And If Thou Wilt, Forget

The old bat had left her office door unlocked. And more importantly, she’d left her papers out.

Well. Okay. That was a bit of a stretch. The door wasn’t so much unlocked as it was shockingly easy to pick, and the papers hadn’t so much been out as easily eventually located under several empty folders in a drawer that came open with only a little bit of jiggling and finagling. But, come on. For Gertrude Robinson, that was practically leaving the doors wide open with a big sign that said FREE TO A GOOD HOME pointing directly at the papers.

Well…maybe not. Not when nobody came down to the Archives when she wasn’t in except for Gerard, and he’d said he wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.

Not his fault he’d been too keyed up to wait and taken an earlier train back.

Maybe a little his fault.

Gerard hummed to himself as he turned the pages over. They seemed to relate to a statement of some kind; while the actual statement didn’t seem to be anywhere in them, he could kind of piece together the gist of it just based on the research. It was something to do with an eighteenth-century automaton that turned out to be a hoax, and something to do with a Hungarian theater, and something to do with an unremarkable man, probably the statement-giver. All taken together, it suggested something of the Stranger, maybe a previous attempt at the Unknowing. Gertrude had obviously been making notes, highlighting, underlining, scribbling in the margins, but what was unusual—at least as far as he could see—was that she had crossed most of her notes out. The crosses started out neat and precise, but he started to notice that more and more of them were stricken hastily in a vicious, almost excited slash. He had trouble with her handwriting at the best of times, and the edits made it harder.

Nevertheless, he persisted.

One note he could read delighted him. MEM: If he survives, bonus/raise? Gerard didn’t exactly draw a paycheck from the Institute, and Gertrude rarely favored him with more than he paid for any books he acquired for her, and it didn’t feel great to know she had such a low opinion of him that she thought he’d get killed by the idiot that had previously owned this one. But the idea of a bonus was promising. He put a big, cheeky check mark next to the note and went on.

“Excuse me, this part of the Institute isn’t open to the public.”

Gerard did not yelp in surprise. He did not toss the papers in his hand like they were electrified. He did not shove back from Gertrude’s desk so quickly that the chair toppled over backwards, taking him with it to the floor. He did not crack his head so hard on the floor that he saw stars and temporarily lost the ability to breathe.

He couldn’t have done any of those things, because that would have meant that he looked not only highly suspicious but deeply uncool in front of the objectively hot man looking down at him with a combination of bafflement and concern, and surely the universe didn’t hate him that much.

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked as soon as he had enough air to speak, as if he was in any position—literally or metaphorically—to make that kind of challenge.

“I work here.” The man held out a hand to assist him off the floor.

Gerard ignored it, as much as he wanted to take it, and rolled to his feet with as much dignity as he could manage. “Did you need something from Ms. Robinson?”

“Did you?” the man countered. “I don’t think she’s in right now—I’m not entirely sure where she is, actually, just that she’s out—but maybe I can help you with whatever it is?”

“Uh.” Gerard thought fast. Whoever this man was, assuming he did actually work for the Institute, he shouldn’t be down here. Unless this was Elias Bouchard, whom Gerard had never met—with good reason—but he looked awfully young for that. Also, if Gerard had managed to get himself caught by Elias Bouchard, Gertrude would…actually, he didn’t know what she would do to him, but it definitely wouldn’t be pleasant. She didn’t suffer fools gladly and had a low tolerance for failure, and she’d been emphatic about him keeping well away from Elias when he came to the Archives. Still, whoever this was, Gerard would have to have a reason to be here, and a reason to get him out of the Archivist’s office.

He gestured at the papers still scattered over the desk, hoping the man wouldn’t look at them too closely. “I, uh—statement.”

The man glanced briefly at the papers, then up at Gerard with a single raised eyebrow. “You don’t look much like an expert in eighteenth-century Hungarian theater. Or eighteenth-century Hungarian, for that matter. So I’m not sure why you’re helping with this one.”

Shit. Well, time for another lie, one that could probably pass muster. Gerard gave the man what he hoped was a disarming grin. “Look, cards on the table, eh, mate? I’m her grandson. Just back from a trip to the continent, so I thought I’d pop in and see her, say hello, you know? I wasn’t supposed to be back until next week, so I reckoned I’d surprise her. Didn’t expect to find anyone down here.”

