There weren’t many words to describe what was in front of him right now. Oh, he’d seen grand landmarks with secret entrances leading into another space full of knowledge and information. He’d watched the shelves here rotate like the barrel of a machine gun, stopping to allow books to sort in and out.
Right now he was surrounded by the velvet silence of a library, only broken by the flutter of pages as books left their slots or returned. But he wasn’t looking at them.
“'Scuse me, ma'am, sorry to bother you,” he said, looking up at the sleek figure that was twice his size towering over him, “but I was wonderin’ if you had a section ded’cated to past newspapers? If I got my facts right, it’s the Daily Prophet what I’m seekin’.”
Her large eyes, outlined darkly with irises filling visible space, gazed owlish, aloof at him. Long hair cascaded down her neck, cutting an elegant figure against her elongated nape and gracefully spilling down the lithe leonine silhouette. Garrett waited patiently. He was no fool; her smooth fluid curves hid powerful muscles that could rip a man apart in seconds if she so willed it.
“If you answer my riddle correctly, outsider, then I will fetch the correct edition for you,” she finally answered in a contralto voice. A hint of a second voice, faint in the background, echoed along with her words. Her face was that of a mix of feline and human features, an uncanny combination graced by a faint glow of gold from somewhere to match her flaxen coat, giving her an ethereal appearance. Human head, yet not human.
Garrett frowned. He’d taken off his hat and was holding it to his chest as if greeting a woman normally.
“Mightn’t that ‘urt you?” he asked. “Thought that if you had one o’ your riddles answered correctly, you’d keel over.”
“Only if I choose to tie that riddle to such power, young man.” Her eyes remained on him, unblinking and unnerving. “This is but a password. You are not of these lands. No, I will not attack you if you answer incorrectly. You simply will have to find it yourself.” She raised her head to glare at him. “There are far worse sins to commit in this archive that warrant punishment, than a failure of your education.”
“Well, alright.” Garrett shrugged, hardly bothered by her words. It wasn’t like he had a choice. “Let’s ‘ave it.”
“What can run but never walk,
Has a mouth but never talks,
Has a head, but never weeps,
Has a bed, but never sleeps?”
The auror considered her question carefully with a deep, thoughtful frown while the Sphinx gazed at him haughtily from above. At length he said, “Riddles ain’t never my strong suit, but I’m gon' guess this one’s a river.”
The Sphinx nodded. “Correct. You may request a specific date, or a specific article within that newspaper.”
Garrett smiled gratefully, pleased that he had scored a win on that one. He’d never been good at riddles back in Salem. “I’m moseyin’ for a paper dated the 11th or 12th of December, 2017. Somethin’ about the deaths of the Collins or somethin’. That’s all.”
“Certainly.” There was a distant rattle of wood, a whisper of paper like a fluttering stream. The Sphinx lifted her head, her long pointed ears turned in the direction of the sounds. For a moment she looked as if she was sniffing the air with her flattened nose.
An oblong shadow, tiny and fluttering like a bird, came into view far above them. Garrett watched it grow bigger and bigger as it flew down onto the counter before him and settled gently. 11th December, 2017.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Garrett bowed his head respectfully to her. “Can I take this to one of the tables?”
“You’ve passed my test.” The Sphinx’s angled eyes looked down at him, half-lidded. “You are free to use the facilities as you wish. Follow the rules of the library and you shall be safe from my claws.”
He would be lying to himself if he hadn’t felt a wave of relief wash over him upon hearing her answer. Garrett picked up the paper, almost reverentially as if it was the most sacred thing, and carried it over to one of the many desks within the vast floor he was on, all lined by bookshelves from ceiling to floor.
”Apparent death”.
[1] The Collins had not met their usual weekly deadline from 11th December 2017 onwards. The details had been sparse, but he had let some of the staff at the Leaky Cauldron entertain him with gossip and news. With a little angling and some flattering, he’d managed to get the news about the fire that burned their house down.
It was in the news, indeed
[2]. Tucked away inside, not on the front page. They were not that important, but it was still tragic. Garrett noted the words
“The Collins are survived by their adult daughter, Cassiopeia Collins of Bramble & Wild.”That confirmed her being alive. The Cauldron staff, delighted to talk to a Texan just to listen to his accent, had indulged him a little on her. A florist, down Diagon Alley.
The British have an interesting sense of humour, he mused.
What Daylight had said was both confirmed and unconfirmed. Death as reported by the news, but fire consumed all in its path and there was no evidence that they hadn’t just escaped out a window. Not enough information.
His next target, then. Garrett stared off into the distance, resting his chin on his hand as he organised his thoughts, his other hand resting upon the spread pages of the paper. He hadn’t expected an interrogation this early on, but if it had to be done so be it.
Noiselessly he rose from his seat, closing the paper and picking it up to return it to the Sphinx. What a way to make an impression on him, having a Sphinx as the Head Librarian.
fin
[2 Apr] Picking Up the Trail [SNAPSHOT]