Retribution
Sable Palace/The Sable Mountains, April SY153
I had rarely dreaded a meeting more than I did my first monthly encounter with Rupert Delatz after Andrew had finally come clean to me about what had happened to him at my brother's hands. It was strange, despite everything, I still thought of him as my brother, as I had thought of him like that for so long. But what my son had shown me, both in terms of physical injury, and especially what had been in his memories, had sickened me, even if his telling me had seemed to help him, at least to a degree, and I spent much of the next ten days trying to divert my attention from the anger I felt towards my brother, onto something else.
It was helpful that I had a legitimate excuse - I was setting up a new project I was involved in down at the other end of the universe, with Claire offering advice having done something similar in the past herself – so much of the time I was out of Sable, leaving Andrew to stand as Regent for me as I had in the past, as I could hardly face him. However, even though keeping myself busy reduced the time I had to brood, and to work out what I was going to do, it didn't eliminate it altogether.
On the one hand, maybe Rupert had changed in the time since he had kept Andrew prisoner: he really did seem to different to me, and that change had accelerated over the last three or four years. But on the other hand, maybe Andrew was right, and I'd been taken in by a pleasant facade. Either way, though, as the days passed, one thing became clear in my mind. It may have been over seventy years ago, but I wanted to punish him for what he'd done, justifying the fact to myself by pointing out that if I'd known about it before, I would have acted before.
And then, on March 31st, a group our agents who Andrew had dispatched to look into a problem for us, discovered something in the Sable Mountains. They called him in for clean-up after they had dealt with the bulk of it, and he in turn contacted me. When I arrived on the scene to see what needed to be done, and analysed the rather unusual place they'd found, I realised that what they had found was an opportunity I could take advantage of in my desire for vengeance.
Mount Anglia – or Mount Vanaheim, as the Reich calls it - is the highest point on Magica Superior, and is located in the Sable Mountains. When I had built the world, knowing I wanted some part of it, but that the rest of it was to be given over to my brother, I established a lot of protections in those mountains and placed the Kingdom of Sable in the middle. The protections were such that no-one who wasn't family would be able to penetrate more than a hundred miles into the range from either Sable or the Reich which, given that the mountains were thousands of miles across, pretty much guaranteed that we wouldn't be bothered by the Kaiser's armies.
My intention had been that no-one who wasn't a Pattern initiate could navigate in the region, and that I would spot anyone who tried with it, although it had the side effect that Shadow there was more malleable than on the rest of Magica Superior, albeit in a rather different way to usual. Unfortunately, there was one eventually I didn't allow for: I had forgotten that under certain circumstances, a member of the family who had an exceptionally strong mind, and enough sheer bloody mindedness, can manipulate the stuff of Shadow in a very basic way without actually being a Pattern initiate. Hence the threat that a group of our agents, led by a grandson of mine, had discovered a couple of days before.
The interloper had been an unsuspected child of Theodor, Wilhelm's younger son who had been promoted at Rupert's wedding. Siegfried Hagen had been brought up Lebensborn, and had been recruited out of the SS by an extreme Aryan group called the Germanenorden, which made the Ahnenerbe look liberal. They believed that Germania, the ancient Aryan homeland, had to be in the Sable Mountains, since it wasn't anywhere else on Magica Superior. Specifically, it that had to be on Mount Vanaheim, as obviously the Aryan race would have come from the highest point to the skies, given their descent from the gods. They also believed that it must be possible to reach it from Sable, as they couldn't reach it from their own lands, not realising that the defences worked from inside the Kingdom, as well as the outside in the lands the Reich wished to control. So they'd managed to infiltrate a party into Sable, and then sent them to go and look for it.
How they knew Hagen would make a difference I wasn't sure – unless somehow they'd gotten hold of his genealogical records, which were on file at Ahnenerbe HQ – but they were right. Sure enough, he had found Valhalla, but he had driven himself mad building it from his imagination on the side of Mount Anglia.
Once the immediate threat had been neutralised, and his vision of an Aryan homeland had been blown to ruin, Andrew and I were called in to make sure that everything was stable. Andrew took the group home, with Hagen in medical custody in the hope that, given time, I might be able to treat his insanity. However, I stayed behind to make sure that everything was back in order, which was when I discovered the unusual properties of Shadow in that area, and an idea started formulating in my head.
