Lenora threw open the door. “Malachi!” she cried to the dark-skinned woman, before pausing to take in the scene.
She had never seen the Chief Answerer’s office before (and wasn’t sure that Malachi had ever had or needed one in the past), but this did not seem at all like a place Malachi would choose to work. It was little different from the other small offices she’d seen, except that there were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the walls, all groaning under the weight of hundreds of books. Lenora sighed with relief at the sight of the first proper bookshelves she’d seen since entering the Library.
The desk was just the same as the desks she’d seen elsewhere, and so naturally it was far too small for the ten-foot-tall Chief Answerer. Her head, with its perfect bun held in place with two ever-so-sharp pencils, almost brushed the ceiling even though she was sitting in her little chair, her knees poking up higher than Lenora’s head. Down the length of her sharp nose she peered at Lenora, and if Lenora didn’t know better she’d think there might be a twitch of a smile at one end of her lips.
“It is good to see you, Lenora,” she said primly. “And I see you’ve grown.”
That was true. Lenora, always the shortest in her class, had undergone something of a growth spurt lately, and was now perhaps only the fifth- or sixth-shortest. But Malachi often said things that had more than one meaning, and Lenora suspected this was one of them.
Then she saw it, and gasped. Malachi’s badge. It read, against all sense:
MALACHI
ASSISTANT ANSWERER
“Assistant Answerer!” cried Lenora. “But—” And then she was instantly silenced by Malachi’s long finger going to her lips.
The Chief—Assistant?—Answerer pointed slowly to all four corners of the ceiling, then pointed to her ears, then back. Lenora understood immediately what she’d begun to guess from Paolo.
Someone was listening. And so Lenora must be very careful what she said.
Malachi spoke in a rather flat tone unlike her usual speech. “It’s quite simple, Lenora. There is new leadership on the Board.”
The Board! Lenora had heard that term right before she left the Library the first time. But she still had no idea what it was.
“The Board determined that the Library needed to modernize,” Malachi continued. “Needed outside-the-box thinking and innovation. Synergy. Paradigms.”
Again, Lenora had no idea what Malachi was talking about. But she suspected, strongly, that Malachi was simply speaking for whoever was listening and didn’t believe a word of it herself.
“And they brought in a new Director to run the Library. He had, as we were told, a vision. A very great vision.”
Malachi leaned into the word great with such force that Lenora almost took a step back.
“And so there has been a reorganization. My duties have been … changed … in keeping with the vision. Many librarians, who were no longer a good”—and here Malachi paused, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath—“fit, were offered the opportunity to seek new jobs elsewhere. Away from the Library.”
(I’ve been fired, Lenora remembered the weeping Aaliyah telling her earlier.)
“New librarians have been hired as well.” Malachi looked at her intently. “Some of them you have met before.”
Lenora understood, though she almost collapsed at the thought that the Forces of Darkness were working as “librarians” now.
“But one must adapt, Lenora. There is still much work to be done. In fact, there is more to be done than ever before.”
Lenora was not sure what she could say and what she couldn’t, so she asked tentatively, “What should I do, then?”
“As it happens, you’ve shown up at exactly the right time. I have an extremely important task, and therefore you are precisely the right librarian to handle it.”
Lenora’s heart swelled at the words, but she was worried she might let Malachi down. After all, she still did not fully understand what was going on.
“I would like you to go to the Philosophy section as quickly as possible. There, you will find a girl, ten years of age. It is vital that you help her.”
Then Malachi reached out her palm, revealing a familiar object—a metal fob the size of a domino, dangling from a necklace. A Tube key. Lenora took the necklace and with great solemnity put it over her head, leaving the key to dangle just next to her badge. Then Malachi opened a drawer and removed an object that Lenora knew quite well—her old notebook! She grasped it eagerly and flipped through, seeing that all her notes were still there. She dropped the notebook into one of the large pockets that she had begun insisting be included on all her dresses, along with a couple of sharp pencils from a box on the desk.
While Lenora did this, Malachi wrote something on a piece of paper. (Her desk was neatly arranged with several stacks.)
She held up the paper to Lenora. On it Lenora read:
YOU MUST REMEMBER THREE THINGS. THE FIRST IS YOUR OATH.
Lenora remembered. Do you swear to follow the librarian’s oath? Do you swear to work hard? Do you swear to venture forth bravely and find the answer to any question, no matter the challenge? Do you swear to find a path for those who are lost, and to improvise and think on your feet and rely on your wits and valor? And, do you swear to oppose the enemies of knowledge with all your courage and strength, wherever they might be found?
She had given a solemn “I do” to every question, then done her very best to stay true to her promise.
Next was this:
THE SECOND THING—NEVER LIE TO HER, LENORA. NO MATTER HOW MUCH EASIER IT MIGHT MAKE THINGS IN THE TIMES AHEAD, ALWAYS TELL HER THE TRUTH.
Lenora said nothing, but gave a firm nod, which Malachi returned just as firmly. Though Lenora did not know exactly who “her” was, it seemed very likely it was this mysterious girl in the Philosophy section.
And finally:
THIRD: HELP ZENODOTUS!
Lenora had no idea who that was either, and though she wanted desperately to ask, she knew she could not.
“Now go,” said Malachi. “Make a left and head all the way to the end of this hallway. You’ll find a door that says DO NOT ENTER. Go through that and you’ll find a Tube station nearby.”
Lenora nodded, and knowing there was, as usual, no time to waste, dashed out of the office and down the hallway at a dead run.