Guardian Cats and the Lost Books of Alexandria

Chapter 65: Captain of the ship

Marco surveyed the library from the balcony, the captain of his ship. He loved how window light streamed across tightly-packed rows of books in the late afternoon. There was something appealing as well in the stability of shelved books as the backdrop for the disorder of human activity.

The library had been busier these last few months—ever since rumors of ghosts. At certain times one could hear what sounded like a man talking to himself from underneath the basement-less building. The possibility of encountering a real live ghost attracted young curiosity seekers and they stayed to browse the stacks.

The only report that touched on what had happened came from a trio of teenagers. They swore they'd heard a lion roaring inside the library that night, but everyone laughed at them and none of the other rumors came close to the truth.

He went back to his chambers to check on Lily. The librarians had made a special place for her and their five kittens. Marco figured they wouldn’t be contained in the box much longer, and he jumped inside to give a quick wash to a calico, the only one who would sit still.

“I’ll be back later,” he told Lily. “There’s a meeting of the Dead Cats Society tonight.”

“What story will you give them, Marco? Will you tell them about turning into a lion?”

“A Guardian never tells his own story, Lily. Tonight Cicero will become part of the legend.”

Marco went downstairs and threaded his way through the library, a sort of cat walkabout he liked to take. It was the busiest time of the day. Librarians pushed squeaky book carts. Students, clustered in groups, studied and talked, their conversations punctuated with soft laughter. An old man rattled his newspaper and two silent young boys hunched over a chess board.

He picked his way around backpacks feeling that there was someone he must meet. A familiar voice drew him to a reading corner. Lucy was a regular visitor since her parents had moved in with her grandmother.

She was sitting next to a boy slouched in a chair, both of them lost in their books. When Lucy noticed him, she murmured some greeting and the boy reached one long arm down to scratch his head, his eyes never leaving his book.

The meeting could wait. He nuzzled himself into an impossibly small space and laid his head on the boy’s leg. Marco purred. The book was The Three Musketeers. D’Artagnan was alive and well.

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