**CURRENTLY A FEATURED STORY**
highest ranking: #11 in Science fiction
❝true happiness is only achieved without freedom.
There is a girl who wakes to a world that she was supposed to protect. Instead, she fights it.
There is a man who is cursed wit...
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evanna
Surprisingly enough, Julian's plan works, and instead of scar tissue, what is left is a tattoo that is healing at a remarkably slow pace. I don't know how it's happening, but at least it should enable me to get out of any major trouble that could expose the Red Hand.
Julian, self-proclaimed expert on the city, has, upon Bernard's request, taken Francis and I to the library to do a bit of research, mainly in the hope of loading me with important information that could potentially become useful in devising strategies. Julian spends most of the walk to the library discussing the education system of Tetrahmon. All Professors do not have numbers, but rather proper names, and Julian tells me that their law Professor (who taught Tetrahmon law, of course), had been a machine that appeared human on the outside, programmed to teach law; law without glitches, opinions, or unpredictability.
I try not to look bored.
However, getting into the library doesn't come without its great risks. Julian says that it isn't permitted to loan out books for the sake of reading them; not even for education, since there are so few of them. Also, they'll be registering my number on a blue slip of paper, a ticket, it's called. Naturally, that's the biggest problem, but we need all the information we can get.
"You know, I did get in the first time by taking out a guard," I say, referring to the time when I met Julian, who rolls their eyes in response.
"That's not going to help us," Francis says, quietly. I don't respond.
I can get myself out of most difficult situations, but I don't know the same about Julian or Francis, and as much as I haven't grown fond of them, it's worrying that my number will be associated with either of theirs'- if they locate the Red Hand through us, there won't even be bodies left to bury.
If Julian feels unnerved, they're not showing it. I can't even detect an elevated pulse from them, I can't pick up the subtle, nervous twitch of fingers against the thigh as we walk into the library. Francis, however, is struggling to keep up a facade of stoic bravery. I can't blame him.
The lady at the reception looks about as bored as I feel. "Numbers," she simply states, and passes us each a blue slip of paper with a pen. I copy Julian, and write down my number- only as I hand it back does it occur to me that I could have written down Julian's number, too. If the woman is as stupid as she looks, I doubt she would have noticed. She doesn't ask us for our names. All she does is run the papers through a machine, lets us through, and then goes back to her computer.
"You know," Julian says, as we climb the stairs to the history section, "I really hope that there is someone out there with your number."
"Scared?" I answer. Francis snorts.
"I just don't want to die today."
"You'll die someday." We turn left, and we're amidst shelves of books. I'm delighted- until I see the titles. One entire row is decked out it about fifty or so copies of Tetrahmon: a History, Vol. II. Another: The Barbaric Lives of the Ancients. Lovely. I was expecting something a little bit more interesting.