The man relaxed, but only marginally. “Been gone a while, have you?”

“Couple months,” Gerard hazarded. It had actually only been about a week and a half he’d been off on this trip, but something told him that wouldn’t be long enough.

“That explains it. I only started working for her in September.” The man held out his hand again. “Tim Stoker. Archival Assistant.”

He smiled. He really did have a nice smile—white teeth and a mischievous dimple and lines around his eyes that suggested he laughed more than frowned. Gerard’s own smile relaxed in response as he accepted the hand and shook it. “Gerard Keay. Rare book dealer.”

“Nice to meet you, Gerard.” Tim ran a hand through his hair and stifled a yawn. “Sorry. Just woke up from a nap…where were you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Germany. Black Forest region. Gentleman there had a collection of rare maps and atlases.” Gerard shrugged. “I got a few, but…not sure what they’re worth. They’re not the kind of rare books I usually deal with.”

“May I see?” Tim asked. “If you don’t mind showing me.”

That…was probably a bad idea. Gerard tried to look skeptical rather than nervous. “Know a lot about German geography?”

“No, but I know books.” Tim gave him a crooked grin. “First in Anthropology. And I worked in publishing before I came to the Institute.”

Curiosity overcame caution. Not completely—Gerard was smart enough not to pull out the book with Leitner’s bookplate carefully affixed to the inside, the title of which he couldn’t interpret—but he did extract the other three and hand them over. Tim took them with the reverence of a bibliophile and handled them with the respect of a historian. He examined the bindings and conditions of the covers, murmuring to himself as he did so. If he was telling the truth about working for Gertrude, and the jury was still out on that, she’d managed to get a good one.

He set the books gently on the desk, then picked up one and opened it carefully. The familiar scent of an old book wafted up from its pages, with none of the stale malice Gerard was accustomed to smelling in Leitners—it might have been his imagination, but he’d smelled it a time or two in books that didn’t have the label and they’d wound up being evil too. Tim studied the inside page for a moment. He frowned slightly, then gave Gerard a sharp look. “How much did you pay for this?”

“About eight thousand pounds for all four. I think.” Gerard was keenly literate but reluctantly numerate, and he’d never been able to hold exchange rates in his head for as long as it took him to turn away from the posted signs at the airport or bank counter.

“You could get twice that for just this one, at a conservative guess. Look.” Tim angled the book towards him. “See this printer’s mark here? This was an experimental printing press that made movable print blocks with geographic features and shorelines and such, then tried to put them together into coherent maps. They weren’t quite as helpful as a hand-drawn one, or a custom-drawn one, but they were pretty damn close, especially for the time. There aren’t a lot of these still surviving.”

Despite himself, Gerard was impressed. “Out of curiosity, how lost would you be if you tried to follow them?”

“Today? Extremely. Even back then, you’d probably be better off staying inland. The coastline wouldn’t look right. But not any worse off than most other common maps of the time.” Tim gingerly turned a page. “Your guy didn’t know what he had. Or you’re an amazingly shrewd bargainer.”

“I dress up when I’m dealing with clients.” Fudging the truth a bit. Gerard could clean up well enough, and every once in a while would dust off a nice suit if he needed to, but it was mostly for charity events or the like. Charming old ladies was surprisingly easier the rattier he looked.

Tim tossed him a grin. “Yeah, you look like the tails and opera cloak type.”

“Hey,” Gerard said, starting to be offended. Then he spotted the sincerity—and appreciation—in Tim’s eyes and realized he meant it.

Oh, hell. He was too old to blush like a schoolgirl just because a cute boy paid him a compliment.

Not that he could ever remember a cute boy paying him a compliment. Tim was actually probably the youngest person he’d ever had a sustained conversation with. Gerard mostly lusted after hot men, women, and people of indeterminate gender from a distance, even more so since he’d got out of prison, and satisfied his needs and desires with nameless, faceless partners at clubs that catered to such things. Low lights, loud music, and the kind of silent communication that was really, really easy to willfully misinterpret. He’d been hurt badly a time or two, but at least he never needed to see who did the hurting.