To attack my brother in Sable Palace would be a breach of the traditional view of 'hospitality' – i.e. comfort, solace and protection - which we both followed when the other was our guest. At least as far as our monthly encounters was concerned. However much we might wish to do each other harm outside of that forum, the first of the month was sacrosanct.
Taking him out to Mount Anglia, however...okay, you could probably plead a case that it was still breaching hospitality, given that Rupert would be expecting to be elsewhere, but just then I was angry enough at him that I was willing to gloss over the technical breach of our agreement. I was willing to go with causing him a great deal of pain. And if I knew the properties of Mount Anglia and he didn't...well, dammit, if I was going teach my brother a lesson, I was going to cheat.
So I spent a couple of hours figuring out just what could be done in that location, and discovered that it was a surprisingly large amount. In that place, whatever you imagined became real, especially if you were a Pattern user to start with. Imagine food – it arrived. Imagine the ancient Aryan homeland – and there it was. Imagine a dagger – and it appeared in your hand. Apparently, my agents had only defeated the place by imagining that Sable was stronger than the Reich, and that Valhalla had no place there.
I'd have to fix it once Rupert knew the secret, as it was just too much of a threat to leave it like that, now I knew about it. But until he did...
* * * * *
Come Saturday April 1st, Andrew was absent of course. He'd told me he would be. Gray was hovering around, though, and gave me the impression that he wanted to speak with me. So early that afternoon, after lunch, I asked him into my office to say his piece.
"You wanted me to report on honorary rank," he said as he sat down in front of my desk. And true enough, I did, but I had the impression that that wasn't his main reason why he wanted to see me. It was just the pretext.
"What have you found out?" I asked.
"Number one. There's absolutely no precedent for honorary Oberstgruppenführer rank. You are it, my friend, with Berthelmes your closest second as an honorary Gruppenführer. Most common are the lower officer ranks: lieutenants, captains and the occasional major. Largely because any honorary rank gives various automatic privileges over serving SS members, and my assessment is that he doesn't want too many non-military ordering his people around with seniority."
"Then why have honorary ranks at all?"
"As gifts: presents to curry favour, maybe rewarding people who've helped the SS financially or in other ways. Nazi Germany had something similar: I don't remember the specifics, although Himmler handed them out to business sponsors on a regular basis and there was a higher proportion of honorary generals."
"So what are the privileges? If he wants to limit them?"
"They involve the honorary officer actually wearing the insignia of his rank to invoke them, but when he or she is, they come in two flavours. First, you get priority treatment from any place or organisation which favours the SS – and there are quite a few, especially the more fashionable social venues in Berlin and elsewhere, given how it's seen as the Reich's knighthood, which carries the torch for the Aryan race. But more interesting is number two. Basically, you can order SS troops around as if you were a full officer of the equivalent rank, with the exception of taking them into battle. To do the latter, you'd have to join up."
"Strangely, I'm not planning on doing that any time soon."
"Ah, but thereby hangs the rub. The counter of privilege is duty. In return for these privileges, the RFSS reserves the right to 'activate' anyone to whom he has given honorary rank, bringing them into full military service with the SS proper or the Waffen-SS."
"Oh, you're joking," I said, not sure whether to be amused or horrified, "he can basically order me to put on the uniform of a black angel and lead his people from the front?"
"And command at the same rank as Heydrich, or Kapler, or Andreas Delatz. It's in the small print, but it's there. Everyone he's ever given honorary rank to, can be called up as a reserve at his whim. And that, I think, is another reason why he usually only dishes these out at lower ranks. Because think what you could actually DO if he was fool enough to activate you."
"I'd never manage to get them to turn on each other."
"No, but you could sure as Hell sow strife in the ranks. Which, by the way, is why he is never going to call you up in my assessment,. So perhaps this was actually all it seemed. A gift."
"A gift, or a poisoned chalice?" I asked, thinking of the conversation I'd had with Andrew ten days before. I was definitely looking at Rupert Delatz in a different light.
"Maybe both," he answered, then looked concerned, "What's wrong, Robert? You've seemed...distracted this last few days."
"It's been a difficult week."
"Andrew again?"
"Yes."
"I wondered, given that you haven't seemed yourself since you and he had that chat the other evening. And it's unlike you to be out of Sable on personal business quite as much as you have been lately," he said, and I knew this was the real reason why he'd actually wanted to talk to me.
