Free The Bad Book Affair: A Mobile Library Mystery by Ian Sansom

closely in his eyes you could see Atlas with the world upon his shoulders.
    “Let me come straight to the point, Israel,” said Seamus. Israel could never get to the point. That’s how people who shouldered responsibility spoke! They got straight to the point. “We in the Green Party don’t have a campaign bus.”
    “Uh-huh,” said Israel.
    “And so…”
    “Yes?” said Israel, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
    “Well, we were wondering if we could perhaps use the mobile library?”
    “Ha!” said Israel.
    “Is that a yes?”
    “No!” said Israel instinctively. “I mean yes…No. I mean no.”
    “Oh.”
    “No. No. I don’t think so. No, Linda would go mad.”
    “Who’s Linda?”
    “Linda Wei, she’s responsible for the library provision in Tumdrum and—”
    “Well, maybe I should speak to Linda directly, if you’re unable to make those sorts of decisions.”
    “Well. I…It’s not that I…I mean, I am responsible for the mobile library.”
    “But that sort of bigger decision would be out of your hands?”
    “Not entirely,” said Israel, smarting rather from the implication that he was a powerless functionary. “I do havesome…sway with these things.” He had no sway with anything: he didn’t even have sway with himself.
    “Well.”
    “I could probably take it to the mobile library subcommittee,” offered Israel.
    “Well, the election’s in less than a week now, so we would really need to know very soon,” said Seamus.
    “Ah,” said Israel.
    “I don’t suppose it could be justified on the basis of educational benefit?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Israel.
    “Look,” said Seamus. “I really didn’t want to put you in a difficult position. It was worth asking, but.”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “If you don’t ask you don’t get,” said Seamus.
    “That’s true,” said Israel. Israel didn’t ask. He didn’t get.
    “Look, that’s fine. Let’s forget about using the van. Maybe I could just leave you some of these.” He produced from a battered old leather satchel a thick bundle of election leaflets.
    “Sure,” said Israel. “Just leave them there.”
    Seamus carefully fanned out the leaflets on the issue desk.
    “There,” he said proudly.
    “Recycled paper?” said Israel pointlessly.
    “Of course,” said Seamus. “Look, thanks a million for your help.”
    “My pleasure,” said Israel.
    “Look,” said Seamus—he liked to say “look,” a lot. “Look, I’m afraid I need to get on here. The campaign’s hotting up in the final few days.”
    “Of course,” said Israel. “Yes.”
    “We’ve got to keep out Maurice Morris.”
    “Quite,” said Israel.
    “I think the tide’s turning toward the Greens,” said Seamus.
    “Good. Good,” said Israel. He thought he might vote Green, actually.
    “Well, lovely to meet you, and thanks again,” said Seamus.
    As Seamus left, Ted reentered, smelling of cigarettes. He honed in immediately on the leaflets.
    “What are these?” he said disdainfully.
    “What?” said Israel, who was still trying to decide whether or not to vote Green.
    “These.”
    “They’re leaflets.”
    “I can see they’re leaflets.”
    “The man just left them in.” They featured a picture of Seamus, with his goatee and cropped hair, in what looked like an orchard, eating an apple. “They’re for the Green Party. For the election. I’m thinking I might vote Green, actually.”
    “Ach,” said Ted.
    “No, I might,” said Israel.
    “Aye, you would,” said Ted. “But we’re going to have to get rid of these.” And he scooped up the leaflets from the counter.
    “We’re allowed to carry public information leaflets,” said Israel.
    “Public information,” said Ted. “Aye. But this isn’t public information, is it? This is propaganda.”
    “It’s not propaganda,” said Israel.
    “It is, so it is.”
    “What about all the billboards Maurice Morris has up everywhere?” said Israel. There was one, in fact, looming