1stwitness | (no subject)

"Multiple lifetimes, I should think." He peers ahead of them. "Is it growing lighter up there?"

She squints, glancing behind them and then back forward.

"I can't tell. Maybe? No, I think you're right."

"I am not sure if that means we are reaching the end or... something else."

"Only one way to find out."

She grins at him, and heads toward the light.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me."

Ichabod hurries to catch up, then stops dead.

"...well, at least we are not lost."

They've emerged back at the hub, seemingly from the east.

A laugh bubbles up in her chest. "No...? But, if this happens when we go back that way, how will we find where we came in?"

"Perhaps when that is our intent, the library will allow it", he suggests. "As we were not attempting to leave that time."

She puts her hands on her hips, spinning slowly on her heel.

"Perhaps."

She certainly hopes he's right.

"If not... well, we will not be bored."

"True, enough."

She looks back to him.

"Your turn to pick. Which way?"

He glances around and points to an aisle, largely at random.

"That one."

She chuckles under her breath and dips a low, courtly bow.

"Lead on, Mac Duff."

"Lay on", Ichabod says with a grin over his shoulder her, already heading towards the aisle he picked.

She follows behind, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh Ichabod."

This aisle has rows and rows of red clay tablets. She pulls out one drawer to look.

"This is cuneiform, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is", he says confidently, "but while I can recognize it, reading it is another matter. I don't suppose you studied ancient history during your time at Oxford?"

"I studied it," she singsongs, sliding the tray back in.

"I can't read it. But I'd be willing to bet the bar has something that would allow us to read it. We'll have to ask when we get back."

"Some sort of translation key", he agrees, brightening. "Assuming we can find them again, but if we try..."

"Oh yes, once we figure this place out, we'll be fine. I mean, it's a library. There must be some sort of order to the place. We just have to figure it out. Shall we keep going?"

"I think we should." He's digging around in his pockets. "I have some paper. Do you have a pencil?"

She pats the back pockets of her jeans, and comes up empty.

"No, sorry. What are you up to?"

"I thought we could make a map."

His coat has very voluminous pockets. After a little more searching, a pencil stub appears too.

She raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Well, we entered from six o'clock on the hub, and we left it at twelve o'clock, only to emerge at three o'clock. Without making any turns."

"But", he says cheerfully, "we can mark the positions of the aisles and what is in them at this end. And perhaps it will be the same next time."

He likes maps, okay? They make sense.

She watches as he writes. "That sounds almost sensible."

Maps are incredibly sensible. She's just not used to Milliways behaving in a way that might be mistaken as sensible.

"I think we're leaving clay tablets and we're entering -- are these pictographs?"

"Indeed they are." He leans down and studies them. "...but I can't place the culture."