"There's stuff I need to do in Aurellis. I've undertaken certain responsibilities down there, and I need the time to sort them out."
"You know, I never expected you to actually allow the Empire to bestow the title of god upon you," he commented, mildly.
"I've been Deity without Portfolio down there for a long time."
"Yes, but you never actually bought into the whole thing. In fact, you've actively discouraged anyone implying that you're any kind of deity with actual power, despite the fact that here in Sable, it's the literal truth. But now you're what, God of Teaching?"
"And Investigation. And I think Trump Artists are in there somewhere."
"Children, policemen and artists?"
"And students. Don't forget students. Odd combination, eh?"
"But appropriate, given your skills and beliefs. I imagine you would have had Healing, as well, if it hadn't already been taken by your wife. But it's still a god, Robert. And that's still unlike you."
"I'd disagree. In Aurellis, all the gods are is powerful beings with certain responsibilities to keep them honest. Very definitely small g. That's very different to being a true Creator, and even then, I continue to acknowledge a higher power than myself."
"But you've still taken the step. Is your change of heart related to what happened earlier in the week?"
"Not really. It's something I'd been talking to Roland about for a long time, and it's a genuine coincidence that all of this has happened at once."
"It's convenient though, isn't it? Because it's given you a good excuse to pretty much avoid your son since you spoke, with the exception of sorting out the Mount Anglia balls-up yesterday. Coincidence?"
"Not entirely," I admitted, "to be honest, right now I can't face him. Not until I've done something to atone for abandoning him."
I paused for a moment, then looked at him. "Did you know?"
"Did I know what?" came his response,
"About Andrew...about Rupert?"
"He's never come straight out and told me in so many words, but I've figured out quite a bit," he replied, "I'll admit, not all of it – there's something major I haven't pinned down – but a lot. Hard not to given the lack of prisoners he keeps alive when we go Hunting for Black Lodge members and associates."
"I thought your intention in Hunting them was to kill them."
"Oh it is, " came the answer, his tone matter of fact, "but I usually I try to get information out of them first, as they're often connected somehow with the military or the other branches of the SS. However I've come to realise that if Andrew's involved in the Hunt, no intelligence is going to be forthcoming. He gives no quarter to anyone he thinks is involved in ritual magic of the hue of the Black Lodge."
"Probably not," I replied, knowing he was right.
"From your reactions when you have been around, and from Claire's worried glances, I presume it was bad?"
"Gray, I don't know how it could have been worse," I said, quietly, "and Rupert Delatz was involved in it up to his eyeballs. It made what Seska did to him look like a Sunday school picnic."
"I'm sorry, Robert," he said, genuine sympathy in his voice, "I know how much you care for your son."
He didn't even say I told you so. We just sat for a few minutes, and then he broke the silence.
"Are you still meeting Delatz this afternoon?"
"Bit difficult not to," I replied.
"You can always break the arrangement."
"After all this time? He'd smell a rat," I replied, "no, we're meeting, but there is something I intend to do when we do. Something long overdue."
He looked at me, a look of realisation on his face quickly followed by concern bordering on fear.
"Shit. You're planning revenge, aren't you?"
He met my gaze and held it for a few moments. It's not as if I could deny what he'd said. I had every intention of causing my brother considerable pain.
"You're letting out your overdeveloped sense of vengeance and going to go to war with him."
"Less a war. More a skirmish," I answered, trying to sound lighter about it than I felt. After all, I knew I was taking a risk, and part of me was gambling on the fact that Rupert had changed enough that he would understand why I had done what I was planning to do, and wouldn't immediately strike back. At least against anyone but me. "I was planning to take him out to Mount Anglia and have a few rather belated words. He's got away with what he did to Andrew for over seventy years, and its time there was payback."
"Can't Andrew fight his own battles?"
"This particularly battle isn't his," I replied, my tone steady, "this one's mine."
"He is the injured party. Yes, you're his father, but..."
"And I should have protected him so it never happened," I answered, firmly, "and given that he's waited this long, I'm sure he must have his reasons not to have attacked Rupert directly himself. He's just taken the war to the Reich in general. Maybe my brother has made it impossible for Andrew to hurt him, and so someone needs to do this for him."
