conversation sounded above, indistinct through the rain, and flashlights played down into the cellarlike loading dock.
Luke held his breath, and after a moment, the lights moved on.
“Let’s go,” he said, and got to his feet.
His sneakers skidded on the wet ramp and slid out from under him. He hurtled down the steep ramp into the wateras if on a waterslide at an amusement park, emerging, coughing and spluttering, in the slowly filling swimming pool that was the loading dock.
Luke just had time to call out, “Watch the ramp, it’s slipp—” when Tommy landed right on top of him, pushing him back down under the water.
Luke came up choking, spraying water out of his nose, grateful that it was clean rainwater they were in, not the scungy stuff that was flowing down the river.
Tommy popped up next to him and spat out a mouthful of water.
“Are you okay?” Luke asked.
“I was already soaking wet,” Tommy said. “Couldn’t get any wetter! At least this stuff doesn’t smell so bad.”
“I think it’s rainwater,” Luke said. “The drains must be blocked.”
A wobbly wooden step led up from the loading dock to a concrete platform where there was a door set into the wall. Luke tried the door.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“What did you expect? A red carpet and Hawaiian dancing girls?” Tommy asked.
“Would’ve been nice,” Luke said.
Tommy opened a waterproof backpack, taking out a small gun-shaped gadget.
Luke watched in amazement as Tommy inserted the thin probe at the end of the object into the keyhole of the door and squeezed the trigger. He turned the handle and the door opened. Easy as.
“It’s a lock pick,” Tommy explained. “It’s what locksmiths use to open doors when people have lost their keys. I bought it off the Internet.”
“Don’t you have to have a license to own one of those?” Luke asked.
“Yup.”
“So, do you have a license?”
“Nope,” Tommy said, and handed Luke another item out of his bag of tricks. A tiny pen-shaped flashlight.
Luke followed him into the building and pulled the door shut behind them.
They were back in the corridor that ran beneath the library. If it had been strange and mysterious by day, with the lights on, the corridor was eerie and unsettling in the dark, with just the pencil beams of their flashlights for illumination. Spidery shadows chased each other behind strange objects on the ceilings and the walls, scuttling away from their lights as they played them around the long underground tunnel. Shapes on the walls seemed to reach out toward them as they passed.
Luke had an uncomfortable feeling that they were not alone down here. Maybe it was the spirits of the thousands of dead authors whose books were buried in these subterranean vaults.
The overhead conveyor belt system that had been fascinating to him that afternoon now seemed like some infernal engine, a contraption of torture and evil.
There was a slushing noise as they walked in water that was about two inches deep.
The walls and the ceiling seemed to be closing in on Luke. He looked at Tommy, who appeared to be enjoying himself in this creepy cave, and tried to shake the feeling off. At least the smell of the river was mostly gone, washed from their clothes by their bath in the loading dock.
They passed the storage rooms, their doors sheathed in plastic and sandbagged against the coming flood. At the far end of the corridor, they came to a set of double doors that swung open easily and led to the narrow staircase back to the library’s main entrance. They crept to the top of the stairs and looked out through the big glass doors of the entrance.
More flashing lights intermittently gave the library’s interior a devilish glow. Luke watched for a moment to make sure that nobody was looking in before scurrying across to the main stairs, Tommy behind him.
“Luke,” Tommy said quietly, and Luke turned to see what the problem was. Even in the low strobing light inside the
Luke held his breath, and after a moment, the lights moved on.
“Let’s go,” he said, and got to his feet.
His sneakers skidded on the wet ramp and slid out from under him. He hurtled down the steep ramp into the wateras if on a waterslide at an amusement park, emerging, coughing and spluttering, in the slowly filling swimming pool that was the loading dock.
Luke just had time to call out, “Watch the ramp, it’s slipp—” when Tommy landed right on top of him, pushing him back down under the water.
Luke came up choking, spraying water out of his nose, grateful that it was clean rainwater they were in, not the scungy stuff that was flowing down the river.
Tommy popped up next to him and spat out a mouthful of water.
“Are you okay?” Luke asked.
“I was already soaking wet,” Tommy said. “Couldn’t get any wetter! At least this stuff doesn’t smell so bad.”
“I think it’s rainwater,” Luke said. “The drains must be blocked.”
A wobbly wooden step led up from the loading dock to a concrete platform where there was a door set into the wall. Luke tried the door.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“What did you expect? A red carpet and Hawaiian dancing girls?” Tommy asked.
“Would’ve been nice,” Luke said.
Tommy opened a waterproof backpack, taking out a small gun-shaped gadget.
Luke watched in amazement as Tommy inserted the thin probe at the end of the object into the keyhole of the door and squeezed the trigger. He turned the handle and the door opened. Easy as.
“It’s a lock pick,” Tommy explained. “It’s what locksmiths use to open doors when people have lost their keys. I bought it off the Internet.”
“Don’t you have to have a license to own one of those?” Luke asked.
“Yup.”
“So, do you have a license?”
“Nope,” Tommy said, and handed Luke another item out of his bag of tricks. A tiny pen-shaped flashlight.
Luke followed him into the building and pulled the door shut behind them.
They were back in the corridor that ran beneath the library. If it had been strange and mysterious by day, with the lights on, the corridor was eerie and unsettling in the dark, with just the pencil beams of their flashlights for illumination. Spidery shadows chased each other behind strange objects on the ceilings and the walls, scuttling away from their lights as they played them around the long underground tunnel. Shapes on the walls seemed to reach out toward them as they passed.
Luke had an uncomfortable feeling that they were not alone down here. Maybe it was the spirits of the thousands of dead authors whose books were buried in these subterranean vaults.
The overhead conveyor belt system that had been fascinating to him that afternoon now seemed like some infernal engine, a contraption of torture and evil.
There was a slushing noise as they walked in water that was about two inches deep.
The walls and the ceiling seemed to be closing in on Luke. He looked at Tommy, who appeared to be enjoying himself in this creepy cave, and tried to shake the feeling off. At least the smell of the river was mostly gone, washed from their clothes by their bath in the loading dock.
They passed the storage rooms, their doors sheathed in plastic and sandbagged against the coming flood. At the far end of the corridor, they came to a set of double doors that swung open easily and led to the narrow staircase back to the library’s main entrance. They crept to the top of the stairs and looked out through the big glass doors of the entrance.
More flashing lights intermittently gave the library’s interior a devilish glow. Luke watched for a moment to make sure that nobody was looking in before scurrying across to the main stairs, Tommy behind him.
“Luke,” Tommy said quietly, and Luke turned to see what the problem was. Even in the low strobing light inside the
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