Ajax Penumbra 1969 (Kindle Single) by Robin Sloan Read Free Book Online

clear, sir,” he says, “the ship is likely little more than a compressed layer of rotten wood at this point. I still think it is worth trying, but … there is no guarantee that the
Tycheon
has been preserved in any form.”
    “Well, you know our saying: ‘It’s not over until you hold the book’s ashes in your hands, weeping at the years you’ve lost.’”
    “I did not know we had that saying, sir.”
    “I’ll wire you the money, my boy. Bring us a book!”

The Sandhog Cometh
    Penumbra arrives early, in time to watch the last remnants of the overnight crowd rouse themselves, stretch languidly, and drift out in search of various sustenances. By midday, the store has emptied, and Corvina has put him to work, rearranging a short span of books midway up the tall shelves. They climb two ladders side by side and hand heavy volumes back and forth according to some system that Penumbra does not understand.
    As they work, they talk. Penumbra tells the clerk about Galvanic, and the library there. He learns that Corvina was, in fact, a sailor of sorts: a radar technician aboard an aircraft carrier. He spent four years at sea.
    “I read a lot,” Corvina says. “That’s how I got interested in all of this.”
    “What sort of things did you read?”
    “What
didn’t
I read? I read everything. We had the best library in the whole navy. The officer who oversaw it—I only learned this later—he’s part of the same … organization as Mo. He taught me to read Greek.”
    “Wait. You are saying that your
aircraft carrier
was related to this store somehow?”
    “Absolutely. Midshipman Taylor’s Fourth-Deck Book Depository. There’s a whole network of these places … it’s a tradition, Ajax. It goes back a long way.”
    “So, that makes two floating bookstores, then.”
    Corvina laughs. “Ha. Yes. The
William Gray
and the
Coral Sea
. Although, I have to tell you … mine was bigger.” He smiles. Number three.
    After an hour, Penumbra’s back aches; his calves tremble; his hands feel like claws. He is about to beg for a break when the bell tinkles below, and a rough voice calls out: “Anybody home?” Louder: “Anybody named Mark here?”
    Corvina’s face goes sharp. He hisses: “It’s him!” Penumbra begins to descend, but Corvina hisses again. “No. I told his accountant I would be alone. You stay here.”
    Before Penumbra can protest, Corvina curls his ankles around the sides of the ladder, let his hands go slack, and—Penumbra gasps—slides straight down, falling into a liquid crouch on the floor. He rises smoothly and strides through the shelves toward the front of the store, passing out of Penumbra’s view, into the sunlight.
    “Welcome,” Penumbra hears Corvina say.
    “Heya, Mark.” The visitor’s voice is rough and jocular.
    “Marcus,” Corvina corrects him. “You’re Alvin’s client? The construction worker?”
    “Construction worker? Please! I’m a sandhog. The few, the proud. Good to meet you. I’m Frankie. Or maybe you prefer Franklin.”
    If there is a note of mockery there, Corvina either does not detect it or chooses to ignore it. “Franklin. It’s good to meet you, too. Alvin told you about the nature of my undertaking?”
    Penumbra slows his breathing, stretches his ears to listen. Frankie must be wearing work boots; whenever he moves, they clomp heavily on the floorboards.
    “He did, and—I gotta ask this, I’m sorry. For my own peace of mind. You’re not a bank robber, are you?”
    “I assure you,” Corvina replies smoothly, “I am merely a local historian.”
    “Okay. I’m gonna trust you. But only because Alvin’s a good guy, and because he vouches for you. Got that?”
    “Of course. Now … how should we proceed?”
    “Welp, first of all, Mark—you pay me. The amount you, ah, suggested to Alvin will be just fine.”
    Penumbra hears the scrape of a drawer, the whisper of paper—the fat envelope he retrieved from Wells Fargo yesterday. He feels a thrill down