"You said he broke Delatz's ribs during the whole mess at his wedding."
"But he didn't cut Delatz's throat: he obviously wanted to, he had the opportunity, and he didn't do it. And I'm not going to flatter myself by thinking that he didn't do it because I asked him not to. They made eye contact, and Andrew backed down. So it's down to me."
"You know what it is that I don't, don't you?" Gray said, quietly, "because I can't think of anything else that would be enough provocation for you to break your arrangement with him. However misguided I think your regular contact with him is, I must admit that it does seem to have protected Magica Superior from your combined wrath. By the gods, Robert. I hope you know what you're doing."
"I suppose we'll see," I answered, "was there anything else?"
He looked at me, then shook his head and rose to his feet.
"Be careful, my friend. And as always I'll be waiting in the cloister."
"Thanks, Gray," I replied, and with a nod in my direction, he headed out of the office.
* * * * *
I transported myself out to Mount Anglia about fifteen minutes early, as I wanted to give my shifting a little time to acclimatise before my brother turned up. It was cold at that altitude - the ruins of Hagen's imaginary temple were at about 14,000ft - and the oxygen was getting thin, and I was expecting to need every combat edge I could get when I put my plan into action. Because I couldn't forget that last time my brother and I had crossed blades, I'd lost. Not that I expected him to have a blade with him: unarmed was another rule of our encounters, and I was certainly planning on starting the meeting in that state.
I sat down on one of the stones which used to be part of Hagen's Valhalla, conjured up a picnic and settled down to wait.
"Guten Tag, Mein Bruder," came the familiar voice as the link opened. He seemed relaxed, obviously still enthused by the first rush of married life.
"Herr Reichsführer," I answered, failing to keep the chill out of my tone, which caused him to raise an eyebrow in surprise.
"I detect a lack of bonhomie this afternoon, Robert. Problem?"
"Something like that," I replied and extended my hand, bringing him through. He was dressed casually, in a grey shirt and chinos, which sadly didn't look as if they would restrict his manoeuvrability if it came to an actual fight. As he arrived, he looked around in surprise.
"The Sable Mountains? Quite high up if I don't miss my guess. Isn't April a little early to have a picnic at this altitude?"
"It's not as if either of us feels the cold if we don't want to," I replied.
"True enough," he answered, with a shrug, "where are we? I'm not familiar with this place."
"Mount Anglia," I answered, and he chuckled.
"Ah. Mount Vanaheim."
"Welcome to the ruins of Valhalla, Rupert. It seemed an appropriate place for this conversation."
"What's going on, Robert?" From his body language he seemed suddenly more wary.
"I wanted to speak to you in neutral territory for once."
"Really?" he commented, he said mildly, but his eyes narrowed slightly, "might I ask why?"
"I want to talk to you about Andrew."
"Oh, I'd really rather not," he replied, feigning boredom, "your favourite son is an inconvenient individual, and it seems a shame to waste a good afternoon on him. That picnic, on the other hand, looks well worth wasting an afternoon on."
And he took a step in the direction of the picnic table, but as he did, I lost control of my anger.
"Inconvenient?" I shouted, "Inconvenient? You subjected him to your rituals, and you think he's inconvenient? You captured him and bled him and used him for your purposes – made him what he is now - and you think he's inconvenient?"
"Ah...that," he replied calmly, defiantly. His calmness gave me time to try to curb my own feelings, get them back under control. If I was going to do what I had come to do, it needed to be soon, but in the heat of anger would not be the best state to do it in. And I realised that first, I needed to know if he was in any way sorry for what he'd done.
"Robert, I thought we'd talked about this before," he continued, "I'd had the impression you'd known about that for a long time, but you'd never made anything of it. Yes, he was my guest. So what? He was Seska's guest, too. Now admittedly, that didn't' work out too well for her...but you've never said anything about this before, so I imagined that you had let it pass in the interest of our civilised relationship."
"That's because I didn't know the truth," I answered, more quietly, "I didn't know about the Black Friday offensive, and how you guaranteed its success. And I want to know if you ever had any regrets about what you did."
"The only regrets I ever had, Robert, were that I used him up too quickly," he answered, his tone suddenly ice cold, "and that he managed to escape to become so much of a fucking pain afterwards."
