The Librarian’s Favorite

   There weren’t many vivid colors in the Warren. Vibrant hues must have tired of always fighting the drab reality of hopelessness in that place. But one bright hideaway was always there: a cluster of three clumsily cutout stars, faded in the middle, taped to the ceiling of my bedroom. Mother said they had been there when we moved in. She also said- for the benefit of the cameras in every corner of our house, no doubt- that of course their cheeriness was not consistent with real stars, in space. 

“Those outside elements never live up to their replicas on the inside, here, where it’s safe,” she would remind me. “There’s nothing left for us on the outside, Thomas. We have all we could ever want, right here in the Warren.” At this point in her lecture, I would always quell my outburst about the Outside. I knew Mother was right. But I never stopped wondering. Especially about the stars. And so my lifelong ambition began: to see those “real” stars Mother talked about. It’s crazy how those aspirations can be sparked; an ambition born out of three pieces of paper, stuck to the ceiling and told they were the things dreams were made of.

   The community library never limited information on the Outside. I constantly borrowed books on a variety of old legends- animals, plants, farming, wars, religion, and more. Unfortunately, said Mrs. Shelley, the librarian, before Mayor Herkins's great-grandfather had founded the Warren, people had blacked out a lot of the information in the books. When I asked why the Outside people had done such a thing to their own books, she gazed at me intently before saying she supposed they didn't want us to make the same mistakes. It wasn't until later that I realized the Outside people had no more marked out the words than I had. Mrs. Shelley denied it, of course, but I knew this was the work of our founders, generations ago. I had seen their seal of censorship when the cover had slipped off one of the books. I quickly handed the book back to Mrs. Shelley, knowing that one mistake on her part would get her fired, then banished. 

   At the age of sixteen, my schooling was complete and my career and house assigned. I was not able to take the three cutout stars with me from my bedroom. I was informed that they were not necessary to start my new life. My new house was bare, without a past or a future, just as they liked it. My job was ordinary. Being a butler was nothing to be ashamed of, said the Board of Employment. But the fact that they had to assure me showed their statement to be a lie. I spent my days hurrying to and fro, face passive, mind wandering.

   At age twenty, I was assigned a wife. She was fine. The combined income was nice. I was promoted to serve as the Mayor's butler. An honor. I visited Mother twice a year. My life was orderly, perfect, successful. I was happy. Perhaps because I rarely visited the reality of it all. 

   There was only one time of day that I pushed aside my inner monologue and became alert. When the Mayor arrived home every day, at precisely five o'clock, I straightened up. There was always valuable information to hear. He always checked the house cameras of everyone in the Warren from his own, unsupervised home office. I always stood at the door, frequently waiting patiently to deliver an impatient message from Mrs. Herkins, just watching and listening. Mrs. Herkins always blamed her husband for dismissing me, but truthfully I never tried to distract him. Information was valuable; I suppose I kept hoping that somehow I might hear something that could make my one desire reachable. That thought was always first and foremost in my mind. The goal consumed me, as most things that keep one alive tend to do, determining my every move, undermining any other pretense of contentment. But despite my fixation on seeing the stars, I was now thirty-eight, and I was not any closer to the stars than the cutouts had been.

   One day, there was a commotion. I know because Mayor Herkins arrived home at four fifty-nine. He did not hand me his coat. He did not loosen his tie. He wasted no time in hurrying to the camera monitors in his home office and flicking through the feeds until he reached the right one. He waved aside his usual drink and finally gave a shout of excitement.

   "Is something the matter, sir?" I inquired, concerned at this level of emotion. He allowed glee to dance around his face as he flicked his wrist to dial the hotline. I was quite alarmed at this point.

   "It's been twenty-five years, Thomas." He sat back in his chair and finally accepted the drink I was offering him. Sipping it, he almost grinned. I was shocked. This level of undisciplined emotion, from our leader!

   "Twenty-five years of what, exactly, sir?" I asked smoothly, trying to bring him back into the realm of reason.

   "I've been watching those feeds every day for nearly twenty-five years for her to mess up and she finally did."

   I raised my eyebrows. "She, sir? And are you calling the Overseer department?"

   He waved his hand nonchalantly in the air. "Oh, of course. And yes, she, Mrs. Shelley. I don't know if you would recognize-"

   "The librarian?" I asked, then realized what I'd done. But Mayor Herkins was in too dangerously delighted of a mood to notice my interruption. Again, I reflected on the dangers of uncontrolled ecstasy: it blinded and dulled the mind. Still, in this instance, I was grateful for it. I owed it my job, and with it my life in the Warren. I didn’t know where the banished were sent but I had heard enough to be terrified.

