Fools of us All - Chapter 41

“Go ahead,” I said dully, “turn us in. I don’t care anymore.” I kept looking for the guards to come bursting in on us.

“Turn you in, my dear?” said the hooded scrivener, a note of amusement in his voice. “It has been entirely too long since I have had a chance to speak to a young woman that I see no reason to cut a chat short before it has even begun.” Lifting his hands, he lowered his hood, revealing a smiling face, his mouth surrounded by laugh lines and crow’s feet crinkling the corner of his eyes. Thick, white hair covered his head in an unruly mop, and his blue eyes sparkled with private amusement. “You must be the horrible ruffians I’ve heard so much about. You really have the entire building in an uproar, telling tales of how mean you are and how rough you play.”

Spin managed a smirk at me and I could feel my face turn red. “That’s all her,” he said. “I’m mostly here ‘cuz I’m pretty.”

I waited for my face to return to normal before lowering my own hood. “I am sorry if anyone has suffered…”

“Oh poppycock,” broke in the old man. “I know the men hear. Frankly, many of the younger ones could stand to be hit more often. Actually, a few of us old codgers likely need it from time to time as well.” His eyes lost focus for a moment before gazing intently at me again. “Now, as I said, you have some ‘splainin’ to do.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Spin interrupted. “I’m sorry, but have you been time travelling lately? I mean, ‘some ‘splainin’ to do’? That’s old by my time!” He sounded angry and suspicious, as though he didn’t trust what he was hearing. I could not blame him.

“Your time…ah, so the stories are true. Someone has broken the time barrier.” Smiling, he stepped forward and grabbed the book, tucking it under his arm. “Follow me,” he said. I raised my eyebrows at Spin who merely shrugged. We had little choice.

A few moments later we were in an even danker and darker corner of the basement, sitting around a small desk. “Welcome to my office,” said the scrivener proudly as he closed the door. “Now, perhaps I have some explaining to do as well. First, my name is Bartleby…” he smiled at Spin’s snort. “A coincidence, I assure you. I have spent much of my adulthood learning of the ancient time. I find the past to be fascinating, full of wisdom and amusement. I have read every scrap of material I could find from the past - the originals in English, French, German, and a host of other languages that no one but myself and a select few of my colleagues speak, at least in their pure form. But you, how have you learned to speak our language so quickly?” He leaned forward excitedly, smiling at Spin.

It suddenly occurred to me that the two of us had never had trouble speaking, even though language had evolved since his time. I stared at him, puzzled.

He looked at the two of us and shook his head. “Um…I guessed?” he said weakly.

“Fascinating. Perhaps the time travel affects the language centres of your brain, giving you the ability to speak whatever language you come into. Maybe I will get to try it someday.”

Suddenly, Spin’s eyes flashed. “Well, this all seems awfully convenient, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean,” I asked, taken aback. “I think most of today has been pretty inconvenient, don’t you?”

“And in the end, we find ourselves alone with a man who happens to spend his time studying the past. I bet he’ll have all sorts of wonderful things to say about the prophecy.” The sarcasm dripped from his words.

“What prophecy?”

It was the last thing I expected him to say. I turned to face him. “The prophecy. The one about the chosen one coming from the past to save the future. Or maybe you know about the other prophecy, the one where the hero’s companion would be betrayed and killed.” I glanced guiltily at Spin, who mouthed the words ‘other prophecy’ at me, tilting his head. I had not told him of Dun’s words to me back at the warehouse.

“And these…prophecies…” said Bartleby, an odd expression on his face, “where are they supposed to be found.” He followed my gaze down to the book in front of him. A great sadness fell over his countenance. “There is no prophecy in this book,” he said sadly. “At least, none that we know of. This book has been in the scrivener’s possession for the past fifty years, and thus far, no one has been able to translate anything in it.”

It felt as though I was punched by a snowman. A deep, icy cold settled into the pit of my stomach, making it hard to breath. I couldn’t speak for a long time. My entire life had been a lie.

Spin rallied faster than I did. “How can you be so sure. You’re just some pathetic weirdo who spends way too much time in the dark corner of the basement.”

“This isn’t my only office,” he said. “Being the head of the scriveners worldwide does tend to give one certain privileges.”

Spin collapsed back in his seat, covering his face with his hands. “We’re sitting with the freaking pope,” he moaned.

“Pope? Ah, a quaint term, but quite apropos.”

I felt nothing. A numbness had fallen on me, leaving the world far away. “I…I have to go,” I mumbled, lurching to my feet.

“I can’t escort you out,” said Bartleby, a look of concern on his face. “It is important that I appear to be rather harsh with intruders. If you are caught I may not be able to help you.

“We have our own exit,” I said flatly.

“The tunnel in the Torah room?” At my sharp look, he smiled. “You don’t get to be ‘the freaking pope’ without learning a thing or two. Go, and I will do my best to get people away from that section.”

As we exited the room, I saw Spin run his fingers across the cover of the book one last time. “So you can’t read anything in this book at all.”

“The interior of the book is written in a language no one has ever seen before. The only thing we know for sure is what is written on the cover.”

“Why do you know that?”

“It is written in ancient Aramaic, a language that is beneficial to know at times.”

“What does it say?” I asked, curious despite myself.

Looking at the cover, Bartleby’s voice gained a far away quality. “The truth lies within, for those willing to seek.”