North Star

Chapter 13: The Library

There’s a chill in the evening air as I walk across campus. I’ve been in Luxembourg for almost two weeks now, and I’ve settled into a easy daily routine - breakfast in the dining hall at daybreak, then I walk down to morning lectures with Heloise, I walk back to the dining hall for lunch, I head back to the philosophy department for afternoon lectures and tutorial sessions, then back to the dining hall for dinner around seven o'clock. After that, I’m either hanging out with Heloise in our room, or nestled into a big comfy sofa in the common room at Marie-Adélaïde House watching movies with the girls till late. Some nights I walk up to the University library and spend hours and hours lost amongst the amazing collection of books. 

Tonight is one of those nights.

The library is on the furthest edge of campus, perched on the edge of a sandstone cliff. It’s up-hill from Marie-Adélaïde House, a ten minute walk up a leafy, windy stepped path lined with giant oaks and a dense stand of fir trees, so tightly crowded that the air is filled with the scent of pine sap. There are old fashioned black wrought iron lamp posts lighting the way every few feet, and as they stretch up the path into the distance they begin to look like little golden fairy lights strewn through the pine branches, like I’m walking up through an enormous Christmas tree.

And as I reach the top of the path, the library itself comes into view, lighting up the darkness of night with the soft golden glow of learning, a candle in the dark. 

It’s a magnificent building, despite being somewhat of an architectural frankenstein. The library is the oldest building on campus, and forms the historic heart of The University of Luxembourg - the soul and the spirit of learning. As one of Europe’s oldest libraries, it has gone through numerous renovations and additions. The end result is a masterpiece of French and Italian gothic architecture, with baroque interiors and touches of english gothic throughout. Many generations of famous scholars and diplomats have walked the narrow winding corridors and studied in its reading rooms, including several kings, numerous politicians and authors and playwrights and a handful of Nobel Prize winners.

When I was anxiously trying to make up my mind whether or not to claim my prize of a semester abroad, it was reading online about the library that made up my decision. I couldn’t wait to explore the vast collection of books, especially the super rare items - the library’s treasures. These include a collection of ancient chained bibles in the Rare and Fragile Items section, the famous The Codex Astra Sibernerianus and even the letters of the poet Victor Apollinaire to his lover Catherine Lamartine. There’s also the renowned Ashmary Manuscripts (including the Ashmary Bestiary) - a late 10th century Welsh illuminated manuscript packed with sumptuous colour miniatures of over a hundred animals, many of them fantastical made up creatures.

This is the manuscript I’ve been poring over for the past few nights. Usually professors and doctorate students are the only ones allowed to handle the fragile illuminated manuscripts, but I became friendly very quickly with Mirabelle, the library assistant who holds the key to the Rare and Fragile Items section.

As I walk up to the library’s entrance, I pause in front of the enormous front door, admiring it just like I do every time I visit here. The oaken gate is covered in the crests and coats of arms of various European royal families, and above the doorway the words “OMNES RESPONSA SINT INTRA” are carved into stone - which roughly translates to “ALL ANSWERS LIE WITHIN.”

I fish my phone out of my pocket and turn it off before going in - phones, laptops and all other electronic devices are strictly forbidden in the library, even on silent mode.

Placing my phone back in my pocket, I gently push aside the massive door, wincing slightly at the creaking and groaning sound the ancient metal hinges make as I slip through into the candlelit entrance hall. 

The library is quiet tonight - probably on account of it being a Saturday night. Most students, including Heloise and my other friends, are out partying on the town. I was tempted to go along with them, but the brilliant pages of the Ashmary Bestiary have been calling out to me, an intoxicating spell that is all but impossible to ignore.

Mirabelle is sitting at the reception desk, bundled up in a warm woolen polo neck despite a roaring fire in the entry hall. She’s got her nose in a book, the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. And while she’s reading, in one of her hands she’s clutching a mug of something warm and steaming, probably tea or coffee - I can tell by the way her glasses are all fogged up. 

Although I haven’t known her long, I’ve realised that she’s a very sensitive sort of person, quite fragile, like a little bird - she’s always cold, and frightens easily. I actually think she might be a few years older than me, maybe in her early twenties, but it’s hard to tell - with her tiny stature and soft spoken furtive nature, it’s hard to be sure of anything with her. 

She seems to like me though - maybe because the first time I spoke to her, about two weeks ago when I first visited the library, I asked her where I could find the library’s collection of illuminated manuscripts. This led to her giving me a full tour of the Rare and Fragile section, and I obviously asked all the right questions and said all the right things - because by the end of the tour she’d shown me where to get the soft cotton gloves for handling the delicate pages of the library’s most precious books, and she told me I could have the key any time I wanted, if she was on duty.

She’s at the desk most nights from eight until the library closes at midnight, so I’ve been coming every other night.

As I approach the desk, I clear my throat, making a sound so as not to startle her.

She looks up from her book, and greets me with a fleeting smile.

“Hi Meg,” she says. “You want the key?”

“Yes, please,” I say. 

She retrieves the old brass key from a drawer in the desk. She hands it to me without even looking up, and in the moment that I reach out to take the key, I look over at the book she’s reading, and I realise that it’s not really a book she’s so wrapped up in - it’s an iPhone. She’s sneakily placed the phone inside the open pages of the book in order to hide it, and is scrolling through something, probably her messages or social feeds, staring at the screen with a distracted look on her face. She’s biting her lip.

I clear my throat again, and she looks up at me quickly.

“You forgot the gloves,” I say.

“Oh yes…” she says, reaching into another drawer and producing a pair of disposable one-time-use cotton gloves, the only kind suitable for handling the brittle pages of antiquarian books. She places them on the desk, and continues tapping away at her phone.

She doesn’t even look up so see me take them. I study her for a moment, mildly concerned. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her dark curly hair does look a bit more disheveled than usual.

I consider asking her if she’s ok, but I think better of it. Chances are, she’s just stressing about some assignment or a project. Even this early in the term, the workload can get pretty insane, especially if she’s doing a science degree. 

Thinking of which, I’ve never actually asked Mirabelle what she’s studying. I should ask her sometime - not tonight though. She doesn’t seem like she’s in a good headspace. 

And so thanking Mirabelle under my breath for the key, I make my way towards my favourite part of the library - unaware of the deadly events about to unfold.