That was it. I began to concentrate on manifesting the weapon, but before I could complete what I was doing, to both of our surprises there was a brief use of Pattern, and Andrew appeared out of nowhere.
"Good afternoon, Uncle Rupert," he said, with a humourless smile. A wicked-looking silvered blade which I had never seen before, but which from the tracery on it had to be the Nexus blade, was in his hand, and his expression was purposeful.
"What the Hell...?" Rupert began, glancing briefly at me, obviously thinking this was something I'd cooked up, but I was as surprised as he was and he saw the realisation of that in my eyes.
Of course, his mistake was taking his attention off my son, even for a moment. Before either my brother or I could react, Andrew moved with a speed neither of us was ever going to match, and making sure he never met Rupert's gaze, the blade in his hand entered my brother's stomach. And being a Power blade, it went straight through and emerged the other side, so sharp that the pain took a moment or two to register in my brother's mind. When it did, it hit all at once, and agony convulsed his features. Agony so strong that I could feel the backlash of it down the link we shared.
I was initially too stunned to move, which gave Andrew time to jerk the blade upwards, opening the wound further and causing Rupert to cry out in searing pain, the colour draining from his face. Then he pulled the blade out, catching my brother's cheek with the point and laying it open in bloody parody of a Heidelberg scar, and then smiled again. My brother fell to his knees, hugging his arms to himself to try to staunch the bleeding, genuine surprise on his bloody face. Then he fell slowly to the side, and lay there, gasping for breath, his lifeblood leaking out of the wicked double wound. I could feel him trying to concentrate on asking the Black Pattern for recall, but the pain was impeding his efforts.
Hardly able to bear even the reflected pain, I moved to help him, but my son flicked the point of his bloody blade up so it blocked my progress, and looked at me with eyes blazing.
"Don't...you...dare...Robert," he hissed, "let him suffer. I don't think it'll be fatal if he gets treatment quickly enough. He'll heal. It just might take a few days as I accidentally seem to have coated the blade with merasha and a healing inhibitor. Hmm. Must be the one I originally got from the Forstapo, but modified to make it more effective. So sadly, he probably doesn't have an antidote."
He crossed to my brother as he lay there, and then kicked him hard in the crotch, which elicited another cry of pain, and I winced in sympathy.
"It's good to see you where you belong, Delatz. Grovelling in the dirt. It makes me feel good to be alive. And I hope you're in pain, for a very, very long time." His tone was cold, expressionless, but in his eyes I could see malicious joy, "now get the fuck out of here, as letting you die here would just be too easy for you."
And he gave my brother another solid kick, this time in the ribs. I could see and feel that Rupert was rapidly lapsing into unconsciousness, and his shields were becoming ragged, but Andrew's blade was still pointed in my direction and he wouldn't let me approach, despite the fact that my brother's pain was hurting me as well, albeit not to the same degree as he was feeling. Then, with the last of his conscious strength, Rupert made the connection he was seeking and disappeared, leaving a pool of blood where he had lain. Immediately, the reflected pain I was feeling lessened, much reduced by distance.
Once he was gone, my son pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his blade, before resheathing the weapon, showing all the signs of being a man who had the feeling of a job well done. As he did, I ran a few mental exercises to fade what I was feeling further, and soon all there was was a dull pain on the borders of my consciousness. I guess that solved the question of whether or not Rupert had prevented him from ever hurting him, and I knew that I could never have taught him the lesson he had just received at Andrew' s hands. I knew my son could be cold, but I'd never seen it quite so clearly first hand before. Then he noticed my discomfort.
"Robert, are you alright? You look white as a sheet."
"What the Hell have you done?" I asked, when I could get the words out.
"What Gray indicated to me that you were planning to do," he answered, mildly, with no apology in his expression, but some concern towards me, "he called me to tell me that you were bringing that bastard here, and that you were planning on a reckoning, and I realised I would probably never get a more perfect opportunity to do what I've wanted to do for seventy years...especially as he never brings the Honour Guard with him to your meetings. What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" I answered, quietly, "I felt the backlash from his side."
He looked at me surprised.
"Not all of it, but some of it. You know, strong emotions? Sometimes we share them?"
"Sorry, father. That wasn't my intention," he answered, looking apologetic towards me, at least, then added "but with the best will in the world, could you have just done that? He deserved to suffer, and whatever your intentions, could you have gone through with it?"
