Eira's POV

It isn’t my first time being in London. My maternal grandparents live in Reading, just forty-five miles away from this bustling capital. I and my parents always come to visit them whenever their free schedules meet, especially with how eccentric my father’s work as an archaeologist is.

And neither my best friend, Shannon, who’ve recently visited London with her parents just over the summer of this year.

Due to that, neither from the two of us have any intention to come along with the rest of our class for a tour around the city. And though this is a class trip, we’ve been allowed to come wherever we wish to be as long as we remain in pairs and always be contacted by phone. Also, before we left our hotel, we’ve informed our instructor where we are heading, and she mentioned something about the line that we better be telling her the truth.

I don’t know what she is thinking regarding where we are planning to go. I can’t even tell her that our intentions had been pure. Perhaps the only reason that she is curious of the reality of our visit is because we are the odd ones among the bunch of our class who’ve been ecstatic with the idea of having to tour London.

Shannon asked me a few days ago, before even hopping on to a plane and arriving here last night, that there’s a place that she absolutely wanted to go. And since I am so use with the surrounding of London already, I agreed to come.

I just didn’t know beforehand, that she’s to drag me to the British Library.

“Please,” she begged me with those child-like eyes. “My parents would not allow me to visit when we’ve been here in London. This might be my one and only chance to do so. After all, to be in London and fail to see the largest national library in the world by number of items catalogued is a great mock for an avid reader and future historian such as me.”

“Okay, okay,” I chided. “No need to patronize your future to me. I’m coming with you.” I sighed as I fixed my glasses. “It’s as if I have a choice since we better stick together like glue and we’ve already received a clear go-signal from Miss Mackenzie.”

“That’s right!” she beamed, her green eyes twinkling in delight and visible excitement. “We better prove to her that we’re being honest that we’re really going to the British Library than wherever she thinks that we’re going.”

I absolutely have nothing against the British Library, to be honest. Since I was a child, every time that we’re going to London then to Reading to visit my grandparents, Dad will always insist that we better drop off by the said library as well. He told me once that the library itself had been his pivot link for him to have interest with strange and unsolved phenomena in the world that urged him to be an archaeologist.

Well, the British Library has an exhibit of different artifacts every once in a while. Perhaps that’s what he is implying.

“No,” he told me once. “There are too many books in that library alone that you’ll never be able to read all of them throughout your lifetime even if you’re to start very young until you die.”

Somehow, the idea of being close to the British Library itself makes me miss Dad. He’s currently in an expedition to Greece with his team of archaeologists when they’ve speculated about a temple that is as old as the acropolis itself. Anyhow, when he heard that I’m heading off to London for a school trip, he said that I must stick with the traditions.

Given that that tradition coincides with what Shannon also expects to fulfill for her visit this time, I give it a go.

Before leaving home though, Mum told me that it wasn’t just the artifacts that amazed Dad about the library. She said that there had been some books that were so ancient there that even historians like her and archaeologists like Dad couldn’t read or understand at all.

“Where do you think shall I start?” Shannon whispers to my ear, afraid that her glee will even be caught and the others will look at us for her not taking in consideration the silence policy. She just keeps an arm of hers loop around mine after we two secure a borrower’s slip and immediately drags me with her to the very Reading Room. “There are too many books to choose from.”

“How about you let me sit on one of the chairs here as you look around for something to read?” I inquire, murmuring.

Despite the vastness of the very Reading Room with its segmented dome-like structure, countless of books shelved surrounding the perimeter with tables and computers in the middle, I still can’t help but feel claustrophobic with the idea. For a person such as me which is like a magnet to unluckiness and clumsiness, this is surely the worst for me to be in.

“Nonsense,” she says, rather loudly as if she forgets where we are at the moment. Before she draws more attention, she instantly ducks her head and stops herself before she even claps me by my shoulders that will certainly be a lot worse then. She murmurs close to my ear, “You know me. In times that I am reading, it takes me hours that I almost lose sight of the time. I know that you’ll be bored with this set-up, so I suggest that you come with me and search a book that will interest you for those long hours.”

I frown a little at her as she guides me on to a nearby seat. I carefully find my place next to her. “I don’t even know what type of book will keep me interested for hours.”

She smirks as she faces the computer right in front of her. She easily comes up with something interesting for her to search through the catalogue and requests for it to be delivered to the Reading Room. “Well, anything will do, you know? What interests you so much?”

“Now that you ask me that… I am interested on the same field as of my Dad,” I tell her.

“Then, what about if you search for something that will remind you of him? He’s in Greece right now, isn’t he? Why not read something about Greece then? I start to wish that we can travel to Greece one day as well!” she exclaims.

Before I can even say something to quiet her down, the nearby people busy reading on their chosen books and doing the researches stop for a moment to turn in our direction. Their heavy and analytical gazes are telling me that we are indeed becoming quite eccentric that we seem to be missing the idea of where we are right now.

I flush, smiling sadly at the people as I mouth my apology. Shannon doesn’t seem to mind it or even notice the situation as she receives a notification that her requested book is ready for pick-up.

I almost finish with assuring the people who’ve turned to our direction with mouthed apologies when I suddenly feel the chill in the surrounding, causing me to stop and hurriedly turn my attention to where I feel that daggering sensation. In the end, when I do so, I only find the presence of people coming in and out down another hall leading to another reading room in respect to certain studies that the library has to offer.

“Hey, are you alright?” Shannon manages to ask me this time as quietly as she can. She lowers the thick book that she had requested for and looks on to the same direction I have my eyes pinned on. The worry on her voice is audible, and I start to feel guilty about making her curious at the same concept that I do. “Something wrong?”

