Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [68]
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.”