The door on the other end of the room opens and Zachary is unsurprised to see the polar-bear lady though she has shed her coat. Now she wears a white suit and the whole ensemble is very David Bowie–esque despite her silver hair and olive complexion. She even has different-colored eyes: one dark brown and one disconcertingly pale blue. Her hair is tied up in a chignon, her red lipstick perfect and vaguely menacing in a retro way. The suit has a tie that is tied in a neater knot than Zachary has ever been able to manage and that detail annoys him more than anything else.
“Good evening, Mister Rawlins,” she says, stopping when she reaches his side. He half expects her to tell him not to get up. She gives him a smile, a pleasant sort of smile that might have put him at ease were he not so far beyond ease at this point. “We have not been properly introduced. My name is Allegra Cavallo.”
She reaches over and picks up the teapot. She fills both cups with steaming green tea and replaces the pot on its warmer.
“You are right-handed, yes?” she asks.
“Yes?” Zachary answers.
Allegra takes a small knife from her jacket. She runs the tip of the knife over the cords on his left arm.
“If you try to untie your other hand or otherwise escape, you will lose this hand.” She presses the tip of the knife into the back of his left wrist, not quite enough to draw blood. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
She slips the knife between the cords and the chair and releases his arm in two swift cuts, the cord falling in curling pieces to the floor.
Allegra replaces the knife in her pocket and takes one of the teacups. She walks the length of the table and sits in the chair at the other end.
Zachary doesn’t move.
“You must be thirsty,” Allegra says. “The tea is not poisoned, if you were expecting such passive tactics. You will note I filled my cup from the same pot.” She takes a pointed sip of her tea. “It’s organic,” she adds.
Zachary picks up his cup with his left hand, his shoulder protesting as he does so, adding to the injury list. He takes a sip of the tea. A grassy green tea, almost but not quite bitter. On his tongue there is a knight with a broken heart. Broken hearts. His head hurts. Heart hurts. Something. He puts the teacup down.
Allegra watches him with studied interest from the other end of the table, the way one watches a tiger in a zoo or possibly the way the tiger watches the tourists.
“You don’t like me, do you, Mister Rawlins?” she asks.
“You tied me to a chair.”
“I had you tied, I didn’t do it myself. I also gave you tea. Does one action negate the other?”
Zachary doesn’t answer. After a pause she continues.
“I made a bad first impression, I fear. Knocking you down in the snow. First impressions are so important. You had superior meet-cutes with the others, no wonder you like them both better. You’ve cast me as a villain.”
“You tied me to a chair,” Zachary repeats.
“Did you enjoy my party?” Allegra asks.
“What?”
“At the Algonquin. You didn’t pay much attention to the fine print. It was thrown by a charitable foundation that I run. It promotes literacy for underprivileged children around the world, sets up libraries, provides grants for new writers. We also work on improving prison libraries. The party is an annual fund-raiser. There are always unexpected guests, it’s practically traditional.”
Zachary sips his tea silently. He recalls the party having something to do with a literary charity.
“So you close one library to open others?” he asks as he puts his cup down.
“That place is not a library,” Allegra says sharply. “Not in any sense of the word. It is not some underground level of Alexandria if you were drawing incorrect conclusions. It is older than that. There are no concepts that grasp it entirely, not in any language. People get so caught up in the naming of things.”
“You take away the doors.”
“I protect things, Mister Rawlins.”
“What’s the point of a library-museum if no one gets to read the books?”
“Preservation,” Allegra says. “You think I want to