And If Thou Wilt, Forget

“Plain tie or patterned one?” Tim mused, holding one of each up and examining them critically.

“Show them what they’re really in for. Wear a bowtie,” Gerry called from the other room.

“I still need to decide if I want it to be plain or patterned.”

“Of fucking course you do.”

Tim sighed and lowered both ties. “This is stupid. Why am I so worried about making a good first impression? Whoever it is isn’t even going to be my boss forever.”

It had taken Elias a bit over a month to winnow down his choices, which seemed excessive to Tim, but he’d dropped by on Friday to inform him that the new archivist, as well as his two new assistants, would be starting on Monday. Tim had spent the remainder of the day tidying up, buttoning down, and generally getting things ready for the new staff…and by getting things ready, he meant that he was doing his best to make it look like he was making an effort to organize the Archives while actually confusing it more. He’d then handed the Archivist’s keys over to Elias, working very hard on the mental scrambling Gertrude and Gerry had taught him to keep Elias from knowing he had his own set, before heading home for the weekend.

“You don’t know who it is?” Gerry appeared in the doorway to their bedroom, frowning slightly. “You’d think he would want you to have some kind of warning.”

Tim shook his head. “No, not even a hint. I didn’t even get the person’s gender. Just ‘I have chosen a new archivist, who has already chosen your two new colleagues.’ I don’t even know who they are.”

Gerry came over to his side, studied him for a moment, then took both ties out of his hands and put them back in the drawer. “You look fine. Don’t overdo it. And if this new person hired his assistants internally, one of them is Martin Blackwood.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I suddenly understand how you feel all the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you know that?”

Gerry laughed, then instantly sobered. “Gertrude told me. The day I met you. She’d told me she didn’t have the budget for an assistant…allegedly…and when I called her out on that for having hired you, she said it was that she didn’t have the budget for two assistants and there was some official policy that if she accepted someone’s transfer, she also had to take Martin Blackwood.”

“Well. The part about the budget was bullshit…probably…but if Elias does have that policy, it’s kind of a dick move.” Tim sighed and shut the drawer. “Because I’m betting he didn’t tell the temporary archivist that, one, and two, I’m betting Martin doesn’t know that. Someone’s going to be in for a nasty shock today.”

“Hey, you never know, maybe Martin’s the temporary archivist. Then Gertrude comes back and gets three new assistants.” Gerry paused. “Including the one she didn’t want, either way.”

“I get the feeling she didn’t want more assistants because she didn’t want that much risk, not because she doesn’t like him.” Tim undid the button at the neck of his shirt, since he wasn’t going to be wearing a tie. “Anyway, if it’s true that we’re—that I’m bound to the Archivist and not to the Institute, that kind of implies that only Gertrude can appoint her assistants. Maybe she has to, I don’t know, ratify the appointment for it to stick? Otherwise she can just send them all back to where they came from.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Gerry asked quietly. “About…you know. Everything.”

Tim bit his lip. On the one hand, if they were going to be in the Archives, they probably should have some kind of clue about the Fourteen. He hadn’t for almost six months, and he knew it rankled Gerry. On the other hand, Tim had been actively going into dangerous situations and investigating the Fourteen without knowing it. Tim could…probably mitigate that with the others. He wasn’t in charge, obviously, but he could…he wasn’t sure what. Hide the real statements from them? Do any visible investigation into those cases himself? He’d been the only one who worked closely with Gertrude Robinson, and he wasn’t stupid, his world travels had probably drawn attention from anyone after her or the Institute, or more specifically the Archives. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that most of what went on above the basement level was negligible, as far as the Fourteen were concerned, and existed largely to present a legitimate front for the academic community as a whole, and more specifically for those donors whose names were not Lukas or Fairchild. It was extremely unlikely that anyone coming down from Upstairs was going to have the slightest clue what was going on. They were going to treat it as just another job.

“Nothing today, at any rate,” he said finally. “I need to kind of…get an idea of them before I do anything else. And, you know, if she comes back sooner rather than later…”

“Yeah,” Gerry agreed. “She’ll lose her mind if we give too much away. You never know who’s a spy.” He leaned over and gave Tim a quick kiss. “C’mon. I made breakfast.”

The morning was grey and rainy, so Tim decided to forgo the Tube and drive himself in; parking around the Institute was at something of a premium, especially on a day like this, but Tim arrived early and parked in a spot that was further from the front door than most people liked. It was, however, extremely convenient for the side door into the Archives, so he headed that way to go in.

