectangular in shape, but covered in dark leather. As I opened it, leaves of papyrus fanned out. It looked as if many scrolls had been cut up, the pieces then piled on top of each other. They were attached to the leather, stitched in on one side so the leaves could be turned. I flipped through it, gazing upon the unfamiliar writings. The papyrus itself felt unusual, tougher; perhaps it wasn’t papyrus at all.
Whatever it was, this cut-up scroll enclosed in leather, it most certainly was a book.
‘I’m sorry, this will need to be confiscated –’
The man reached out. I stepped back. Behind me, my men placed their hands on the hilts of their swords.
‘Please, sir. We’ll pay handsomely if you look the other way.’
‘I’m sorry –’
The woman launched herself at me. She scratched wildly, grasping for the book even as her own seamen pulled her off me. She cried in a language I’d never heard, and then collapsed into wordless wails.
‘It’s nothing of any import to you,’ the man pleaded. ‘Just a small thing of a small people. Nothing of any worth to Alexandria.’
‘The law on this matter is very clear. I assure you, if the librarians decide it’s of no value, it’ll be returned to you.’
This was a lie, of course. The woman knew. She screamed at the man, bitter, accusatory. He looked at the book in my hands. That same look of resignation I’d seen countless times came upon his face.
‘Please ask your scribes if they’d be good enough to make a copy for themselves and return the original to us.’
‘I will,’ I said, another lie. I knew such a novelty would never be returned.
As we left the ship, the woman cried out in Greek. ‘Your library will burn!’
We took the confiscated scrolls to the warehouse overlooking the port. The clerks were busy, labelling each item with the customary ‘from the ships’ and loosely sorting them in preparation for their trip up to the library.
‘What’s that?’ the clerk asked, pointing to the leather-encased book under my arm.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I better take it to Old Pup straight away.’
The clerk nodded, his eyes still lingering on it.
The other men departed for home while I made my way to the Royal Quarter. The library sat within the great Mouseion, dedicated to the Muses. Its entrance was open to the air, with gardens and elegant colonnades so scholars could debate among nature and the cool sea breeze. I rushed past its beauty, through the cavernous open doors, into the covered section of the library.
My footsteps echoed as I fast-walked through the high-ceilinged halls and their wide ornamental columns. I passed the reading rooms and dining halls, and came upon the shelves, piled from floor to ceiling with scrolls. My destination was the belly of the library, the stacks, where the acquisitions department would be winding down for the day. When I arrived only Cleon was there, making notations on a brightly coloured scroll.
‘Old Pup gone already?’ I asked.
‘First floor,’ Cleon replied, not looking up from his work.
To the staircase. In my haste, I didn’t notice the young slave carrying a pile of scrolls so large he could barely see over them. He bumped into me and our books went flying. Scrolls unfurled across the marble floor, my leather-wrapped book disappearing among them. The boy apologised in clumsy Greek as he stumbled about, picking them up. I snatched my precious find from him. His master, a scholar with a gnarled walking stick, descended upon him as I rushed up the stairs. A cry reverberated through the library’s great silence.
I searched the labyrinth of the first-floor shelves, but couldn’t find Old Pup. He’d entrusted me with many responsibilities that weren’t afforded to other confiscators. It’d been a day much like this, two years previous, when I discovered a merchant was hiding great works of literature by stitching them onto the end of stock reports, assuming no one would check their entire contents. I still remember Old Pup’s wrinkled face smiling at me as he said, ‘You have a good eye, my son. You may bypass the clerks whenever you see fit.’ He was someone I genuinely liked.
As I surveyed the alcoves in the walls, I noticed the slave again, wavering slightly as he stood by his master, who sat in one of the niches. I felt a pang of guilt. His cheek was split open and his left eye swollen.
The lamp in the scholar’s alcove went out. He grumbled and had the boy move his books to the niche beside it. Once he was settled, that lamp, too, went out. Oddly, the lamp in his previous alcove was lit again. Both of us stared at this, then looked around. I saw Old Pup, sitting on the opposite side of the floor, going through a scroll. He was absorbed in his work and couldn’t have had time to relight the other lamp. The scholar then glared at me. I shuffled away, pretending to look for something among shelves of … astronomy, it seemed.
