Time Travelers Never Die (23 page)

Dave tried to look without seeming unduly curious. “It’s number eleven of
The Journals of Themistocles
.”

“Themistocles? He was . . . ?”

“The guy who saved Greek civilization during the Persian Wars. But I don’t think there’s any record of a journal.”

The librarian picked up the scroll, made a note in a ledger, and looked at Dave, who had not moved. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Yes,” said Dave. “Do you know if Aristarchus is available? We’d like very much to speak with him.”

“And your name, sir?”

“Davidius. We’re visiting scholars.”

“Very good. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, we don’t.”

“All right. Let me see if he’s available.” He signaled a teenage girl and sent her to make the query. “It’ll take a few minutes. Where will you be?”

“Looking at the catalogs.”

The catalogs were in scroll form, works listed by title and by author. Dave zeroed in on Sophocles, and Shel took out his notebook.

“Incredible,” Dave said.

“What?”

“He was right. They must have
all
his plays. There are more than a hundred of them listed here.”

Shel couldn’t make anything out of the Greek characters.

“Here’s the
Achilles
.” David ran his finger down the list. “
Theseus. Odysseus in Ithaca.
” He gave a silent cheer and raised a fist in triumph.

“Good.” It was a pleasure watching Dave get excited. Shel thought he was going to explode.

“The
Troilus
.”

“Dave, is it possible the other ones got lost because nobody really cared?”

Dave paid no attention. “
The Last Labor
,” he said. “Probably Hercules.”

“What else is there?”

“
The Hawks. Parnassus.
Hey, here’s an interesting one.”

“What’s that?”

“
Circe.
And one I’m not sure how to translate.”

“Try.”

“
Hours in Flight.
No.
Time Passing.
Maybe
Last Days
. And
Andromache at the Gate
.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the list. “And
Leonidas
.”

Shel was fingering his gooseberry, which they’d use to get the pictures. “Which ones do we want to start with?”

 

 

A
middle-aged man in orange robes joined them and addressed Dave: “I understand you are Davidius? Do I have that right?” He was too young to be Aristarchus, who would have been in his sixties.

“That’s correct. This is my associate, Shel Shelborne.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Clovian. One of the librarians.” He looked at Shel. “An unusual name, sir. May I ask where you are from?”

“Philadelphia,” said Shel.

“I never heard of it.”

Dave could see Shel struggling, so he broke in: “It’s a long way from here.”

“Britain?”

“Farther than that.”

“Really? How long will you be staying in Alexandria?”

“Only a few days.”

“I see. Do you have a book with you? If you do, we’d like very much to see it. And possibly, with your permission, make a copy.”

“No. I’m sorry. We didn’t bring one along.”

“Pity. But all right. It’s not a problem. Had you planned to look at any of our books?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Of course. But before we can allow you to do so, you’ll have to join the Library.”

“We’d be pleased to do that.”

“There’s no charge.” He handed each of them a sheet of paper. “Please print your name, your profession, and tell us where you can be reached. And date and sign.”

Clovian wandered off while they filled in the requested information. Shel signed his and frowned.

“What?” asked Dave.

“What’s the date?”

“Let’s find out.” They got up and went to the desk, where the young librarian was leafing through the ledger. He looked up. “Sorry about the wait,” he said. “We haven’t heard anything yet. It will take a while.”

“Okay. Can you tell me today’s date?”

He took a moment to think. “Hathyr seventeen.”

The form also needed a year. Shel could see Dave consider the matter. There was no way to ask. Finally, he scribbled a date and handed the paper back. Shel did likewise.

The librarian squinted at the forms, looked as if he had a question. But then he shrugged, opened a drawer, and dropped the documents inside. “Thank you, friends. By the way, I’ve heard of the University of Pennsylvania.”

“It’s well-known.”

“Yes. Well, it’s an honor to have you here. Which book did you wish to see?”

Shel looked at Dave.
You
call it. “
Achilles
,” said Dave.

The librarian nodded and went into the back room.

“Do we have any idea what year it is?” asked Shel.

“Thirty something year in the reign of Ptolemy VI.”

The librarian returned with a scroll. “You understand you may not take it out of the building.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I’ll notify you when we hear from the director.”

THEY
took the scroll into a side room, sat down at a table, and unrolled it. Shel looked at the Greek characters, and his level of frustration rose. “I’m never going to be able to read this,” he said. “What’s it about? When he kills Hector?”

“Give me a few minutes. Let me look at it.”

They were alone in the room. Shel got up, circled the table a few times, and went back out into the main library area. He stood admiring the art, observing the visitors, and trying not to look out of place. Sixty or so people were scattered around the tables and visible in the side rooms. A couple of elderly men near a rear entrance argued quietly about something. Two gray-haired women and a girl who was about sixteen were seated in modern-looking armchairs, all absorbed in their reading. (It was an odd thing: Shel had always thought of the ancient world the way Hollywood portrays it: a place inhabited by warriors, elderly philosophers, and maidens who need rescuing. Somehow, older women had been missing, and he’d never visualized teens in armchairs.)

A middle-aged man carried a scroll to the desk. The librarian made a note, they spoke briefly, and the man turned and left. The librarian carried the scroll into the back room.

Eventually, Shel went back and sat beside Dave. “I’m working on it,” Dave said, without looking up. “It’s Achilles trying to make peace at Troy.”

