The Cat Who Saved Books(18)

And with that, he was gone.

Next the cat spoke to a relatively young woman, but her washed-out complexion and mystifying reply was just like those of the previous two men.

Right as they were looking around for a fourth person to ask, Sayo collided with a young man. He lost his grip on his pile of books and they spilled to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, bowing. The man threw her a look of contempt and quickly began to gather up his books. Rintaro began to help him, but suddenly came to a halt, a book in his hand.

Recommendations for a Whole New Way of Reading.

Whatever way he looked at it, it was a poor title for a book.

“Where is the person who wrote this book?” he asked.

The man raised an eyebrow and stared at Rintaro.

“We’re looking for the man who wrote this book,” Rintaro repeated.

“If you’re looking for the director, go down those stairs to the Director’s Office. You’ll find him there.”

His arms full of books once more, he flicked his chin in the direction of one of the pillars to the right of the room. Behind it was a tiny set of stairs leading downward.

“The director’s so devoted to his research that he locks himself down there in his office and rarely comes up to ground level. If you go down there, you’re bound to meet him.”

Somehow, his reply managed to be pompous without showing the slightest emotion.

“Thank you,” said Rintaro, bowing. But by the time he’d lifted his head, the man had already disappeared up a staircase on the opposite side of the hall.

*

They set off down the staircase but soon realized it didn’t have an end.

“So this is why he rarely sets foot on ground level,” grumbled Sayo.

Her voice was immediately sucked down and echoed dully somewhere deep below them.

“Do you think it’s okay to keep going?”

“If you don’t like it, you can always go home,” replied Rintaro. “You know I’ve always been the kind of guy to recommend going home.”

“All right then, everyone in favor of going home, be my guest. Turn right around. As for me, I’m in the ‘once you’ve started something you never give up halfway through’ school of thought.”

Sayo’s words seemed to brighten the gloom of their surroundings. Rintaro immediately fell silent.

The stairs that had begun by leading straight down gradually began to curve and spiral. Dark and murky in every direction, it felt as if they were being pulled down into the profoundest depths of the earth. The view was unchanging. The staircase walls were lit at intervals with lamps, in between which there were random piles of books. Some were brand new, others older, but what they all had in common was their title: Recommendations for a Whole New Way of Reading. From time to time, men in white coats would pass them, coming up the stairs with an armful of books, but they would hurry on by, paying the trio absolutely no heed.

All of a sudden Sayo cried out.

“Beethoven?”

Rintaro stopped to listen. It was true—faint music was filtering up from far below.

“It’s Beethoven’s Symphony Number Nine, the third movement I think.”

“Beethoven’s Ninth?” Rintaro said.

The vice captain of the wind ensemble club nodded confidently.

As they continued downward, the music became louder, and Rintaro could clearly make out the refined melody of the string section.

“The second theme.”

Right as Sayo called it, the melody changed, and a more expansive, slower theme began. The three adventurers seemed to be pulled in by the swell of strings and wind instruments, and their pace visibly quickened. In an instant they found themselves at the bottom of the staircase in front of a modest wooden door. Above the door was a nameplate that said “Director’s Office.” There was no other adornment or marking of any kind. From inside came orchestral music at a high volume. It wasn’t the most appealing sight, but the group were just relieved to have finally reached the end of that interminable staircase.

At a nod from the cat, Rintaro knocked softly on the door.

He knocked twice, and then a third time, much harder, but there was no response besides the sound of Beethoven’s Ninth.

Hesitantly, Rintaro took hold of the door handle and pushed.

With a faint creak, the door swung open, and a blast of terrifyingly loud music assaulted the trio.

The room was not particularly large. Well, it was hard to guess its actual size due to the piles of books and papers stacked up to the ceiling on all four sides. The space between all the books was rather narrow, with a single desk in the middle, facing away from the door. The desk, too, was buried under mounds of paper.

Sitting at the desk, his back to Rintaro and the others, was a man, not tall, but rather heavily built. He was completely absorbed in some kind of work. Rintaro could make out that he was holding a book in his left hand; in his right, a pair of scissors. To everyone’s shock, he appeared to be chopping up the book. With every movement of the scissors, pieces of paper flew into the air and the book became less and less booklike.

The sight of this broad man in a white coat, immersed in such a bizarre task, was curious to say the least.

“What the . . .”

Sayo was at a loss for words. Even the tabby cat could do nothing but stare.