It was locked, which wasn’t exactly a surprise but was a bit of a disappointment, as it meant Gertrude hadn’t returned yet. Tim automatically started to flip the key out of his ring before he caught himself. Right. New boss, at least for now. Can’t let on that you have those.

He swung his keys back into his hand, muttered to himself just in case someone was watching or listening, and trudged around to the front steps of the Institute.

Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who’d come in early; equally evidently, guessing from the puddles and footprints tracking off every which way, he was the only one who hadn’t been raised in a barn. Rosie wasn’t at her desk, which hopefully meant she was looking for the Caution—Wet Floor signs or the mats or the mop or all three. He carefully shook his umbrella outside the door to get the worst of the rain off of it, scraped his shoes briefly at the threshold, and then headed towards the steps to the Archives, careful to avoid the trail of water.

The door to the Archives, once again, stood open, but more haphazardly than when Tim had first returned after his travels—less like it had been deliberately propped open and more like someone had just been in too much of a hurry to close it properly. Tim stepped in and stuck his umbrella in the ring at the bottom of the coat rack, then shut the door carefully and made sure it was unlocked before venturing further in. The puddles and footprints continued into the Archives, and he suppressed a sigh. What a goddamned mess. Already.

He could hear what sounded like someone rummaging through the shelves. Taking it to be one of his new temporary colleagues, he called out, “It’s in the closet between the filing cabinets and Document Storage.”

There was a thump, and a curse, and a pair of feet appeared from behind the cluster of desks where the assistants sat, and then the figure of Martin from the library slowly rose up, rubbing the top of his head and looking worried. “S-sorry? You’re—o-oh. Oh, hi, um—it’s, it’s Tim, right?”

“That’s right. Tim Stoker. And you’re Martin—Blackwood?” Tim hazarded. Martin wasn’t exactly an uncommon name, but…

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s me.” Martin smiled, looking pleased that Tim knew him, but the smile quickly dropped off his face and he glanced towards the filing cabinet. A puzzled frown appeared on his face. “The—did you put it there, or…?”

“I mean, that’s where we keep it.” Tim crossed the floor and set his bag down on his chair. The climate control system was still compensating for the door that had been open, so he didn’t bother with the cardigan yet; time enough for that once he’d got the mess cleaned up. “I haven’t used it in a while, but that should be where Gertrude left it.”

The frown deepened. “The dog?”

Tim, who had been starting for the closet, stopped and turned back to look at Martin. “What dog?”

Martin’s face turned bright pink, and he bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “Um, a spaniel, I think? It…sort of followed me in. It’s loose in the Archives, and—”

“Oh. No, I was talking about the—” Tim stopped and mentally took a deep breath. If there was a dog loose in the Archives, a mop wouldn’t do much good, since they’d likely need to bring it out again after. “Okay. No problem. Are you sure it’s still in here? The door was open when I came in. Maybe it got out?”

“No, I—I would have seen it. I was looking.” Martin twisted his hands nervously. “Jesus. I’ve got to find it, or I’m dead. Or fired.”

“You’re not getting fired,” Tim assured him. He wasn’t sure how true that was, if he hadn’t been hired by the actual Archivist, but it was likely the case. Anyway, it was just the two of them, and Tim wasn’t tattling. “Look, there aren’t that many places it could be. It’s too big to fit under the shelves, and I know all the doors down here were closed when I left Friday, so unless someone’s been down here snooping, it’s got to be around here somewhere. You take that half, I’ll take this half, and we’ll work our way to the middle, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Martin managed a smile. He still looked equal parts terrified and miserable, but he was at least a little calmer as they separated to start looking.

Tim knew the Archives inside and out, and he was also able to spot which way the dog had gone by the spatters of water on the boxes on some of the shelves. It had obviously come into the building looking for a way to get out of the wet, and if it was someone’s pet it had probably just trailed the first human it had found, so it wouldn’t be hard to get out. After about five minutes of cursory searching while actually following a pretty clear trail, he found it exactly where he had expected—curled up under one of the cloth-covered chairs towards the back of the Archives, where he occasionally took his breaks when he didn’t feel like going up to the communal break room and where he and Gerry sometimes tossed theories around while they waited for Gertrude to tell them it was safe to come back towards the front. That was going to stop for a while, he thought, then pushed the idea out of his mind and concentrated on the dog.

It wasn’t just damp, it was bedraggled, a skinny, half-starved bundle of fur and bones, looking out at him with huge brown eyes that looked almost as terrified as Martin’s. Tim gave it a smile and spoke in a low, soothing voice. “Hey there, buddy. Why don’t you come out, huh? It’s okay. C’mon, I won’t hurt you. We’re friends here.” He whistled a couple of times, then went back to coaxing it.

