It was, quite frankly, probably the worst day Martin had had since getting moved to the Archives, which was saying something. His alarm hadn't gone off for some reason, so he'd had to rush out the door without eating in order to make his train on time; there'd been trouble on the Northern line that had caused him to miss his connection and have to wait for the next one, meaning he'd only just made it to work before he would be considered late; Tim had accidentally knocked over his tea and it had barely missed the stack of files Martin was trying to research (he just knew that would have been his fault somehow); he'd been hung up on three times trying to verify statements; and when he'd tried to call his mother to wish her a happy birthday, the nurse on duty had been the bossy one who'd never liked him anyway and had told him, condescendingly and specifically and with a spiteful emphasis on the last word, that Miss Liliana doesn't want any calls from you. He was stressed, he was tired, he was strung out. He was on his fifth cup of tea and hadn't brought one to Jon all day, he'd forgotten to pack a lunch and didn't have the money to buy until payday, and at this point he was just counting the hours until he could leave, something he hadn't done in months—not that being home would be any better, just that he could at least bury his face in his pillow and scream his frustration out.
He was the last one back from his lunch break, clutching his cup in both hands. Tim and Sasha were hard at work, Tim frowning and Sasha intent, but she was the one to look up and wave at his desk when she saw him. “We got a statement that mentions a Leitner. Jon wants you to check it against whatever catalogs you can come up with so we can figure out how his edition is different than the original. Says it's top priority.“
Martin made a noise of what he hoped came across as acknowledgment and agreement and sat down at his desk, opening the laptop and reaching for the sticky note with Jon's familiar loopy handwriting on it. He glanced at it, and his day went from lousy to full-on shit when he saw the words Ex Altiora.
“Oh, bloody hell,“ he muttered under his breath.
Tim looked up briefly from his computer. “You know the book?“
“Never read it, but I've heard of it.“ Martin began calling up all the catalogs he could think of, but he knew it was going to be hopeless. They'd never known much about Ex Altiora, but they'd all known it was never mass-produced; there had only ever been one copy, and that much sought-after. The old bag had been furious when…
He terminated that thought quickly. His last encounter with…her…hadn't been pleasant and wasn't one he wanted to relive. Not today. Not at work, anyway.
“How many Leitners are there, anyway?“ Tim asked, sitting back and stretching. “I mean, how many books did he have in that library of his?“
“Nine hundred seventy-eight,“ Martin said automatically. “According to rumor, anyway. Not like he ever let people have access to his collection.“
Tim let out a long, low whistle. Sasha cocked her head at him. “How do you know that?“
“I did my master's thesis on Leitners.“ It was a lie. An old lie, one Martin had trotted out rather a lot in the last eleven years. It had always served him well, but just then, he wished he hadn't said it. Tim knew he didn't have a degree, and he was sure to press Martin about it later.
Fleetingly, Martin gave a thought to cluing Tim in on what was really going on. What was out there. At some point he would need to tell them anyway; they were going to get too close, sooner rather than later, and it was better that they be prepared. Elias hadn't seen fit to tell them, apparently, if Jon's skeptic act was anything to go by (he had to be faking it, nobody could work for the Magnus Institute and disbelieve that hard), but surely he wouldn't have assigned Martin down here if he didn't want them to know. That Elias might not know had never once crossed his mind. It was definitely possible to work for the Magnus Institute without some idea of what it was about, witness the other three people in the Archives, but no way would he be able to head it up if he didn't.
At the moment, however, he put his head down and kept working.
“Martin.“ Jon's voice jerked Martin out of his work haze. He looked up to find Jon scowling at him…or at least in his direction. For once, Martin didn't actually think it was directed at him. Yet. “Have you been able to find anything on Ex Altiora in the catalogs?“
“No, sorry. I don't—it was a pretty rare book,“ Martin hedged. “I mean, there was only one copy.“
Jon's scowl deepened. Now it was for Martin. “Just because it hasn't turned up on any lists so far doesn't mean it isn't on any of them. You're going to have to try harder than that. We can't just give up because it isn't easy.“
Normally, Martin would have apologized, stammered out an excuse, something, but he was tired and overwhelmed and stressed all to hell and gone, and it all combined to make him snap back at Jon in a way he normally only did with people he trusted implicitly not to punish him for it, or didn’t care what they thought of him. “I'm not giving up. It's not just that it won't be on any of those catalogs because it was unique, it's because it wasn't any kind of history or instruction book. It was just a story, somewhere between an epic poem and a fairy tale, about a monster threatening a village that turns out to be bigger than they think every time they start preparing until they throw themselves off a cliff to escape it. The people who understood what it was and what it meant had a vested interest in other people not knowing, so naturally they'd be keen to keep it off of any publicly-available lists, and since there was only ever one copy of the original because nobody ever survived owning it long enough to duplicate it, there aren't going to be other editions out there. Jurgen Leitner's library wasn't all special editions of books expurgated for the general public, you know.“
He stopped, partly because he was out of breath and partly because his brain had just caught up with his tongue and was trying to throttle it. Jon looked rather like Martin had slapped him, and behind him, Sasha and Tim were both gaping at him like he'd just stripped naked and sung a lounge song. His cheeks burned, probably a bright red, but he pressed his lips together tightly to keep himself from apologizing. He hadn't actually said anything he needed to be sorry for.
Finally, Tim reached up and manually shut his jaw, then spoke up in a voice that was almost his usual jovial tones, which told Martin that was as much an act as his own usual soft-spoken awkwardness. “Martin's thesis was on Leitner's library, remember, boss? I think he knows what he's talking about.“
“I—yes, that's right, I'd forgotten.“ Jon sounded slightly off-balance and…almost subdued. “I—I apologize for doubting you. Undoubtedly you're correct about this.“
Was it Martin's imagination, or did he put slight emphasis on the word this? He decided not to mention it. “It's all right,“ he said, and he wasn't sure if it was true or not.
Slowly, he felt himself calming, at least a little. His computer beeped softly at him, telling him he needed to plug it in, and he twisted around to get at the cord. As he did so, Jon turned to Tim. “Have you had any luck in tracking down Gerard Keay?“
Martin fell off his chair.