As the scholar moved again, I caught a glimpse of Old Pup. His eyes were lifted, though he still leaned into the scroll. His hand made the tiniest movement, as if plucking something from the air. The lamp by the scholar went out. He then opened his fingers suddenly. The second lamp lit again. A smug grin flashed across Old Pup’s face, and then disappeared, eyes returning to the scroll. The scholar glanced up in frustration.
I wasn’t sure what I’d seen or if I’d even seen it. All I’d really witnessed was flickering flames under the watch of an old librarian who happened to delight in his patron’s annoyance.
The scholar sent his slave to Old Pup, who requested a candle for his master’s alcove. Old Pup was pleased to oblige. After the boy gave his master the candle, he was sent to the shelves on some errand. The flame by the scholar was steady. I was about to approach Old Pup when suddenly, despite the absence of any breeze, it went cleanly out. The scholar fiddled with the candle impatiently. Just as he brought it close to his face, Old Pup clicked his fingers and the wick caught in a great flash that singed the scholar’s eyebrows.
I returned to the shelves, Old Pup to his scroll. A few moments later, the scholar left, barking instructions at his slave. Old Pup winked at the boy. Then he turned to me.
It was only then, I think, that he noticed me. He frowned as if I was the one who’d done something strange. I felt suddenly afraid. His questioning eyes suggested he was in fact very responsible for the bizarre happenings with the lamps, and that perhaps I shouldn’t have seen them.
Old Pup stood. I turned to go.
‘Just a moment,’ he said.
I ducked between some shelves near the stairs. Suddenly, the scrolls slid off the shelves and slotted together like bricks. Invisible, nimble hands erected a wall, blocking my way. I turned to retreat, but another wall of scrolls awaited me, the last few volumes stacked well above my reach.
Silence. Then, the clacking of wood on marble as Old Pup made his way towards me and my prison of books. I realised then that there was no one else on the floor; in fact, I couldn’t hear any other sound.
‘I’m sorry to restrain you but it’s quite remarkable that I can, to be honest, and I must speak with you,’ Old Pup’s voice came from beyond the wall of scrolls.
I pushed on them, leaning with all my weight, then tried to climb the empty shelves. Both the shelves and the books shifted around my efforts.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Old Pup said. ‘If anything, I wish to embrace you!’
There was joy in his voice. Elation.
One of the book walls parted. Old Pup hobbled towards me. I thought of running, of shoving him aside, but his smile disarmed me, that same smile that was given so readily whenever I brought him an oddity from the ships.
Old Pup held out his hand. A scroll fluttered down to him, levitating above his palm. As he tilted his head and observed me, the scroll unravelled and danced like a ribbon caught in the breeze. As he returned his head to centre, the scroll wound itself back up and, with a delicate gesture, fluttered softly back to the shelves.
Yet it was Old Pup who seemed amazed. He said, ‘You see this!’ with awe.
‘My wife!’ I shouted.
It surprised us both. Old Pup frowned.
‘She’ll be waiting for me,’ I managed, much quieter this time.
The wall of books came up behind Old Pup. He dropped his cane and grasped my arms. ‘I’ve waited for years! I just thought this was it! But now I have you! You’ve seen it!’
‘I don’t know what I’ve seen.’
‘But you saw it!’
‘I can not have seen it?’ I suggested nervously.
‘No, it’s wonderful! We must talk! Let me buy you dinner. I can tell you of the mischief – I can tell you, I can say it!’ He lost himself for a moment, delirious. ‘Will you come? I’ll take you to the finest establishment I can afford.’
‘I must get home,’ I said. ‘Please.’
My final word was a cowardly beg. Old Pup frowned sadly at me and slowly nodded. He let go of me and gestured at his walking stick. It flew to him, slotting neatly into his hand. All his exuberance was gone.