“Okay.”

“After Hector’s death.”

Shel cleared his throat.

“What?” said Dave.

“Why don’t we read the rest of it at home?”

“Oh. Sure. Okay.”

Shel handed him the gooseberry, which combined an imager, a telephone, a flashlight, a game player, and a recording and storage device. He went back to the beginning of the scroll.

“Here,” said Shel, “let me hold it flat.”

Dave raised the lid of the device, the red power lamp blinked on, and the screen brightened. A half dozen icons flashed across the screen, and finally the words,
Ready to go, big guy.
He activated the imager and started to record.

They took three pictures of each section, just to be safe. Explanations might be awkward, so they both kept an eye on the doorway in case someone came in. When they’d finished, they took
Achilles
back to the desk and returned it to the librarian.

“That was quick,” he said.

Dave nodded. “We were just doing some research.”

“I see. Do you teach literature?”

“Theater.”

“Excellent. It’s good to know there are still dedicated people out there. Kids today need all the help they can get. Nobody asked me, but I think the world is going downhill.” He shook his head sadly. “How do you like our library?”

“Asyngrito,”
said Shel, showing off his skills.
Unequaled. Without parallel.
“You’d never guess how much,” he said in English.

The librarian smiled. Said something Shel didn’t catch. Looked amused.

Dave checked his notes. “Might we see
Odysseus in Ithaca
?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Why don’t we try to move it along,” said Shel in English.

Dave nodded. “There are also two
Tyro
plays,
Tyro Shorn
and
Tyro Rediscovered
. Could you get them for us, too?”

The librarian gave them a pained expression. “You want
three
books at the same time?”

“Yes. If that’s feasible.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s against the rules. Unless you are a member of the Benefactors’ Society. I’m not aware that either of you is a member.”

“No. Unfortunately not.”

“Then I’m sorry, but you’re limited to two.”

Shel decided it was as much a security measure as a means to collect contributions. The scrolls were all copied by hand and must have been immensely valuable. And the situation would not have been helped by the fact that everybody wore togas.

“Okay,” Dave said. “We’ll take the
Odysseus
and the first
Tyro
.”

“Certainly. One minute, please.”

When he’d retreated in back, Shel asked why the librarian had seemed amused when he’d described the library as matchless.

“You used the wrong ending for the adjective.
Asyngrito
is modern Greek. The classic version would have put an ‘s’ at the end.”

“Oh. So what did he say?”

“ ‘Not bad for a barbarian.’ ”

“What?” Shel looked toward the door behind the counter. “That little nitwit.”

“Actually, it was a compliment, Shel.”

 

 

ODYSSEUS
in Ithaca
was set after the Trojan War, when the hero had returned home. He is an old man by then. One night, while walking on the beach, he meets a stranger. It is his son, Telemachus, come to find his celebrated father. But they do not recognize each other. And because both possess an inclination to deceive for amusement, or out of habit, they quickly find themselves at odds after a misunderstanding. Ultimately, challenges are issued. Combat ensues. Telemachus finds the spine of a sea beast that has washed ashore and uses it to kill his father. Then he discovers the identity of the victim.

“Sophocles wasn’t strong on comedy, was he?” said Shel.

“No. He’s not exactly light reading.”

They recorded both plays and returned them to the desk. Next, they checked out
Theseus
and
Circe
. Then
Parnassus
and
The Hawks
. They were getting ready to return
Troilus
and
Eurydice
when the librarian came into the room. “The director is free now. If you’ll follow me, I’ll—”

“No need, Ajax,” said a second voice. It belonged to a tall man who appeared outside the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

“You are Aristarchus?” asked Dave.

He was. Dave introduced Shel, said how honored they were to meet him, how they’d heard of him in their homeland, which was very distant. “You have a marvelous collection,” he added.

The director tried to wave it off. “I’m just the librarian,” he said. “But you’re very kind.” He had a sharp nose and narrow features, but he looked congenial, and Shel got the impression he’d have been right at home in Philadelphia.

“We’ve come a long way to find Shel’s father,” Dave said. “We know that he was an admirer of yours and of the Library. He was a world traveler, but he’s disappeared.”

At a signal, Ajax collected the two plays and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Aristarchus. “I hope no harm has come to him.”

“As do we. In any case, there’s a possibility he would have come to the Library to speak with you.”

“What was his name, Davidius?”

“Shelborne. Michael Shelborne.”

“Interesting name. It would be difficult to forget. But I’m sorry to say, I have no recollection of such a person.”

“May I show you his image?”

Aristarchus frowned. “You have brought his portrait with you?”

“Yes.” Shel produced four photos of his father. Two in business suits, one casual, one in a lab coat. The director’s eyes widened. “What
are
these?” he asked.

“Photos, sir. It’s a new technology. I don’t think Alexandria has it yet.”

“No. I should say not. But yes, I
have
met this man.”

“Can you tell us when?”

Aristarchus cleared his throat. Tried to remember. “He was only here briefly. And I wouldn’t remember him, I don’t think, except for his strange accent. Like yours.”

“I see.”

“Yes. He was very interested in the Library.” He smiled at the memory. “Of course, everyone is. But Michael insisted on taking us out to celebrate. Me and half the staff.”

“To celebrate what?”