After a few moments, the dog came creeping out on its belly. Tim let it sniff his hand for a moment, then cautiously scratched it behind the ears. It seemed to like that and crawled the rest of the way out. It was filthy, probably full of fleas, and definitely smelled of wet dog, but Tim scooped it up anyway and carried it—him, he could see now—back towards the main part of the Archives. “Martin! Got him!”

Martin popped out of a row of shelves, relief all over his face. “Oh, thank God. Now what?”

Tim hesitated. The dog couldn’t stay in the Archives, of course he couldn’t. But…“There’s a sandwich in my bag. Grab it, would you? I’m going to set this little guy outside and we’ll give him some food.”

Martin hurried off to the desks, and Tim made his way over to the side door. It took a bit of maneuvering to throw back the lock while still holding onto the dog, but he managed it. The morning was still wet and drizzly, and the dog whined unhappily, but Tim edged under the overhang until he found a relatively dry corner and set the mutt down.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know this door was here.” Martin’s voice came from behind him. Tim glanced over his shoulder and saw him standing just inside the doorway, awkwardly holding the bag with the ham sandwich Tim had figured he would eat while working through his lunch break. Now he would have to run to the canteen.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for the sandwich He unwrapped it and placed it in front of the dog, then patted his head as he sniffed it. “There you go, little fella…uh, it’s how I usually get in most mornings, but it wasn’t unlocked today.” Getting to his feet, he brushed off the hem of the raincoat he’d had the foresight to keep on, then turned to Martin. “Come on. Let’s get back inside before he follows us.”

Obediently, Martin went back into the Archives. Tim followed, wiped his feet, and shut the door, then headed back to the front to hang up his raincoat. As he emerged into the front part, the door opened, and a woman stepped in, laptop bag dangling off her shoulder, cup of coffee in one hand and purple umbrella in the other. She looked up, saw Tim and Martin coming behind her, and stopped. “I’m not late, am I?”

Tim checked his watch. “No, it’s still a minute to go before eight. You’re good.”

The woman put her umbrella in the stand next to Tim’s before turning to look at Martin. “Hello, Martin, it’s good to see you again. You’re down here now, too?”

“Hi, Sasha.” Martin smiled and relaxed a little. “It’s good to see you, too…yeah, um, just got the job. For now, anyway.”

The woman—Sasha, Tim guessed—moved aside as Tim came over to drape his coat over the hook, then held out her hand to him. “I don’t think we’ve met. Sasha James. I’ve just come down from Research.”

“Tim Stoker. I’ve been here the whole time.” Tim gave Sasha a broad grin as he accepted her handshake.

Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you were Gertrude’s assistant, right?”

Still am, Tim wanted to say, but didn’t. He had to play along, had to at least pretend to respect the temporary archivist as his superior. And since she was the last to arrive on time, he assumed Sasha was it. “That’s right. Guess you’ve heard of me.”

Sasha nodded. She looked around the Archives for a moment. “Where’s Jon?”

As if on cue, the door to the Archivist’s office opened. Tim turned around, fully prepared to welcome Gertrude back to the Archives after all—it would be just like her to have that sense of dramatic timing—but the words died on his lips at the sight of the figure stepping out.

It was the weird guy from Research. He looked even more severely dressed than usual—a crisply pressed suit and tie that nevertheless clearly came off the rack, the collar of his shirt so starched and sharp you could probably cut cheese with the corners, his hair ruthlessly combed and plastered severely to his head, shoes so brightly polished you could practically see yourself in them. He held himself stiff and straight, like he had a rod in his spine—or jammed up his arse—and he was scowling in Martin’s direction.

“Martin,” Jon, if that’s who this was, said severely, “is it gone?”

“Yep, yep, it’s gone, it—uh, T-Tim found it.” Martin smoothed the front of his jumper nervously and looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

Jon turned his gaze to Tim and at least let the scowl disappear. “I assume you would be Tim Stoker?”

“You assume correctly.” Tim gave him the brightest grin he could muster. Internally, he was warring with himself on several fronts. “I assume you’re…in charge now?”

Jon swallowed, almost imperceptibly, but Tim caught it. He was nervous—no, he was scared—and he was covering it up by being a pompous ass. Or at least Tim hoped that was a front, because otherwise they were going to have a very difficult time of it for the next however long. “Jonathan Sims. Head Archivist.”