Yet, we were still walled in by the prison of books.
‘Will you come tomorrow?’
‘Yes, yes, I will,’ I said a little too quickly.
‘I can do no harm,’ he said. ‘I’m an old man with strange tricks. That’s all.’
I nodded. ‘I will.’
The scrolls at my back parted and slotted gently back onto the shelves. I backed away, knocked my elbow and then scurried off. Once I left the library, I ran home. Only when I sat down to dinner did I realise I still had the unique book from the ships. Its novelty was suddenly lost on me.
I couldn’t sleep that night, and happily got up when the baby cried. As I rocked my son to sleep, I went over the stacks of my mind. I liked to think of my mind as a library, with memories curled up like scrolls and grouped together on shelves. I went over everything I could find on Old Pup.
When I was first employed as a confiscator, gossip about the library and its inhabitants were regular topics of conversation. Confiscators rarely left the port, going only between the ships and the warehouses that stored their loot, so we often mused on the goings on of the institution we all served but did not visit. Occasionally, we were required to help transfer scrolls from the warehouses to the library. Men who were given such a task came back with stories of the cloistered bookworms in their chicken coop of the Muses.
Old Pup was in charge of acquisitions. He once came to speak to us about the importance of our work. From that point on, every man who delivered scrolls to Old Pup and his team came back with rumours. He had no real name. Some said he went under the title of ‘the boy’ for decades. When he came to the library, he took the name Old Pup but no one could say when that was.
Wilder stories circulated beyond the oddity of his name. His life spanned a century. He’d travelled the world, going even further than Alexander the Great, then settled in Alexandria for a beautiful but barren woman. Others insisted he’d never left Alexandria, born within its walls and never venturing out. One rumour claimed he’d once been a slave.
In my dealings with him, he was kind. Whenever I brought him scrolls, he expressed gratitude even if he had six of the same on his desk. After he gave me the right to bypass the clerks, I didn’t gossip about him. Now I wished I’d made more of an effort to listen to the stories.
Old Pup was waiting at my door the next day.
‘You’ve got the morning off,’ he said, taking my arm to steady himself. ‘Come, let’s have breakfast. I’m sure you’ve eaten but a morning without work is a day for two breakfasts!’
He led me away from the port, away from the house I shared with my family, away from the library. I gazed at his frail, hunched frame, leaning against me and his walking stick, and chided myself for the fear of yesterday. Whatever I’d seen, surely it wasn’t dangerous.
Then again, what kind of sorcery could extinguish and ignite flames? What wicked magic could move objects without touching them?
The fear set in again as we entered the Jewish Quarter.
‘Here,’ Old Pup said, motioning down a narrow lane. ‘The place looks shabby but the food is excellent.’
I paused. I still felt nervous. Old Pup smiled as he waited for me to walk him down the alley. Then something came over me, something that lodged itself between the fear and the self-assurances that he was just a harmless old man: curiosity. I smiled back.
The café was unkempt but no more so than the restaurants near the port. Old Pup and I were not scholars; though we worked for the library, we didn’t receive a tax-free stipend or lodgings within the Royal Quarter. We existed on the fringes, often near the port warehouses. As we were served surprisingly delicate wine, Old Pup took a small piece of papyrus from inside a chest pocket in his robe. He lay it on the table in front of me, smoothing it out delicately. It was crinkled, with a small tear in the top right-hand corner, and blank save for a single word: Pup.
‘This is a memory,’ he said.
The word on the page suddenly bled, the ink dispersing across the papyrus, and then reformed back. I glanced up. Old Pup looked even more surprised than me.
‘It hasn’t done that in a long time,’ he said.
I stared back down at the papyrus. Then, tentatively, I touched it.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else. A busy agora. Walking towards a river. Athens. I drank water and choked as an old naked man laughed. I served wine to Alexander the Great. I played with fire and ran with chickens. I defied time, slowing it. I turned sand into a dead king to threaten a living one. I took the papyrus from the stiff hands of a dead philosopher.
I snatched my hand away. The world shifted back to the restaurant in Alexandria.