Tim set the rare tome aside and picked up another, and Gerard took the opportunity to study him more closely. He looked like a pretty typical academic, understandable if he’d been in publishing before stepping into the ivory tower of the Institute, but there was something…fun about him. Something that spoke of farmers’ markets and swap meets and bazaars, but also of forest tracks and river paths and mountain trails. He was an explorer, but not an adventurer—not usually a risk-taker—which made it all the odder he was in the Archives. If he’d come down here thinking it was safe…Gerard got a bit of a sinking feeling. He probably didn’t know about the Fourteen.

Which didn’t make sense. Surely Gertrude wouldn’t have kept him in the dark. Surely she wasn’t that cruel.

And—no, there it was, so faint he’d almost missed it. It wasn’t the mark of something following him, necessarily, more of a shadow, but Tim had racked up at least one encounter with the Stranger, maybe more. But a contract from the Institute, while it didn’t guarantee safety, at least afforded him a measure of the Eye’s protection. If nothing else, it would keep him under observation and let Gertrude, or someone, know if the Stranger came for him again. That was good.

Beyond that, his observations confirmed his initial assessment. Tall, or at least close to Gerard’s height, good-looking in a way that wasn’t at all self-conscious, with a ready smile and very sharp eyes. Gerard had never been good at any kind of casual conversation, let alone making actual friends, but something about Tim made him want to try.

“These are both late nineteenth century,” Tim said, bringing Gerard back to reality. “At least I can confidently say you didn’t overpay for them if you bought them with this other one, but honestly, they’re the Edwardian equivalent of pulp. They’re in good enough condition, but you’d have to find a pretty specialized collector to get more than a couple hundred pounds for both.” He set them down. “You said you bought four?”

“I did?” Gerard panicked slightly. Oh, there was no way he’d let a pair of sapphire eyes and a dimple he could lose his finger in charm him into tipping his hand, was there? If there was a God, a supreme head of the universe, He was definitely laughing at Gerard right about then.

On the other hand…well, he was Gertrude’s assistant. He had to know what Leitners were, right? He’d be careful. Gerard reached for his bag again.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Gerard?”

For the second time that day, Gerard almost leaped out of his skin. At least this voice was one he was expecting…kind of…but that didn’t mean it didn’t startle him. He managed to keep the guilty look off his face as he blinked up at Gertrude Robinson’s unimpressed expression.

Before he could come up with a glib answer, though, Tim gave her a wry smile. “Lying through his teeth, and badly at that. But if you do actually know him, I won’t go looking for security unless you want me to.”

“No need for that. Yet.” Gertrude shot Gerard a warning glance before turning back to Tim. “Are you rested?”

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me use the cot.” Tim moved towards the door. “If you don’t need me, I’m going to go pack that up before I get started for the day.”

“It’s Saturday, but the library should be open. Diana usually has someone helping her with cataloging on Saturday mornings. Find out what they have on the Circus of the Other,” Gertrude instructed, then, uncharacteristically, tacked on, “Please.”

Tim looked momentarily disorientated, but nodded. “Do you need them in English?”

“Unless you read Russian.”

“Only the basics, really.”

“Well, that’s better than I can. If there are any in Russian, do see what you can do with them.”

“I will. Thanks.” Tim gave Gerard a wink and a cheeky grin. “Nice to meet you, Gerard. Try not to scream too loud.” He rapped twice on the frame of the door and was gone.

Gertrude waited a few minutes, arms crossed over her chest, then raised an eyebrow disapprovingly at Gerard. “What did you tell him?”

“Told him I was your grandson.” Gerard suppressed a smirk at the small harrumph she made at that. “And that I’m a book dealer who was meeting a client with rare atlases. I did try at first to say I was doing a statement, before I knew who he was, but—”

“He’s far more perceptive than he appears,” Gertrude said. “And he has a talent for this kind of work.”

“How long’s he been with you?” Gerard, despite himself, was curious.

Gertrude’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Since the beginning of September. Ordinarily when I know you are coming, I come up with a reason to get him out of the Archives.”

The censure in her voice was palpable. Gerard shifted slightly uneasily. “I got what I went for. Waiting around another three days didn’t make much sense to me, so I grabbed an express train early. I didn’t expect anyone to be here on a Saturday.”

“Then why come here? Why not wait until Monday?”

“Well, you’re not anyone. You’re always here, I just thought—”

“And my office?” Gertrude interrupted. She scowled at the papers scattered on the desk. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“Yeah. I found your assistant,” Gerard said pointedly. “Or he found me, anyway. I figured it would be better than waiting in the middle of the Archives.”

