Day Four-Hundred-Two: The power of names

I got signatures. Dozens of signatures. Signatures from people who knew Robert, signatures from people who didn't, hell, signatures from people who can't read and barely know what a library is. I even got a signature from Libby, through Grayson, who acts as her beaming little messenger boy these days. Dozens and dozens of signatures, one from virtually every person living in Pubton. Didn't even have to include my own to bolster the list.

All June said was "No."

"No?" I waved the petition in her face. "NO?! You can't say NO! It's a bloody petition! Lookit all the names!"

June, seated in her chair by the fire, Julius on her head, crossed her fingers. "D'you have a library where he can live?"

"No."

"Then the answer is no. Don't be an idiot, Mr. Mayor, he needs a library."

"Y'don't know that!" I pointed at the wall where I could faintly hear Robert humming quietly to himself. "You've never even tried! He needs a chance to live outside a dank 'ol library for a change!"

She shook her head. "You don't get it. He's a librarian. Much more 'n you were ever a guard, or Libby a carpenter, or even me a witch. He's bound to his post. Leaving it like he did his old library drove 'im nutty. It's in his kowde, his blood, his… his… his very soul, I guess. If he doesn't have a library, he doesn't leave here. That's final."

I smacked the parchment covered in names, most of them misspelled. "But the signatures!"

June rose from her chair, eyes as wild as her hair. The arm I knew inhabited her mad tresses twitched into sight for a second before disappearing again. "I don't give a shit 'bout your signatures. I'm as much a medical professional as you're like to find 'round this town, Dragomir, 'n I know what I'm saying when I say he is STAYING IN THERE UNTIL YOU BUILD HIM A LIBRARY."

She waved her hand. I flew out of the door of the hut and landed in the forest, far from where I'd entered. It was a long, cold, lonely walk back to civilization… 'least until I ran across a small group of shivering pilgrims, led by a hunter with a fox launcher strapped to her shoulder.

She had little to say, being on the prowl for animals at which she could launch foxes. (How Libby came up with that thing I will NEVER know.) The pilgrims, however, greeted me rather warmly, inviting me to join them for a conversation regarding their new church. Yes, these were the Weekendists that arrived the previous week, and they had finally hunted down a nice source of stone: a small quarry secreted in the bowels of the forest, close to where Barrel had been living. They suspected that the original owner of these lands had used it for buildings far from Pubton's current home. Each Weekendist had a rock of middling size, and they were struggling to get them back to their build site.

Inspiration took very little time to strike me on the noggin. I offered to help them build their church, a solid thing of rock and mortar, in exchange for outfitting it with a library. And a librarian. They heartily agreed, having already contemplated installing a library.

It's settled. We will build a Weekendist church and a library in one go. Robert will have his new home, and I… I will feel useful again.

Stupid petition. What a waste of a morning.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Builder