Old Pup frowned. ‘Are you alright?’
I looked at my fingers and then the papyrus. ‘I saw … I saw where you got this.’
‘What did you see?’ Old Pup asked urgently.
‘The river, Diogenes … I played a trick on Alexander the Great,’ I mumbled. Finally, I looked up at him. ‘Was I … was that you?’
Old Pup smiled. Tears filled his eyes as he nodded.
I was shocked. ‘How … why did you … show me this?’
‘It’s never done that before,’ he said. ‘What else did you see?’
‘Plato’s Academy. Graffiti.’
‘No, after all that.’
‘I – you found the paper and the ink shifted.’
‘After that.’
‘That was the last thing I saw.’
‘Oh. Really?’
‘Should I have seen more?’ I asked, nervous that I’d upset this strange sorcerer.
‘I don’t know. I just … I’ve done a lot since then.’
We went silent as a serving woman delivered warm bread to our table. Old Pup indicated that I should take some, but he did so absently, waving his hand limply. He took a piece himself, but his eyes never left the papyrus.
‘I didn’t expect it to do that,’ he said. ‘But I’m surprised it only showed you one … event.’
He put the bread down without taking a bite. He finally looked at me.
‘You know what I am now, or at least, what I came from. This mischief, magic, whatever you wish to call it, has been with me since those memories you just saw. The papyrus –’ he picked it up and tried to rip it ‘– it doesn’t tear, burn or stain.’
He dipped it in his wine and lifted it out dry. ‘I don’t know what these abilities are for, but I’ve done such wondrous mischief. When I was younger, I’d leave small slips of paper; ‘A. Mischief’ I called myself. I calmed storms when I crossed the seas, slowed time to steal scrolls from kings. But I couldn’t do anything when someone was looking at me.’
He then placed the papyrus back down in front of me. ‘Until now. You’ve seen me.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Not even my wife knew. I lost my voice when I tried to speak of it. I wrote letters but the ink always shifted into something else. She died some time ago now. It never allowed me to tell her.’
I felt uneasy. What did he mean by ‘allowed’?
‘I thought about this yesterday,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you are to be the next mischief.’
‘But … this seems wicked. I don’t want this.’
Old Pup took my hand, his eyes full of sympathy. ‘Maybe you’re just to record it before I die so the scholars will have something new to ponder. I don’t know. But you mustn’t worry.’
I nodded. He let go of my hand and finally, we ate. The serving woman came with two bowls of stew. She winked as she gave me the one with more chunks of meat. Old Pup smirked as she left. He clicked his fingers and our bowls magically switched places.
When we finished our meal, we walked slowly through the streets, Old Pup showing me a few of the things he could do. We found that when he slowed time, it slowed for me too. Even as he hobbled along, we overtook passers-by, all of whom failed to notice us. He encouraged me to try to snub out candles in shop windows, but my attempt to stare down the humble flames only garnered confused frowns from the shops’ patrons. Old Pup waited until their backs were turned, waved his hand, and the whole street went dark.
Suddenly, I remembered the odd book I found the day before. We would pass by my home, so I insisted we drop by to get it. When we arrived, Adoni, my wife, was flustered by the impromptu visit. She ran fingers through her uncombed hair as she held our son.
‘Don’t worry, dear, you’re a vision,’ Old Pup said.
She smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. Please sit. I’ll bring some wine.’
He sat as I retrieved the book. When he saw it, he took it eagerly, almost snatching it. He held it up to examine what bound it together.
‘It’s a book, isn’t it?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes,’ he said.
‘You’ve seen one before?’
Old Pup didn’t respond, lost in his inspection. Adoni served wine but he didn’t notice. I tried to penetrate his thoughts.
‘So, this cut-up scroll –’
‘Codex,’ he said. ‘The future of the book.’ He used his mischief to hover it above his hands. The pages fanned out elegantly. ‘Look at it. I tried telling Eratosthenes but had no example to show him.’
‘Have you seen many codexes?’