Head Archivist. Well, Tim supposed it made sense to have that be the official title; all the other departments called them Head Researcher or Head Librarian or Head Accountant. It was just that Gertrude had never referred to herself as anything other than the Archivist. Then again, Gertrude understood how all this worked. He kept his grin in place and defaulted back to his own early days in the Archives. “Good to meet you, Mr. Sims. Sasha already introduced herself, and I’ve met Martin before, so I guess we all know each other now, huh?”

“I suppose so. And…just Jon, please.” Jon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Right. I suppose we’re all here, so let’s get started. Our order of business is twofold—well, I suppose threefold. In the first place, none of these files look as though they are organized, so we need to get things straightened up. I also made the suggestion to Elias that it might be worth attempting to digitize the statements, and he seemed quite on board with that. In doing so, I want us to do as much follow-up research on any cases that have made their way down here as possible before we make the recordings, so that we can include that information.” He glanced at one of the shelves, a frown creasing his forehead, and then turned back to Tim. “I assume it will just be a matter of picking up where the previous investigations let off. I imagine most of these are older cases.”

“Not all of them. And some statements were made directly to the Archivist,” Tim said. “Uh, honestly, mostly what’s down here are just the statements. I think that’s all the original charter called for keeping.”

“What?” Jon scowled. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Well, I mean, the stuff that can be brought to a satisfactory conclusion gets bound and taken to the library, doesn’t it?” Tim glanced at Martin with a raised eyebrow, who nodded enthusiastically. “These are the ones that get dismissed as just…stories. Or that couldn’t be investigated thoroughly. Older statements, foreign statements, that kind of thing. Looking into them is a bit more of a challenge—doable, but harder to prove.”

Sasha scanned the shelves briefly before returning her attention to Tim. “Why’s it so chaotic?”

Careful, Tim thought to himself. He knew the answer, but couldn’t reveal that yet. “Well, it’s a lot for one person, you know. Even for two people. I’ve only been here a bit over a year and a half myself, and—you know I mentioned those foreign statements? Gertrude had a big travel budget specifically so she, well, we could investigate those in person. I’d guess there’s only been about six months out of the last twenty that both of us were here at the same time. We were working on an index—and, actually, we’ve been typing up some of the statements to put in the computer—but—”

“Have you been making audio files?” Jon interrupted. “That was the idea I gave Elias…it seemed novel to him, so I assume not, but if you are I would like to know what procedure you’re using.”

“Uh.” Tim thought fast. Technically, the answer was yes, kind of, but also no, but sort of, but not really. Gertrude used her tape recorder for some, but in the last six weeks, he hadn’t actually found any of them, which either meant she had destroyed them or taken them with her to keep them from falling in the wrong hands. “No, just the text files. Mister Megabytes over there isn’t really set up for audio.”

Sasha followed where Tim indicated, and the look of horror that crossed her face almost made him laugh. “What is that? Please tell me that’s not what Gertrude Robinson has been using for the last thirty years.”

“No, just the last one. Elias had it installed last May. Before that we did everything old school.” Tim gestured at the door near the filing cabinets. “There are a few crates of floppy disks in the closet there, so we should be set for a while, but each one only holds about one statement plus associated research. The ones with the database on it are in that plastic case there on the desk.”

Jon let out a breath that sounded somewhere between nervous and exasperated. “You’d better give us a tour of the place, I think.”

Tim spent most of the rest of the morning showing the other three around the Archives. He was careful to keep them from knowing too much about the details, but he was happy to explain the more mundane details. To his credit, Jon didn’t seem to be the kind of manager to come in and immediately mark his territory by pissing on everything his predecessor had done, although he seemed skeptical of Tim’s assurance that there was actually a system. Sasha, for her part, seemed equal parts dismayed by the age of the computer and its system and thrilled by the inherent challenge in getting it functioning; Jon immediately appointed her in charge of the task, and Tim held his tongue and his smile as he, ostensibly, ceded the task. He’d have to come in early—or stay late—and handle the more…important stuff.

“Right,” Jon said finally on a sigh. “I think that’s enough for the morning…ah, I don’t believe we should all go to lunch at once, but—”

“I’ll stay back,” Tim volunteered immediately. He could at least get started obfuscating a few things, maybe work a bit on looking into the Unknowing while he had the place to himself. “We forgot to mop up before I showed you around, so I’ll take care of that, and then I can pull a few files off the shelves for the afternoon? I know which ones we’ve already worked.”

Jon pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Sasha…Martin, you two go now. Tim and I will go when you get back.”

Bang goes that plan. Maybe Jon was more aware than he looked. Tim nodded. “Sounds great. You two have fun. I’m going to get this cleaned up.”

