three more fantastic voyages of Captain Nemo that were never published and were patiently waiting to be unveiled.
As he’d suspected, Sonnets 262-267 For a River Nymph was another work that was zealously kept from the world at large.
He began to love his job, being in the library with access, or partial access, to works that nobody knew about and for whom people would surely pay millions made him feel incredibly special.
On the other hand, he felt a little isolated from the visitors and other mansion staff. They came and went by his station, never lingering after receiving the book they requested. The reading desks were in the room across the hall from his station, and since each desk had an integrated computer and camera surveillance, there was no need for a guardian in the room.
Apart from Bolswaithe, who every day went through his station to pick up trash or dust the desk, he was sure that nobody who came to the library knew his name and besides Killjoy and Mrs. Pianova, the only person who called him by name was the person that handled the gargoyle intercom at the gate. Every day, the same voice greeted him and wished him goodnight. “Hello, Thomas,” “Goodnight, Thomas,” became his official clock in and out. Since he walked or skated to work, he spent a couple of minutes standing under the gargoyles, and his original apprehension toward the statues disappeared. He even started saying hello and goodbye to the intercom.
Maybe one day he would stop and chat a little.
He’d not seen Tasha either, and his grandfather worked a completely different schedule and in a different wing of the mansion. Grandpa seemed happy though – his work as Overseer was incredibly satisfying and he had command over a veritable army of accountants. He told Thomas that Guardians Inc.’s influence was indeed worldwide. From economics to technology and resources, the company had interests in all fields and in all countries of the world. The work had invigorated his grandfather and he had stopped complaining about his arthritis.
After Morgan studied the Non-Disclosure Agreement, they both signed it. They needed to turn it in during that week, but even without the agreement, they found it difficult to talk to other people about their jobs. It was easier to just say that they worked for a corporation. Strangely enough, the only person Thomas had talked to about the mansion was Killjoy, and only once.
One day during school recess, curiosity had bested him and he approached her while she watched the yard from a second floor, like a hawk hunting for little mice.
“Thomas Byrne,” she said sensing him.
“Good morning, Miss Khanna.” He nonchalantly placed his elbows on the guardrail noting with satisfaction how many of his schoolmates took notice of his move.
He was “The Survivor,” the one that had entered the lions’ den and came out unscathed. Everyone figured that his punishment had only been superficial, unlike the one she gave Roger Hill and his friends who still had to stay a couple of hours after school to clean around campus. So, now he was some kind of celebrity around school, the only one that greeted terrible Killjoy in the morning.
“Are you here for something other than to try and aggrandize your reputation among your peers?” she asked when he lingered longer than other students dared.
“Um, yes.” He immediately straightened his posture. “I wanted to ask you something.”
She turned to face him. “Then ask.”
“Well, I’ve noticed that you have a Guardians’ black tag and I wanted to know how you got it.”
“Why?” she asked abruptly.
“I also have a black tag, but mine has…”
“A green stripe.” She cut him off. “That’s not an answer as to why you want a black tag.”
“I want to…”
“Show me your hands.” She cut him off again.
Thomas extended his hands palms-up for her to see. This time she didn’t lift her glasses, and he didn’t pull back when he felt the
As he’d suspected, Sonnets 262-267 For a River Nymph was another work that was zealously kept from the world at large.
He began to love his job, being in the library with access, or partial access, to works that nobody knew about and for whom people would surely pay millions made him feel incredibly special.
On the other hand, he felt a little isolated from the visitors and other mansion staff. They came and went by his station, never lingering after receiving the book they requested. The reading desks were in the room across the hall from his station, and since each desk had an integrated computer and camera surveillance, there was no need for a guardian in the room.
Apart from Bolswaithe, who every day went through his station to pick up trash or dust the desk, he was sure that nobody who came to the library knew his name and besides Killjoy and Mrs. Pianova, the only person who called him by name was the person that handled the gargoyle intercom at the gate. Every day, the same voice greeted him and wished him goodnight. “Hello, Thomas,” “Goodnight, Thomas,” became his official clock in and out. Since he walked or skated to work, he spent a couple of minutes standing under the gargoyles, and his original apprehension toward the statues disappeared. He even started saying hello and goodbye to the intercom.
Maybe one day he would stop and chat a little.
He’d not seen Tasha either, and his grandfather worked a completely different schedule and in a different wing of the mansion. Grandpa seemed happy though – his work as Overseer was incredibly satisfying and he had command over a veritable army of accountants. He told Thomas that Guardians Inc.’s influence was indeed worldwide. From economics to technology and resources, the company had interests in all fields and in all countries of the world. The work had invigorated his grandfather and he had stopped complaining about his arthritis.
After Morgan studied the Non-Disclosure Agreement, they both signed it. They needed to turn it in during that week, but even without the agreement, they found it difficult to talk to other people about their jobs. It was easier to just say that they worked for a corporation. Strangely enough, the only person Thomas had talked to about the mansion was Killjoy, and only once.
One day during school recess, curiosity had bested him and he approached her while she watched the yard from a second floor, like a hawk hunting for little mice.
“Thomas Byrne,” she said sensing him.
“Good morning, Miss Khanna.” He nonchalantly placed his elbows on the guardrail noting with satisfaction how many of his schoolmates took notice of his move.
He was “The Survivor,” the one that had entered the lions’ den and came out unscathed. Everyone figured that his punishment had only been superficial, unlike the one she gave Roger Hill and his friends who still had to stay a couple of hours after school to clean around campus. So, now he was some kind of celebrity around school, the only one that greeted terrible Killjoy in the morning.
“Are you here for something other than to try and aggrandize your reputation among your peers?” she asked when he lingered longer than other students dared.
“Um, yes.” He immediately straightened his posture. “I wanted to ask you something.”
She turned to face him. “Then ask.”
“Well, I’ve noticed that you have a Guardians’ black tag and I wanted to know how you got it.”
“Why?” she asked abruptly.
“I also have a black tag, but mine has…”
“A green stripe.” She cut him off. “That’s not an answer as to why you want a black tag.”
“I want to…”
“Show me your hands.” She cut him off again.
Thomas extended his hands palms-up for her to see. This time she didn’t lift her glasses, and he didn’t pull back when he felt the
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