He smiled warmly. ‘Codices,’ he corrected. ‘And no. Only heard about them. Long ago.’
I waited for an explanation. Instead he pointed through the single window behind me. The sun was almost in the middle of the sky. My shift would start soon.
We set out towards the library. Old Pup grasped the codex under his arm. When we arrived, he fished a piece of papyrus from his pocket and placed it into my hands. For a moment, I thought he’d given me the old page he’d taken from Diogenes. I looked down to find an address.
‘I live nearby. I’m old now, so the king moved me closer to the library. You may come any time you wish, especially if you ever notice anything unusual.’
We both knew what he meant. I nodded and wondered what mischief he performed to get himself so close to the scholars’ official lodgings.
‘Do visit me though, even if nothing changes. At least, you can record my story. I’d be very grateful,’ he paused, bowing his head in some small embarrassment, ‘even for a little company. Bring the family.’
‘I will,’ I assured him.
He grasped my arm again. ‘But be careful.’
I nodded.
‘Those letters I wrote to my wife. The last time I did it, the ink shifted into the most horrible note. She cried for days. I couldn’t tell her I didn’t write it.’
‘You speak of it like it’s a living thing.’
‘It is. It’s not always you wielding the mischief. Sometimes it wields you. And sometimes, it will punish you.’
I nodded, trying not to show how terrified I was. I waited for him to enter the library and then ran out of the Mouseion, my eyes on the sky. I would be late. Yet, if I think back on it, I made it to the port so quickly it was as if time had stopped.
Six ships, all with hidden manuscripts. I’d never seen so many actively hiding their literary cargo. Yet, after the fifth ship, I began to wonder if maybe this wasn’t so unusual. Perhaps it was me who’d changed, suddenly able to know where things were hidden as if a beacon marked them on every ship. As I parroted the same request for books, my mind was elsewhere; a captain’s mattress, a bag of wheat, the stitching of a lady’s skirt. Otus, a fellow confiscator and friend, laughed as I insisted the woman forfeit the scrolls in her gown or have her clothes removed.
‘You’ve found more scrolls this afternoon than I have all week,’ he said. ‘In fact, you’ve found more than you’ve found all week!’
By home time, the thrill of finding so many books drained away. I felt sick. My eyes went in and out of focus. Otus steadied me, holding my shoulders as he walked me away from the port.
‘Just a bit of seasickness,’ he said. ‘Bound to happen when you jump from ship to land all day.’
No, that wasn’t it. Something was wrong. The beacon that showed me all those hidden books now called to me from the library. It came with pain, dizzying pain. Otus had to carry me to my door. When she saw me, Adoni took me to bed and stroked my hair. Just like Old Pup, delicately stroking the pages of the codex.
The next morning, I knew I had to see Old Pup. I left home before sunrise. If I had the correct address, his flat was right next to the scholars’ marble lodgings opposite the library. I knocked but no one answered.
The sun was lighting up the streets as I made my way to the library. It seemed strange that he’d leave for work before dawn, especially when he lived so close, but the acquisitions team famously spent more time at the library than the scholars themselves. I met Cleon on the way. Old Pup’s wry second-in-command looked weary.
‘Little early to be coming from the ships,’ he said.
‘I forgot to give something to Old Pup,’ I lied.
Cleon sighed. ‘Come on then.’
We made our way through the gardens. As we came towards the main doors, I felt sick again. There was someone lying on the ground. Their robes were spread out, stained red. That violent colour pooled beside them. The blood slowly spread, fresh.
Old Pup. His eyes open wide and unblinking. He stared up at the windows on the highest floor, as if he was still glaring at the place from where he had fallen. Or been pushed. His mouth was open. He looked surprised.
‘For goodness’ sake, call the guards!’ Cleon shouted.
I stumbled, my sight blurred. Cleon barked something about watching the body as he ran, shouting, towards the gates. My sight returned to normal and a sense of urgency gripped me. I went to Old Pup’s side and lifted the robe at his chest. The hidden pocket was empty.