I shake my head as I turn to her with a small smile. “It’s nothing. It seems to be just my weird thinking getting a hold of myself again.”

“If that’s the case, you better find a book that will interest you right now because you’ll certainly need to tell me what is the thing that will catch your attention, or else, you’ll die out of boredom with the silence in this place for the hours I am to take reading this,” she tells me with an encouraging smile.

“Yes.” I nod, at the same time that she heads on to start with reading the book that she had asked for.

Me, however, I try to act as calm and natural as possible. I keep my eyes pinned onto the computer ahead of me and start scrolling down catalogues and catalogues of books that the British Library has to offer.

At the same time that I still feel that cold shiver at my spine that starts to prick me restlessly. Another quick look at the same direction heading to the other reading room through my peripherals is all I need to make me believe that I am just being delusional at the moment.

But, I can swear, that just a few minutes ago, indeed, someone from that respective direction had been looking at me intently. So intently than the people who’ve stopped reading to turn at the moment that Shannon had been loud herself. Much more of a stare that is both sinister and deadly; a look that is giving me the feeling that someone is planning something against me.

By lunch time, Shannon drags me out of the Reading Room in order for the two of us to find something to eat. She said that as compensation for me coming along with her, our meal is her treat. And she started saying how sorry she is for not even asking my opinion about this in the first place, thinking that she’s somehow obliged to do so. After all, throughout the time that she had been busy reading that thick book about Egyptian pharaohs, she didn’t even bat an eye at me, and I am left scrolling the list of books right next to her.

“You wish to be an archaeologist, right? Like your father?” she suddenly asked me over lunch.

“What’s with this?” I countered, munching over my own meal.

“Well, I’ve told you to watch out for any books that regard Greece in order for you to match with that of your dad’s current expedition. And yet, you didn’t. Perhaps, you’re the type of a future archaeologist who is much more interested with other things.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean!” She frowned at my lack of interest and enthusiasm, taking a frustrated bite of her sandwich. “Your interest with archaeology seems to be more of inclined to analyzing artifacts than discovering them! Some sort of like unearthing some ancient scriptures out of those hieroglyphics. Or even decoding something from the past.”

I sighed.

To be honest, I am actually interested with everything that has to do with history. It is one that actually made my friendship with such a popular girl as Shannon smooth-sailing. My mother is also a historian, so it is no surprise that I’ll have such adept interest with the past as well. But being an archaeologist is the field work of a historian. Those people that others called to be ‘the detectives of the past’ or to the worst notion to be titled as ‘the stalkers of the dead’.

But… I understand one thing that disappoints me to have such wild dreams in becoming a successful archaeologist in the future, indeed.

I have that unluckiness and clumsiness magnet with me all the time. Seeing how my parents work, I understand that everything is crucial, important and delicate. And for a person like me, instead of finding out something from those precious recollections of the past, I’m certainly just inviting more trouble in destroying such relics.

“That’s why, why don’t we head on to that section regarding rare books? Surely, there will be some books there that will interest you, as well as I!” Shannon suggested, bringing the two of us to the Rare Books and Musical Reading Room after lunch.

Compared to the Main Reading Room, this reading room has more desks present, placed in rows and columns that almost resemble a classroom set-up. The walls are filled with shelves of who knows how rare those books are, surely most of them had been important manuscripts that cost quite a fortune for just one small torn on a page or whatsoever. Also, this reading room does not have the same aura as I anticipate of it.

Of course, when I heard the term ‘rare’, I start imagining that the reading room will have that fill of history and antiquity. But those assumptions had been all thrown to the window when I am met with a classical set-up. One of modern feel; the titles of the books here are the only indications of its historical aura.

The two of us head on first to the Enquiry Desk to ask the reference specialist about the most appropriate material for Shannon’s interest in regards to Ancient Egypt. Lucky her that the librarian had been too kind to provide her a list of books possible to quench that thirst of hers for more information. I start to even wonder how come a beautiful lady as Shannon will have more interest with books and stick along with a clumsy person such as me than with the fame that surely follows her throughout the school.

“By the way, ma’am,” Shannon adds on to inquire once again the librarian at the Enquiry Desk. As if she remembers something, she immediately continues, “My friend here is having trouble about what books will interest her in all of the many possible topics that can be accessed here.”

It takes a few more seconds before I realize that she is asking for something that will surely interest me. I chide, closing my hands on her arm to start pulling her away, “Shannon! There’s no need to—”

“She’s into everything that is rare. Perhaps you can recommend her about something,” Shannon continues on with a smile at the librarian’s direction.

I am dead…

The librarian giggles lightly before answering, “The items we have on shelved in this reading room had a wide collection of such reference works relevant to the study of early printed books and music. Most of them had been those printed before 1850s. Though I am afraid to say that most of the books that are shelved were more of English History, I am sure that with just a walk-around and a quick read of the titles by the spine, it will be enough to arouse the interest of your friend, miss. After all, you’re in the Rare Books and Music Reading Room of the famed British Library in the first place!”

“O-Of course, ma’am!” I stammer, blushing because of the embarrassment as I try to duck away. I start to put all of my efforts in dragging Shannon away from the Enquiry Desk to inquire more for my sake. “S-Shannon, come on now. You’ll not be able to read all those books on the list if you’ll not start checking on them right now.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Shannon remarks before she finally allows me to drag her away from the Enquiry Desk and she’s back on dragging me to the section of the reading room where the first book on the list could be found.

I manage to let go of a sigh the very moment that it had been just the two of us within a perimeter that we alone can somehow murmur to each other. The nearest stranger from us is about two rows away, completely intrigued in whatever he is reading for him to almost snore in his sleep. I use the moment then to ask her, “What’s with that?”