"I don't know," I answered, "but Gray had no right to tell you..."
"He had every right," he retorted, "he's sworn to protect the Kingdom of Sable in face of all threats. Don't you think that he would be frightened enough of what you're capable of doing in a rage to call me in? You're the one who always says that you and Bloody Rupert need to keep things civilised because otherwise it'll destroy us all, and you were about to throw that away. That's why I never told you what had happened: because I knew that if I did you would go off half-cocked and try to deal with it yourself. And I wasn't wrong, was I? Despite the fact that it was my battle to fight, and my time to choose."
"Once you'd told me, I couldn't let what he'd done to you pass," I snapped, "I had to do something."
In response, he crossed to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. Comfort? Thanks? Just an attempt to calm me? I wasn't sure, but I did feel some of the rage leech out of me. I also felt a change in my son. As if the combination of telling me the truth a few days before, and what he had just done, had been a cathartic experience for him. Perhaps he'd finally purged some of his demons, and the broken man he considered himself to be might yet have a chance to heal.
"I know you had to do something," he said, breaking into my reverie. His voice was quiet and he seemed calm within himself for the first time in a very long while, "because it's in your nature, and your feelings of guilt for not preventing what he did to me were obvious the other night. But you see. I couldn't let you do it, because of the wider repercussions, and because a lot of people would get hurt along the way. So, because he already thinks of me as your hatchet man, I decided to do it for you. I watched you both through a Pattern lens, on the theory that this place is weird enough that you probably wouldn't spot it. And I waited for an appropriate moment."
"And your timing was impeccable," I had to admit.
"I felt you reaching for the stuff of Shadow and took my cue," he said, indicating the pool of blood where my brother had fallen, "this way the laws of hospitality haven't been broken, you and he haven't laid hand on each other – so you aren't going to rip the Sable universe apart - and I've given back some of the pain he inflicted on me."
He paused, then smiled broadly.
"Oh, and I've had the satisfaction of kicking him in the balls when he's down, which was almost the best bit of all."
"He's going to come after you."
"Robert, what could he possibly do to me that would be any worse than what he's done to me before?" he replied, and I couldn't deny that he had a point. Then the smile dimmed slightly, and he looked more serious again. "thank you."
"For what?"
"For caring enough to try. Even if it was a really, really dumb idea."
I looked at him, then smiled weakly.
"You know," he said, eventually, "we should probably get back and tell Gray that the apocalypse has been postponed."
"Yes, we probably should," I answered, "shall I drive?"
"Be my guest."
I put my hand on his shoulder, and teleported us both back to Sable Palace, and Gray rose from his usual place on the edge of the fountain as we appeared, concern on his face. But he seemed to relax when Andrew smiled.
"Crisis averted?" he asked. Andrew nodded, and my friend became less tense.
"For now."
"Delatz?"
"Badly injured," I supplied, aware in the background that he was still alive but unconscious, "he's going to be out of things for a while."
"Who struck the blow?"
"I did," Andrew answered, and Gray relaxed still further.
"I have one question," I said to my son, "why didn't you kill him?"
"Sending him to regenerate would have been too easy. I wanted him to feel the pain."
"Strategically, though, wouldn't taking out the Reichsführer-SS have made a lot of sense?"
Andrew shrugged.
"Probably, but he wouldn't have remembered this afterwards. And he wouldn't bear the scars. Perhaps you aren't the only one who lets emotion get the better of what's best for Sable, eh father?"
Then he unclipped the sword and scabbard from his belt, and held it in his left hand. "I should probably have this purified, though. I wouldn't want it fouled with the Devil's blood forever."
I was unsure of what response to make to that, but Gray nodded.
"That can be arranged whenever you wish."
"Thank you," he answered, then looked at both of us, "it's been a good day, and I think I deserve a drink. Either of you coming?"
And he headed off in the direction of the library, obviously expecting Gray and I to follow. In truth, I didn't' feel like a drink. But I realised that if I didn't go, it might seem as if I was disapproving of what Andrew had done, and if it had helped the process of healing which speaking to me had begun...I realised now that that was the case, even if I'd been burying the fact in my work and my own feelings during the week...then who was I to disagree?
Gray looked at me and nodded, and I fell into step beside him as we headed for the library doors.