I took off. I ran all the way to acquisitions. The codex was missing. I ran to the top floors, to where Old Pup’s dead eyes stared with fear and accusation. Scrolls were scattered on the ground. But still, no codex.
I returned to a garden full of people. Guards surrounded the body. Shouts, gasps and questions drowned out the subtle sound of the sea in the distance. Cleon touched my arm. I looked down at him and noticed I had blood on my hands. I shivered. His robes were stained too.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’
In an unprecedented move, the king closed the library. Work at the port was to continue, but the library itself was closed. Never had its doors been shut, its scholars sent scurrying back to their dormitories. Guards from the palace came to the library on the king’s command, and Cleon and I were questioned for so long that the blood on our robes stiffened. Finally, we were given leave to clean ourselves in the kitchens, with fresh clothes given to us and our own sullied ones taken. We were then pushed out the gates as officials from the palace came in. We stood there in silence, our backs to the hushed voices and barked commands that filled the gardens.
Cleon sighed.
‘Walk me home.’
He took my arm just as Old Pup had the day before. As we walked to the edge of the Royal Quarter, whispers snaked out of alleyways and windows. News of Old Pup’s death filtered through the capital.
‘Did you know him well?’ Cleon asked me.
‘Only a little.’
He glanced up at the windows above and scowled. ‘Whispers do him no justice.’
As we came to Cleon’s house, the stern librarian softened. ‘Go home and rest. Sleep if you can.’
I nodded and waited for him to go inside. Then I turned towards the library. I had to know if the codex, and the papyrus Old Pup held so close to his heart, were safe.
I stood some distance from the library, watching the guards stalk the perimeter. I looked for my moment to run. At last, the guards nearby turned their backs. I ran on tiptoe along the buildings. Time slowed. As I slipped behind the apartments’ walls, the guards had only taken three steps.
I found Old Pup’s flat. I pushed my weight against the door but it didn’t budge. If doors prevented me from searching ships in the port, I picked the lock or broke the door down. The lock on this door was incredibly intricate. I took my dagger and went to insert it into the lock when the thing clicked three times of its own accord. The door opened.
Light streamed in from two large windows. It was so very still but signs of life – a dirty glass, bedsheets unmade – were everywhere. A mosaic of a beautiful woman stood pride of place in the middle of an overburdened desk. But the codex and Old Pup’s papyrus were nowhere to be found.
The port called to me then. I remembered the woman on the ship with the red sails.
Your library will burn.
I ran out of the apartments and raced down to the port. The codex was calling me. I could feel it, throbbing like a beating heart.
But the ship had already left. Its red sails were specks in the distance.
‘Didn’t think you were coming in today,’ Otus’ voice came from behind me.
I pointed to the red sails. They were so small, I could’ve scooped them off the horizon with my little finger. Otus stared at me. ‘What?’
My left ear burned. I turned to the docked ships. They were bobbing about as the sea swelled beneath them. The clouds overhead were turning black and the winds whipped at the folded sails and lengths of rope. My inner beacon sounded, a silent pinging. I took a few steps to the left. The pinging became louder. I didn’t know what it was – there was no sound that fell or grew with each step I took – but it felt like a bell dinging inside my skull.
The pinging became a painful chime as I came across a small vessel. I jumped aboard.
‘Aristophanes, ah, that’s the ship they’ve been working on for the princess.’
I could feel the beacon below in the unfinished sleeping quarters. I drew my sword.
Otus followed. ‘What’s going on?’
I descended below deck. There was an odd smell, musty and smoky, like crumbling charcoal. It was strong, with foul notes of rotten eggs. I threw open the door. There, the woman from the boat with red sails sat, holding the codex close to her chest. A loose page peeked out of the book: Old Pup’s papyrus. She wore a beaded necklace with a wooden bulb pendant, which hung over the book. Black soot marred her fingers, jewellery and clothes.
Her eyes narrowed. She stood, raising herself proudly, and walked towards me. I flicked my sword at her, keeping her back.
‘The book,’ I said, holding out my other hand.
