The Anachronistic Librarian and the Quest for the First Catalogue
Greg Clumpner
Greg Clumpner is a proud product of Wisconsin currently residing in Pittsburgh, PA. He has both a Mechanical Engineering degree and an MBA from Carnegie Mellon University and works as a Editor of the Triangulation anthologies Seven-Day Weekend and Hospitium. When not working, writing, or playing with shelter dogs, you’ll find Greg willing to engage in any form of sport. You can find Greg @Greg_Clumpner on most platforms.
“And how may I help you…” the togaed library attendant asks me, raising an eyebrow, “Brad?”
I did it again, and I barely restrain my reflexive face-palm. Fresh from my stop at the Carnegie Library to assist a teen with her science fair project, I forgot to switch from my alias in the 21st century. Too many jumps lately, and I hope this one relieves some of my future burden. The Greek columns and Egyptian icons remind me of the all-too-familiar surroundings—the Library of Alexandria, 48 BCE—the day the Great Library burns to the ground.
I check my clothes to ensure I didn’t screw that up too—a white linen chiton secured by a scarlet sash. Phew, now it’s game face time. “My apologies, good sir. My name is Callimachus, and I’m here to receive my copy of the Pinakes,” the original library catalog. With it, the necessary time to secure the treatise of knowledge for the future will be fractioned. Less time here means more time assisting others, or perhaps some overdue rest.
“Callimachus?” the attendant asks. “Is this some jest? Did Istros put you up to this?”
“Ha, I wish. My forefather was the Callimachus, and I’m the tenth of his line. Terrible legacy to follow, I’m afraid, as I can only muster a weak attempt to live up to his Library Science achievements.” The attendant’s skeptical gaze cuts right through my backstory. He will allow me no joy on this expedition. To the heart of the matter! “Istros is quite the comedian, but it is with him that I registered my request. Might he be available to settle this affair?”
The attendant tightens his eyes before he scurries off with a huff. As I wait, I wander into an adjoining reading room, where the walls are lined with shelves of papyrus scrolls and scholars study at ornate ash tables ingrained with figures of both Greek and Egyptian deities.
“Calli!” The call with a synchronized slap on the back forces me to flinch and bump into one of the peaceful students, knocking his reed pen into a scrawl in his papyrus. The student glares at me with ire. I raise my hands and scrunch my face, intending to give a silent apology.
I face my assailant, who wears his renowned thick, black, clean-shaped beard and shares a similar eyeball apology. “Istros, my friend!” We grip arms in the accustomed greeting of the era. “These halls are as serious as ever, I see.”
“Ah, too true. Things have escalated since yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” I ask. Istros raises an eyebrow, and this time I have to grab my arm to prevent my reactive face-palm. “Ah, yes, when I received my copy of Euclid’s On Mechanics.” That was a fun little side-quest, almost losing a finger while assisting Da Vinci with his “invention” of the helicopter. I don’t know what that man would do without me.
Istros snickers, and I know my recollection has appeased him. “Each time I see you, Calli, you grow more weary.”
Duh, that’s why I’m here this time.
“Today, I fear, is not a day of rest. Caesar grows impatient and his men bustle at the harbor.”
Also, why I’m here. The man has no respect for knowledge and would rather set everything ablaze in his conquest for more influence. “Then, I won’t tarry. Do you have it?”
“The duplicate of the current Pinakes? Yes, updated as of yesterday, ten scrolls in all. Your birsa won’t be sufficient to hold them.” Istros motions at the saddlebag-like leather carrier around my shoulder. “Will you require me to secure a chest for your travels?”
Little does Istros know that my birsa will be just fine, as it already holds a plethora of the universe’s knowledge. Yet, I must maintain the charade. “No need, I’ll have one brought from my chariot. May I see the scrolls? Your warnings of Caesar’s restlessness have heightened my anxiety.”
“Of course,” Istros says with a pleased smile as he beckons me toward a side chamber. The room is small, but well-lit by the natural light from windows that overlook the harbor. In the center sits a lone chair at a table that holds a basket brimming with papyrus rolls. “Your usual reading room is prepared for you.”
“Thank you, Istros. You are a scholar and a gentleman.”
“Callimachus, I’m honored to aid your good work. Your mission is noble and virtuous, to show the world the full breadth of the contents of the Great Library and encourage others to pilgrimage to our halls.”
And it’s a lie, although I wish it wasn’t. As much as I would love to spend my days here, in this time, my obligation spans the macrocosm. “You are too kind. Your devotion to the collections here holds greater value to civilization. What good would my mission be without this epicenter of learning?”
That was true.
I shift the chair so it faces the window, and I sit, eager to unravel the first scroll of the first library catalog ever created. “If there is nothing else, I’ll give you the room. Please do stop and say goodbye before you leave. You have a habit of disappearing on me,” Istros says with a smirk. I grin and nod. He bows and retreats from the reading room, closing the door behind him.
Here’s where I should put the scrolls in my birsa and vanish to my next destination. I have what I’ve come for, and I can study the contents from anywhen.