   "Yes, the librarian. Did you know, for twenty-five years I have suspected her of handing out dangerous information to my citizens? And I think I finally caught her. You see, a tunnel sweeper found a piece of paper, torn from a book. Completely unmarked! Not censored at all. Dangerous. You see, Thomas?" His face was getting red, he stood up and paced about the room. "I can convict her! I can punish her! I can make her suffer in a way-” The line clicked on and a small voice answered the Mayor’s dial. “Oh yes, hello, Brian. Yes, get me the Department Head. Thank you. Of course I can wait." He looked back at me. "She always fought censorship. She is a cancer in our society. You will be glad to be rid of her. Now go take my coat to Mrs. Herkins. I want it pressed for the trial later tonight."

   It was past time for me to be dismissed for the night, but the Mayor instead told me curtly to put on my hat and coat and accompany him to the Conviction House. It was past curfew, so the circular networks of connecting tunnels were empty, except for the prolific night watch and street sweeper robots. I had never been to the Conviction House. Most who went in never came out again. Father had gone in there, long ago. I almost shuddered, but the Mayor looked back at me and pierced me with a gaze that dared me to do such a thing. How quickly he had forgotten his own lack of control only hours ago! We began to pass openings in the tunnels I had never ventured past before. There were no bots here. Water even dripped from one joint in the ceiling, forming a stagnant puddle on the stone floor. Finally, we reached what must have been the very edge of the Warren. Double doors sealed off what turned out to be a long hallway, square, not circular like all the other tunnels in the Warren. Through another set of doors, we reached the Conviction House. It was a singular room, with a high platform on the opposite end carrying two thrones for the Mayor and the Overseer, another door off in a different direction than Mayor Herkins and I had come, and a tiny chair sitting alone on the bare floor, lit by a single bulb dangling above it, to spotlight the condemned. And there sat Mrs. Shelley, head up, staring down the poor bot in the corner. The robot, I deduced, was here for two reasons: firstly, to guard the prisoner, and secondly, to keep a record of the proceedings. Not for any official reason or pretense at just treatment, but simply to give the Mayor something to read before bed. He had all the conviction records from his time as Mayor bound in a book. Sometimes he would make me read them to him. I had no idea which was Father's case. I think Mayor Herkins did this on purpose to make me ashamed, but of course as the son of a Trespasser and being only a butler, I deserved such treatment.

   The Mayor directed me to observe from the shadows that lurked next to his stand. Mrs. Shelley had not yet seen me; she was too busy glaring now at the Mayor with seething and uncontrolled hatred. Perhaps this display of resentment was what she had done to get here. As for what I was doing here, I had no idea. I looked towards the Mayor, perched upon the stand, wondering why I was here. I had never been to his work before. I opened my mouth to ask, but he simply handed me his coat and looked away, tapping his fingers impatiently, waiting for the Overseer to arrive and the conviction to begin.

   Soon, the Overseer swept in through the double doors and up to his seat next to the Mayor, not even taking time to remove his trench coat. Subject to Mrs. Shelley’s gaze, he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.. 

   “Judith Peterson Shelley. Accused of feeding illegal and dangerous information to the public, through her office of librarian,” he read off the paper on the shared table in front of himself and Mayor Herkins. “Evidence is an uncensored page ripped out of a book and found by one of our honorable citizens... and where is-” He looked around the room, spotted me, and smirked. “Our dependable Mr. Thomas Carter.” At this, Mrs. Shelley finally saw me. I started in surprise. What did I have to do with this? I hadn’t been in that library in years, having read each book repeatedly until I had memorized it. I looked back at Mrs. Shelley. She smiled at me. About to be banished, and she smiled at me. The Overseer was now saying something “-since it’s contested we’ll have to allow him to-” 

   The Mayor’s face was again growing red. “No, no, no, no. There’s evidence! What more do you want? Just convict her! My butler isn’t involved.”

   “Yes, so you say. Allow him to testify.” The Overseer stood up and beckoned me to the front of the stands. “Thomas Carter,” he said. I nodded. “There has been certain suspicion to do with your involvement in the library as a child, adolescent, and now, quite possibly as an adult. What do you have to say about this?”

   I blinked several times in confusion. I was not frightened. Yet. “I spent a lot of time in the library when I was a child. I read books, nothing uncensored, and to my knowledge I did nothing against the law. I have not been back in several years.” I fed the brim of my hat through my hands as I looked up at the Overseer and the Mayor, the former of which seemed unimpressed and the latter simply staring intently at me as if prepared to run me through should I say the wrong thing. “Something is the matter, sirs, that much is clear,” I said, tired of being so confused, “But I assure you that none of it has to do with me. I’m a law abiding citizen in every way.” I would never think about the stars again if I could just get out of here. At that moment, I would have given up that dream for safety in a heartbeat. 