‘I won’t forfeit this treasure to you. Not again,’ she said. ‘If I must forsake it, let me give it to someone of a more respected position.’
I thought of Old Pup. ‘You killed the man of a more respected position.’
‘Yes, and I’ll kill you too.’ Her eyes flickered over my shoulder. ‘And him.’
I glanced behind and saw Otus. He pushed past me, unafraid, and grabbed the woman by the arm. He shoved her forward. ‘Come on then,’ he barked.
She glanced back. Our eyes met. She ran her blackened fingers upon the codex.
We took her to the library to face the palace officials. I’d begged the port manager to keep her in the port, to have the officials and guards come down, but the messengers from the library insisted we bring her to them. They wanted to question her at the scene of the crime, to have her show them how she was able to penetrate the city’s famous library and kill one of its most beloved employees.
Palace guards escorted us. Though we had six armed men, I felt nervous. The musty smell that emanated from her made me nauseous. She didn’t seem worried; in fact, she was defiant. Her eyes were fixed on the library that loomed ahead. No one took the book from her.
We were led through the gates. Thunder rumbled back near the port. As we entered the library itself, past the giant windows in the great hall, it was difficult not to notice how the sun was almost completely hidden by the growing black clouds. Guards were lighting the night lamps in and around the library.
We were taken to acquisitions. Palace guards stood in attendance as an unarmed man wearing fine white and purple robes shifted through the items on Old Pup’s desk. I knew him instantly as the Ophthalmos, the King’s Eyes. Like Old Pup, no one knew his real name. When he turned and saw us, it was as if he recognised us all. Even her.
‘Dear girl,’ he said. ‘Such a big fuss you’ve made.’ He gestured at the codex. ‘You have no use for that anymore.’
The woman gripped the codex tighter. ‘That is not for you to decide.’
‘Oh, but it is,’ he said, smiling. He was so at ease he played with the lamp on Old Pup’s desk, dancing his fingers through the flame. I shivered as I remembered Alexander doing the same thing in Old Pup’s memories. ‘Everything about you is for me to decide.’
She fingered the wooden pendant that hung around her neck. ‘I can give you more than a book.’
The Ophthalmos raised his eyebrows, mocking her.
‘A prophecy and a weapon,’ she said.
His fingers flickered through the flame, bored. ‘Oh yes?’
‘Your library will burn,’ she said.
I stepped back, feeling dizzy. The beacon sounded again, a burning sensation in the back of my head. A guard whispered something to me. Otus too. But all I heard was the exchange in the middle of the room, and the subtle swish of the flame as the Ophthalmos ran his fingers across it.
‘And the weapon?’ he asked.
She yanked the pendant from her necklace, snapping the cord. Beads chattered around her feet. She pulled a plug from it and a plume of black soot escaped. She tossed the orb at him, the black powder arching in the air. The Ophthalmos caught it above the flame. I stepped back, out of the room. It boomed like thunder. Fire, sound and fury threw us all into darkness.
I woke. First, all I registered was a long buzzing sound, like a mosquito burrowed into my ear. Then I felt the heat. Smoke billowed out of acquisitions. The scrolls and shelves around me were on fire. I tried to pull myself up but my hands slipped. They were wet with blood, my arms blistered and red. I tried again. As I struggled to my feet, a dull sound from far away pierced the ringing in my ears. It was screaming.
I stumbled to the office. I couldn’t go beyond the doorframe, where the door had been blown clean off. Fire engulfed everything. Guards near the door were screaming. The desks and bodies at the centre were completely consumed, the fire so hot and bright you couldn’t see if the shapes inside were moving or simply fuelling the flames.
Another beacon went off in my head. The kitchens nearby. I ran towards them as burning scrolls fluttered down on me. I burst through the doors. The library was the only place I knew of with pipes delivering water directly to its kitchens. With a flick of my wrists, I used mischief to snap every faucet. Water gushed forth. I directed it out, through the halls and down to the office. But it evaporated into air. The fire spread through the shelves. The air shook with heat.