Keeping one eye on the harbor, I unravel the first scroll and scan the listings. From my birsa, I pull out my tablet—the electronic one, not the one with the first five Commandments. My fingers race against the liquid-crystal display, feverishly typing notes. I chart which days and years I can return, to accumulate new knowledge—new pages to offer future scholars in their times of need.
I mark 145 BCE to come for Eratosthenes’s texts to aid Copernicus. Jaime Garner will need to channel Socrates for her Ethics of Business essay. Herophilus’s medical observations can be secured later in the 2nd century BCE for Da Vinci. It still amazes me how much help that man needs.
Through the window, I notice a soft orange glow. It’s begun. I hastily roll up the scroll and stuff it in my birsa. Despite the heft of the papyrus, the bag doesn’t add any burden or bulge. I stow the other nine and saunter to the window, unable to take my eyes off the flames. A raging inferno engulfs the harbor—Caesar’s act of defiance against Ptolemy XIV.
The thought of this mecca being destroyed ignites my soul hotter than the blaze will burn these scrolls. I can’t help myself; space-time continuum be damned!
I sprint out of the room, back to the main hall. Smoke already pours along the vaulted ceilings, coming from the eastern wing. Scholars scramble toward the exit, Istros ushering them to safety.
Istros rushes over. “How can I help, Calli?” he asks.
“It’s all kindling,” I say, glancing along the walls and walls of documents. “Move the writings from the hall into the western wing. If we can get anything flammable out of here, perhaps we can save some. Find as many willing bodies as you can.”
“Willing bodies, we have in masses.” With a sharp whistle, men appear from every crevice of the hall.
Istros directs his librarian multitude masterfully. Basket by basket, we haul the scrolls to the other side like a bucket brigade. By the time the flames overtake one of the doors from the eastern end of the building, the whole wall is emptied, and we’re already moving the heavy wooden tables to clear the middle of the hall.
Without anything to feed the fire, it grows weak trying to climb the stone walls and columns. We continue to move anything we can out of the hall, and I pray that Caesar’s Rebellion doesn’t grip the half of the building we’re trying to save.
So far so good. And I haven’t blinked away in some temporal paradox created by my actions.
The main hall clear, myself, Istros, and the librarian horde exit the building to safety and watch the east wing’s annihilation. They weep as they witness centuries of their curated knowledge burn. I allow myself to shed a tear, but one of happiness.
I couldn’t save it all, but there’s a satisfaction knowing that I may have prevented the loss of so many of the documents I use to push Renaissance Men and Polymaths past the Middle Ages. Maybe, just maybe, Leonardo can utilize the saved knowledge, instead of my all-too-convenient satchel of goodies, so I won’t have to visit him every other weekend of his life. That and, thanks to my copy of the Pinakes, I won’t waste days finding the knowledge held within these hallowed walls.
Finally, I’ll get some much-needed rest.
I did it again, and I barely restrain my reflexive face-palm. Fresh from my stop at the Carnegie Library to assist a teen with her science fair project, I forgot to switch from my alias in the 21st century. Too many jumps lately, and I hope this one relieves some of my future burden. The Greek columns and Egyptian icons remind me of the all-too-familiar surroundings—the Library of Alexandria, 48 BCE—the day the Great Library burns to the ground.
I check my clothes to ensure I didn’t screw that up too—a white linen chiton secured by a scarlet sash. Phew, now it’s game face time. “My apologies, good sir. My name is Callimachus, and I’m here to receive my copy of the Pinakes,” the original library catalog. With it, the necessary time to secure the treatise of knowledge for the future will be fractioned. Less time here means more time assisting others, or perhaps some overdue rest.
“Callimachus?” the attendant asks. “Is this some jest? Did Istros put you up to this?”
“Ha, I wish. My forefather was the Callimachus, and I’m the tenth of his line. Terrible legacy to follow, I’m afraid, as I can only muster a weak attempt to live up to his Library Science achievements.” The attendant’s skeptical gaze cuts right through my backstory. He will allow me no joy on this expedition. To the heart of the matter! “Istros is quite the comedian, but it is with him that I registered my request. Might he be available to settle this affair?”
The attendant tightens his eyes before he scurries off with a huff. As I wait, I wander into an adjoining reading room, where the walls are lined with shelves of papyrus scrolls and scholars study at ornate ash tables ingrained with figures of both Greek and Egyptian deities.
“Calli!” The call with a synchronized slap on the back forces me to flinch and bump into one of the peaceful students, knocking his reed pen into a scrawl in his papyrus. The student glares at me with ire. I raise my hands and scrunch my face, intending to give a silent apology.
I face my assailant, who wears his renowned thick, black, clean-shaped beard and shares a similar eyeball apology. “Istros, my friend!” We grip arms in the accustomed greeting of the era. “These halls are as serious as ever, I see.”
“Ah, too true. Things have escalated since yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” I ask. Istros raises an eyebrow, and this time I have to grab my arm to prevent my reactive face-palm. “Ah, yes, when I received my copy of Euclid’s On Mechanics.” That was a fun little side-quest, almost losing a finger while assisting Da Vinci with his “invention” of the helicopter. I don’t know what that man would do without me.