Gertrude’s eyes narrowed further. “He’s right. You are a terrible liar.”

“I am a fantastic liar,” Gerard said, offended. “You just know too much.”

“Gerard.” Gertrude pinched the bridge of her nose briefly.

“Why’s he here, anyway?” Gerard asked, trying to redirect her from blessing him out and distract her into revealing her nefarious plan. “Thought you didn’t have anyone officially helping you anymore.” He was a little vague on what had happened to her previous assistants, but they’d all been gone well before she took care of his annoying little problem and he started helping her. She’d been adamant about not putting him on the payroll, and he’d assumed it was so she had more leeway about what to do with him, but…

“He works here,” Gertrude said pointedly.

“Yeah, but it’s Saturday,” Gerard shot back. “Like I said, nobody works on Saturdays but you. And more to the point, why does he work here? I thought you didn’t have the budget for an assistant.”

“No, I didn’t have the budget for two, which is why I couldn’t hire internally. Elias instituted a policy that any department accepting a transfer from another department must also take Martin Blackwood. And I had no interest in posting an external advertisement and risking the sorts of people who might apply.” Gertrude strode over to her desk and began gathering the paperwork. “Tim came to the Institute for a job interview. I ran into him at the door and assumed he had come to give a statement. After I had taken it…well, it seemed safer to have him where I could keep an eye on him.”

“Because of his encounter with the Stranger?”

“Yes.” Gertrude looked troubled for just a moment. “Not just the Stranger. His brother was taken by the Circus.”

Gerard’s stomach clenched. “This would be the Circus of the Other that you just sent him to do research on?”

“Indeed. A way for the Stranger to collect its victims. For the most part, it no longer exists, but in its day it traveled over much of Europe, especially Russia.”

“So why’s it here? What does it want him for?” Gerard didn’t know why he was suddenly so worried about a guy he’d only just met. Sure, he was hot, but he was still a complete, well, stranger. It would suck if anything happened to him, in the same way it would suck if anything happened to anybody, but there was no reason to be that particular. “Has it been following him since he was a kid?”

Gertrude raised an eyebrow, but said only, “Unlikely. His brother’s encounter was only a few days before I met him.”

“Then I ask again. Why is a circus—excuse me, the Circus—so important? And what does it want with Tim?”

“What it wants with everyone else,” Gertrude said calmly. “To use him to remake the world in its own image. To bring about the apotheosis of the Stranger.”

Gerard hadn’t realized he had sat down, but the fact that he stood up fast enough to knock over Gertrude’s chair again told him otherwise. “To bring about the what?”

“Apotheosis. The emergence of—”

“I know what apotheosis is, dammit. What the fuck do you mean the Circus is trying to bring forth the Stranger?”

Gertrude sighed heavily. She came around her desk, righted her chair firmly, and sat in it. “Take a seat, Gerard.”

Gerard wanted to argue, wanted to demand that she stop with the cryptic bullshit and just tell him already, but the part of him that had grown up with Mary Keay and knew the price of disappointing her bent his knees without his consent. Fortunately there was a chair behind him. He clenched his hands tightly in his lap to keep them from shaking and waited.

Gertrude folded her hands on her desktop and peered at him over the rims of her glasses. “Please understand that my reasons for keeping this from you have nothing to do with trust. I have full confidence in you. It’s simply that, once you have this knowledge, you will not be able to walk away. You’ve dealt with quite enough in your life. Leave now, and you can leave this life behind.”

Gerard doubted that. For one thing, he didn’t believe for a second that Gertrude had kept it from him to give him the choice of walking away, otherwise she wouldn’t have answered his question about Tim. Whatever her reasoning, it wasn’t that. For another thing, he’d been marked by too many Fears; his mother may not have wanted to bind herself to one in particular, or so she had always claimed, but she’d skewed too close to Terminus not to scar him with it, and he’d literally etched the Eye into his skin. Between that and the Leitners, he might walk away from the Institute, but something would kill him or claim him before he got too far.

Besides. He thought he might have just made his first actual friend, or at least be on the way to making one. If he walked away now, he’d lose that chance.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “Like I’m going to leave you to deal with whatever this is on your own. Tell me what’s going on.”

Gertrude nodded. “Right. Let’s start at the beginning, then.”