The puddles had dried, as had the dirt tracked in, so Tim hurried to the closet and fetched the dustpan and broom. When he got back, he found Jon standing where he had left him, toeing at a smudge of dirt and looking…conflicted. He raised his head and schooled his expression as Tim approached. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Someone’s got to. Cleaning crew doesn’t come down here.” Tim shrugged at the startled look in Jon’s eyes. “Those orders come from higher up. I learned not to question them. But yeah, we’re responsible for cleaning up down here, which is why there’s a mop and a broom and even a jar of furniture polish back there, although we’re going to need more of that. I used about half of it Friday getting this place spruced up for today. Wouldn’t want you getting a bad impression of this place.”

Jon scowled, but stood silent as Tim began sweeping up the dried mud and silt. He did take the dustpan and hold it steady, which Tim had to admit he appreciated; at least he didn’t think he was better than them just because he had higher pay. When Tim took the dustpan with a quiet thanks and moved to drop it in the wastepaper basket, he finally spoke. “Did…when you were cleaning the Archivist’s office, did you happen to find any…instructions? Manuals? Anything like that?”

Tim took a good look at Jon. Behind the professional facade, the starch and the neat folds and the stiff posture, he recognized the look of a man who was truly out of his depth. A man who had got in line for a ride he thought would be the bumper cars but turned out to be the roller coaster. He was lost, and he was scared, and he was taking it out on everyone else, particularly Martin.

Tim sympathized.

“She left me some the first time she went out of town,” he said. He leaned the dustpan and broom against the wall. “They’re still in my desk. Hang on, let me get that for you.”

“Ah—thank you. The job description was a bit vague, and Elias seemed certain I could handle it—especially with your assistance, he said—but I still don’t know exactly what needs to be done here,” Jon admitted. “Obviously we’ll have to adapt and streamline processes a bit so that things get done, not that I’m accusing you of slacking off, but…” He waved a hand at the shelves. “How did you stand this?”

“Like I said, there’s a system. Just not an obvious one.” Tim headed over to his desk and opened his drawer, then pulled out the folder Gertrude had left him before she and Gerry jetted off to France. God, that had been a year ago, hadn’t it? He checked quickly to make sure it was the mundane, obvious one, even though he knew he had the detailed one in the leather folio, which still never left him. “I think because she’d been down here on her own for so long, she didn’t really feel the need to worry about how anyone else would find anything. She knew where it was—and eventually I knew where it was, too—so if someone else needed it, one of us could get it.”

Jon took the folder and flipped it open, skimmed the page, then closed it. “Well. Thank you. This should be enough to get started, at least. While it’s just us, talk me through her routine. As I said, I’m not going to just change everything, but in order to make the transition as smooth as possible for you, I ought to stick to what you’re familiar with.”

Tim did his best to describe Gertrude’s movements during the first couple of months he’d worked for her, before she’d sent him to the Night Market and changed his understanding, when she’d still been pretending this was a normal job. It was hard, because he didn’t want to admit just how much she’d left him to his own devices, even then. He must have done a fairly good job of it, though, because Jon was nodding along and seemed to be making mental notes. When Martin came back—a few minutes early—and Jon dismissed him for his own lunch, Tim was cautiously optimistic.

Since he’d given up his sandwich, he decided to go down to the curry shop a few blocks away and headed for the side door, nearer where he’d parked his car. Scarcely had he opened the door when something furry and dark tried to push past him. He lunged down and managed to catch it. “Nice try, boy, but you can’t go in there.”

The dog whined. No, the dog whimpered, looking up at Tim with big, wet, pathetic brown eyes. He was little more than a puppy, still long awkward limbs and big paws, and he looked absolutely miserable. Tim ran through his options and realized there was only one, in the end.

Sighing, he scooped up the dog and headed for his car to take it to the nearest vet’s office.

He managed to find a place, explained the situation, and handed the dog over to the tech. The dog whined again and strained his neck, then extended his tongue and gave Tim’s hand a desperate, pathetic lick. The tech smiled. “So you’ll be back for your friend later, yeah?”

“I don’t…it’s not my call,” Tim said sheepishly. “But I’ll at least be back to pay for his shots and whatnot.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he was pretty confident the tech winked at the dog on their way to the back.

Heading back out to the car, Tim checked the time, then placed a call. Gerry’s voice came over the line, sounding distracted. “Pinhole Books.”

“Hey, babe, it’s me.” Tim glanced back at the vet’s office, already aware of what he was about to say. “How do you feel about having a dog?”