Istros snickers, and I know my recollection has appeased him. “Each time I see you, Calli, you grow more weary.”
Duh, that’s why I’m here this time.
“Today, I fear, is not a day of rest. Caesar grows impatient and his men bustle at the harbor.”
Also, why I’m here. The man has no respect for knowledge and would rather set everything ablaze in his conquest for more influence. “Then, I won’t tarry. Do you have it?”
“The duplicate of the current Pinakes? Yes, updated as of yesterday, ten scrolls in all. Your birsa won’t be sufficient to hold them.” Istros motions at the saddlebag-like leather carrier around my shoulder. “Will you require me to secure a chest for your travels?”
Little does Istros know that my birsa will be just fine, as it already holds a plethora of the universe’s knowledge. Yet, I must maintain the charade. “No need, I’ll have one brought from my chariot. May I see the scrolls? Your warnings of Caesar’s restlessness have heightened my anxiety.”
“Of course,” Istros says with a pleased smile as he beckons me toward a side chamber. The room is small, but well-lit by the natural light from windows that overlook the harbor. In the center sits a lone chair at a table that holds a basket brimming with papyrus rolls. “Your usual reading room is prepared for you.”
“Thank you, Istros. You are a scholar and a gentleman.”
“Callimachus, I’m honored to aid your good work. Your mission is noble and virtuous, to show the world the full breadth of the contents of the Great Library and encourage others to pilgrimage to our halls.”
And it’s a lie, although I wish it wasn’t. As much as I would love to spend my days here, in this time, my obligation spans the macrocosm. “You are too kind. Your devotion to the collections here holds greater value to civilization. What good would my mission be without this epicenter of learning?”
That was true.
I shift the chair so it faces the window, and I sit, eager to unravel the first scroll of the first library catalog ever created. “If there is nothing else, I’ll give you the room. Please do stop and say goodbye before you leave. You have a habit of disappearing on me,” Istros says with a smirk. I grin and nod. He bows and retreats from the reading room, closing the door behind him.
Here’s where I should put the scrolls in my birsa and vanish to my next destination. I have what I’ve come for, and I can study the contents from anywhen.
Keeping one eye on the harbor, I unravel the first scroll and scan the listings. From my birsa, I pull out my tablet—the electronic one, not the one with the first five Commandments. My fingers race against the liquid-crystal display, feverishly typing notes. I chart which days and years I can return, to accumulate new knowledge—new pages to offer future scholars in their times of need.
I mark 145 BCE to come for Eratosthenes’s texts to aid Copernicus. Jaime Garner will need to channel Socrates for her Ethics of Business essay. Herophilus’s medical observations can be secured later in the 2nd century BCE for Da Vinci. It still amazes me how much help that man needs.
Through the window, I notice a soft orange glow. It’s begun. I hastily roll up the scroll and stuff it in my birsa. Despite the heft of the papyrus, the bag doesn’t add any burden or bulge. I stow the other nine and saunter to the window, unable to take my eyes off the flames. A raging inferno engulfs the harbor—Caesar’s act of defiance against Ptolemy XIV.
The thought of this mecca being destroyed ignites my soul hotter than the blaze will burn these scrolls. I can’t help myself; space-time continuum be damned!
I sprint out of the room, back to the main hall. Smoke already pours along the vaulted ceilings, coming from the eastern wing. Scholars scramble toward the exit, Istros ushering them to safety.
Istros rushes over. “How can I help, Calli?” he asks.
“It’s all kindling,” I say, glancing along the walls and walls of documents. “Move the writings from the hall into the western wing. If we can get anything flammable out of here, perhaps we can save some. Find as many willing bodies as you can.”
“Willing bodies, we have in masses.” With a sharp whistle, men appear from every crevice of the hall.
Istros directs his librarian multitude masterfully. Basket by basket, we haul the scrolls to the other side like a bucket brigade. By the time the flames overtake one of the doors from the eastern end of the building, the whole wall is emptied, and we’re already moving the heavy wooden tables to clear the middle of the hall.
Without anything to feed the fire, it grows weak trying to climb the stone walls and columns. We continue to move anything we can out of the hall, and I pray that Caesar’s Rebellion doesn’t grip the half of the building we’re trying to save.
So far so good. And I haven’t blinked away in some temporal paradox created by my actions.
The main hall clear, myself, Istros, and the librarian horde exit the building to safety and watch the east wing’s annihilation. They weep as they witness centuries of their curated knowledge burn. I allow myself to shed a tear, but one of happiness.
I couldn’t save it all, but there’s a satisfaction knowing that I may have prevented the loss of so many of the documents I use to push Renaissance Men and Polymaths past the Middle Ages. Maybe, just maybe, Leonardo can utilize the saved knowledge, instead of my all-too-convenient satchel of goodies, so I won’t have to visit him every other weekend of his life. That and, thanks to my copy of the Pinakes, I won’t waste days finding the knowledge held within these hallowed walls.
Finally, I’ll get some much-needed rest.