   “Well, you see, Thomas,” the Overseer replied, “we seem to have quite a lot of surveillance video of you reading restricted books. However, when we would search all the records and even the library itself, we found that those books simply don’t exist. Mrs. Shelley was very thorough in her smuggling. We couldn’t find anything for years, and no one else was ever suspected of reading such trash except for you, Thomas.” 

I thought of all the books Mrs. Shelley “personally recommended” from her office collection. The slip-off cover, showing the seal of the founders. I looked back at her in that little chair, and understood what she had done for me. And then I realized what my life would have been, if not for her crime. Knowledgeless, hopeless, dark. 

“So, do you admit to reading those books? Did Mrs. Shelley give you those dangerous books?” asked the Overseer.

“I read no such books, sir. Mrs. Shelley never gave me restricted books.”

The Overseer sighed. Mayor Herkins, usually wholly delighted at a trial, only shook his head. The Overseer then shrugged. “Well, Herkins, you know the law. He denied it, there’s no other option.” 

“Just take him away. Don’t listen to anything he has to say. I deny all of it.” So this was the reason he was not cackling with laughter. Herkins was afraid I, having nothing left to lose, would blab his trespasses to the Overseer. Ha!

“Yes, yes, of course, Herkins.” The Overseer flicked his wrist to summon bots. Then he smiled at Mrs Shelley and myself, “Enjoy your slow deaths in that wasteland.”

The bots closed in. I was grabbed by the arms and walked out of the room through the singular door at the opposite end of the room.      

I couldn’t see Mrs. Shelley. She was being walked out in front of me, by a different robot. I could hear her, however. “It was only a matter of time, my boy, before they caught me. I gave you those books because I knew you were set on those stars, and you deserved them! I knew you wouldn’t see banishment as a punishment.” I responded with a grunt- my robot held me rather too tight for comfort. We were walking up a steep slope, and when Mrs. Shelley’s bot scraped the edges of the small tunnel, clumps of something came off of it. I’d read about this- dirt! It smelled different than anything I had ever experienced. This, I reflected resignedly, was as close to nature and the Outside I would ever reach. We kept walking for what felt like at least a half hour. I hadn’t known any of the tunnels in the Warren were this long, or that any sloped upward. 

A door opened in front of Mrs. Shelley’s robot, and I heard her gasp. 

“You’re going to love this, Thomas.” 

A warmth I’d never experienced before enveloped me; everything was green- plants called trees I’d read about, grass on the ground- it was all better than I had imagined. But so bright! The robots released us and turned around, back into the tunnel, sealing off the door. 

“They banish the Trespassers to the Outside?” I asked, screwing up my eyes at the blinding light. I tried to remember what could be the cause… the sun.

Mrs. Shelley was having similar difficulties. I helped her up off the ground and we dusted ourselves off. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this earlier, Thomas. I wanted to get the books to all the children I could, before I was banished.” I nodded, understanding. “But no matter about that now. We are in that place no more. I shall not spare it another thought. There are a few things you do need to know, but they can all be revealed whilst we are walking.” 

I laughed. “And where are we to walk? We can barely see, although the pain is getting better by the minute. I have read books about this place, but I only know enough to know that we shall be killed here, in this wilderness.”

Mrs. Shelley shook her head and began to walk, linking her arm around mine in a way that reminded me of the determination of that bot that had escorted me up here. “You know from Herkins’s ghastly collection the rate at which people are banished.” I nodded. Maybe six every ten years. “And you think that all of them have died? I think that is improbable in the extreme. Ah yes. See that?” She pointed at a collection of hodgepodge structures surrounding a little pond and centered by a giant tree, all about half a mile away. A man was jogging towards us from the dwellings. 

He came, panting, up to us and shook our hands. “James Carter. Welcome to the Outside! Let’s get you to the town, before sunset.” I groaned. It was usually brighter than this?? But Mrs. Shelley’s eyes lit up. 

“James Carter? Why, this is Thomas!” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Thomas Carter.”

***

Later that evening, I walked around the giant oak in the center of the village. Father came up behind me as I reached up to touch the waxy leaves. “Look up, son. Mrs. Shelley said you were hellbent on those stars.”

I did. For the first time, I saw the night sky through the canopy of a tree. In between the leaves, three stars twinkled down at me. Three stars cut out from pieces of heaven. The things dreams are made of.