Free Made Men by Bradley Ernst

They eased some of the
books at their feet back onto the shelf behind which they hid, further
concealing the gap behind the wall.
    Turning
back to her cart, the lady’s face was visible for a moment between shelves.
Ryker felt his chest buzz; Rickard agreed, purring too, yet looked startled as
well.
    It was a sound they’d not made before.
    She
was more beautiful than the goddesses from the storybook. Riveted, they gawked.
With long legs and a trim waist, her odor came from unexpected
places—defining, imprinting for them how a woman should smell. When she
had finished her tasks, the overhead lights winked out with large clunks . The long-legged woman’s
footsteps softened, each tap of her shoes yet more distant. A faraway door clinked shut and the jingle of keys
assured them of her departure. Although Ryker felt compelled to explore, he was
disappointed to see the librarian go.
    Again,
they popped from the tunnel. The visual dam of books on the low shelf showed
significant wear .
    Wolfgang Bähr moved them hundreds of
times.
    Silently,
Rickard followed him, soft light shining from dozens of see-through rectangles
spaced along the walls. Together, they climbed shelves, digging their hard,
clear nails into the wood like owls to inspect books, carefully replacing each
afterward. Each book they handled was now a known book. They would understand the common system soon, but after two minutes, this
was what they knew: the second aisle from the tunnel, on the top shelf, the
seventeenth book from the end was The
History of Pork, Husbandry, Challenges, and Feed Considerations. Fourteen
aisles from the tunnel, a left turn was mandatory. On the first shelf around
the corner, the second book on the right was Siddhartha byHermann
Hesse . That aisle was short.
    Fifteen-strides for
bipeds their size.
    At
the end of the aisle was a large and immobile wooden table with small doors
that opened in the middle. The doors had two-way hinges and springs. Many small
drawers were organized in rows. They discovered a wooden box with assorted
clothing, broken glasses, and a single small shoe inside. Wider, taller drawers
faced chairs. Some of the larger bins were locked.

 
    R ickard opened one of
the hundreds of small wooden drawers. It slid easily on greased metal runners,
smelling of graphite and glue and paper. Thousands of handwritten cards were
inside.
    Here was a clue to the system.
    Rickard
walked to an aisle to study the annotation printed neatly on a plaque on the
endcap then hurried back through the small doors like a tiny trail-dusted
cowboy thirsty for knowledge. He studied the plaques on the drawers next, slid
one open, and flipped through the cards in the rear third of the drawer. Then
plucked out the correct card like a magician, holding it aloft for Ryker—
    Hesse, H.;
Siddhartha.
    His
brother nodded, rummaging through the larger drawers.
    Had he found something to eat?
    He
held something white, wrapped in paper. Already, Ryker had taken a bite of the
item, yet held it in his mouth, appearing unsure … not chewing. Rickard bit
into the block next.
    Not food, but close.
    Suddenly,
he felt immensely thirsty. It was bitter. He re-wrapped the white bar of soap
as Ryker slid open several of the smaller drawers to survey their contents.
    Small utensils for
writing?
    He
touched a tip. It didn’t draw blood, but did leave a black mark on his
thumbnail.
    Yes, for writing.
    He
took one, tucking it into the elastic band at his waist. Next they studied a
tiny bent piece of metal, likely galvanized steel wire. Passing the inch-long
thing back and forth, Ryker made two medium glottal clicks.
    He knew something .
    Pushing
through the little saloon doors, he disappeared but returned in just moments,
holding a book on metallurgy they had discovered on their way to the
circulation desk. Rickard clicked once, low, in appreciative contentedness.
    Fifth aisle from the
tunnel, halfway down on the right. Top
shelf.
    Ryker
inspected the book’s