I burst into tears. Like a child. The flames bore down on me. My only hope was to run out of the kitchens and escape through the gardens. The fire jumped from shelf to shelf, eating book after book. I felt exhausted and so incredibly sad. I wished it would all stop, that the ground would split open and a flood would come rushing out.
I smiled then, thinking of the pipes that snaked under shelves and desks before coming to the kitchens. The mischief, that tingling in my chest, sparked. I thought of Old Pup, throwing sand into the wind to create ghosts, and clenched my fists. I felt the pipes snap as if they were my bones. The marble split open and water gushed from the floors and walls, spurting out. I ran back towards acquisitions.
Three burst pipes flooded the office with water. It was still blistering hot, the heated marble melting my shoes, but I stayed. The fire was under control. I heard voices somewhere. People were coming. Guards and water. Thunder rumbled over us now and though my ears were still ringing too loudly for me to hear it, I knew it had started to rain.
I should have gone then but I didn’t. Something compelled me forward, past the smouldering furniture, books and bodies. It was a little voice, another beacon calling just here, just here …
Among the wreckage, I found it. Untouched. The codex lay on the ground in a pile of ash. I bent down and touched it. It was cool, completely unscathed. I opened the book and found Old Pup’s treasured papyrus. It suddenly fused into the book, becoming one of its first pages. A gust of smoke washed over us, turning each leaf. The magic trapped in Old Pup’s papyrus ran through the rest of the codex in a ripple of red flame. As it did, the ink on the rest of the pages bled out, leaving them blank. Then they flipped back the other way and settled on the page just after Old Pup’s. I touched it, leaving fingerprints of blood. The blood sank into the paper and reformed as a single word in black ink: Aristophanes.
Whatever mischief Old Pup had held in that page, whatever magic he had passed onto me, laid claim to the codex. This, I knew, would be its home. Its history.
I took it and left. Past shouting guards, men with buckets of water. They moved slowly, as if time worked differently for them. They didn’t even glance at me as I limped out into the rain.
I didn’t turn back until I got home. There, I saw the plume of black smoke from the library billowing up and meeting its ominous cousin in the clouds above. Then I went inside. I didn’t hear Adoni’s words as she embraced me. I stumbled to bed and hid the codex. The mosquito buzzed in my ear. I went to sleep.
I slept for days. My hearing returned only partially, with the buzzing an ever-constant accompaniment to the sounds of my life. Someone came from the library to tell Adoni I was dead, only to find me sleeping in my bed. The guards came then. I told them the Ophthalmos had dismissed me when he had the woman responsible for Old Pup’s murder. I didn’t see what happened. That was all.
For each person who came, every time my wife or children spoke, the codex under the bed whispered to me. At first, I wondered why it hadn’t done this before, but then I came to realise that it was the mischief, not the book, that spoke to me. The codex was just a vessel the mischief had taken. The magic in Old Pup’s papyrus wanted something permanent, something special, to call home. And there was nothing more special than this new breed of book. Old Pup’s memories were now recorded in this tome. I remembered the ink forming my name. What great act of mine would it record, what would it trap within its pages? Perhaps finding the codex. Perhaps saving the library from fire. Maybe it would record something decades from now, some little but mischievous thing done by an old man, or maybe something tomorrow, something innocent and simple.
A week after the fire, I left before Adoni or the children woke. I raced through the dark, jumping over walls, sneaking into gardens. I slowed time enough so that an hour stretched for days. I crept by guards at the palace. I tiptoed past families sleeping together. I flittered through the gardens of the library, still smoking from the great fire. I took every flower I could find, every bud waiting for spring. I filled our house with blooms as the whole of Alexandria, as my dear sweet wife, lay sleeping.
As the dawn crept through our window, I willed every shrivelled bud to unfurl, every petal to sigh open. A hundred gardens filled our tiny house. Adoni opened her eyes and gasped. I smiled sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed as I too realised how much I’d stolen.
Then she laughed. She waded through the floral rainbow and took my face in her hands. She said, ‘My mischievous boy.’