The Wandering Library of MirMarnia: A Series
Part Fourteen: On the Care and Feeding of an Unwell Building
Being an account of the time, our workplace caught a cold and became insufferable
Compiled by Bramwell Corin, who did not train for this
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Preface
Three days after the river incident, the Library developed a cough. This should not be possible. Buildings do not have respiratory systems. Buildings do not catch a cold.
Our building, however, has never been particularly concerned with what should or should not be possible.
What followed was a week of architectural illness that tested every member of staff’s patience, resourcefulness, and tolerance for being sneezed on by one’s workplace.
Mistress Spine suggested I document this “for medical reference purposes.” I suspect she means “so future librarians can be warned.” Either way, I am compiling this account whilst sitting in a building that is currently running a fever and feeling tremendously sorry for itself.
This is my life now.
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Day One: Initial Symptoms
Bramwell’s Log (6:45 AM)
I came through from my quarters this morning and immediately knew something was wrong. The door between the residential corridor and the main reading room opened sluggishly, as though it required tremendous effort. The windows were fogged from the inside despite the moderate external temperature. The usual morning creaks and settles that indicate a building waking up were absent, replaced by what I can only describe as congested silence.
I entered the staff room. Every surface was damp with condensation.
“Pip,” I called. “Has anyone adjusted the heating?”
Pip appeared from the reading room, looking concerned. “Bramwell, I think the Library is ill.”
“Buildings,” I said, “do not become ill.”
At that precise moment, the Library sneezed.
I have no other word for it. The entire structure shuddered, every window rattled, and approximately forty books flew off the shelves in the Maritime section and landed in a scattered heap on the floor.
There was a brief pause. Then a sound like groaning. Structural groaning. The sort of noise one makes when one feels rotten and wants everyone to know about it.
“Right,” I said. “I’m going to find Mistress Spine.”
Mistress Spine’s Initial Assessment (7:30 AM)
The Library is displaying symptoms consistent with what I can only describe as a severe cold. Contributing factors: standing in cold river water for three days, emotional distress following romantic disappointment, and general poor decision-making regarding maritime vessels.
Current symptoms:
Temperature fluctuations (alternating between too hot and too cold)
Excessive condensation (all windows)
Sluggish door operation
Audible congestion in the walls (a rattling, wheezing sound)
Periodic sneezing resulting in book displacement
General malaise (refuses to move, all windows pointed downward in a dejected manner)
I have sent for Dame Pellifrax. If anyone knows how to treat an unwell building, it is her.
Pip’s Worried Account (9:00 AM)
The Library sneezed again, and this time it expelled the entire Philosophy section. Just launched them across the room. “The Nature of Suffering” hit me in the shoulder. I think that is symbolism, but I am too concerned to appreciate it.
The Library sounds terrible. There is a wheeze coming from somewhere in the walls, like someone breathing through congestion, and occasionally the whole building shudders and groans.
I tried to reassure it. I said, “You’ll be all right, you just need rest.”
A book fell off the shelf near my head. “Optimism: A Critical Examination.”
The Library is feeling poorly and sarcastic. This is worse than I thought.
Day Two: Escalation
Dame Pellifrax’s Consultation Notes (Morning)
I have examined the Library thoroughly. My diagnosis: building has caught a nasty cold, probably from standing about in rivers like a fool. Contributing factors include emotional exhaustion and architectural melancholy.
Treatment recommendations:
Complete rest (no walking about)
Warmth (additional heating)
Fluids (this presented challenges until I remembered the Library sits atop underground streams; I have ensured the building has access to fresh water flow)
Sympathy (buildings respond well to being fussed over)
Time
The Library responded to this diagnosis by opening one window slightly and releasing what I can only describe as a pitiful wheeze.
I patted the wall and said, “There, there. You’ll mend.”
The window closed with what might have been gratitude.
Temperature Crisis Report (Bramwell, 11:47 AM)
The Library cannot regulate its temperature. One moment, the staff room is freezing; the next, it is like being inside a furnace. The building appears to be running a fever whilst simultaneously having chills.
I have observed the following pattern:
Fever phase: All radiators blazing, windows sweating, staff removing layers
Chill phase: Radiators ice cold, frost forming on interior walls, staff huddling in coats
Duration of each phase: Approximately twenty minutes
Staff comfort: Non-existent
Lyria attempted to address the Library during a chill phase by performing an interpretive dance about heat and wellness in the main corridor, directly in front of the eastern wall. The Library sneezed during the performance and expelled seventeen books from the Medical section, including one titled “When to Stop Helping.”
I retrieved that book and read it. It had excellent advice about knowing one’s limitations. I am applying this advice by accepting that I have no idea how to nurse a building.
Sneezing Incident Log (Pip, ongoing)
The Library has sneezed fourteen times today. Each sneeze launches books from different sections:
9:23 AM: Maritime section (obviously still thinking about the ship)
10:15 AM: Poetry (all love poems, this is getting pathetic)
11:47 AM: Medical section (during Lyria’s dance)
1:34 PM: Self-Help (every book about recovering from heartbreak)
2:56 PM: Architecture (specifically books about foundations and staying grounded)
3:42 PM: History (books about mistakes and learning from them)
4:18 PM: Natural Philosophy (books about water and its properties; I think the Library is cross about getting wet)
The Library is sneezing its feelings. Each sneeze reveals what it is thinking about. This is the most passive-aggressive symptom I have ever witnessed.
Bramwell says I am reading too much into it. The Library just sneezed again and expelled “The Art of Overanalysing” directly at him.
Point proven.
Day Three: The Library Demands Attention
Bramwell’s Exhausted Notes (Morning)
The Library has discovered that being ill means people fuss over you. The Library is milking this for everything it is worth.
This morning, I found Mistress Spine reading aloud to the building from “Inspirational Tales of Recovery.” The Library’s windows were all angled towards her like a child being told a bedtime story.
When she stopped to attend to actual work, a book fell off the shelf. “Don’t Stop Now: A Study in Persistence.”
She sighed and continued reading.
The Library has learned to manipulate us through selective book-dropping and we are powerless to resist.
Pip’s Care Report (Afternoon)
The Library is being tremendously pathetic, and I am worried about it.
All the windows are drooping. The doors open slowly, as though it hurts to move them. The usual creaks and settles sound sad. The Library sounds sad.
I have been bringing it things that might help: fresh flowers placed on windowsills, pleasant books left open to cheerful chapters, and tea positioned near radiators so the steam might help with congestion.
The Library appears to appreciate this. It has not sneezed on me since I started bringing flowers. This is, I think, building language for “thank you.”
Bramwell says I am being ridiculous. Bramwell also brought the Library his favourite book about cataloguing systems and left it open on the front desk “in case the building wanted something to read.”
We are all being ridiculous together.
Thaddeus’s Observation (Written note, 3:00 PM)
The Library’s illness appears to correlate with emotional state. When staff show sympathy and care, symptoms decrease. When left alone, symptoms worsen dramatically.
This suggests the Library is either: a) genuinely comforted by attention (possible); b) shameless in its need for sympathy (probable); c) both simultaneously (most likely).
I attempted to explain this to Mistress Spine. She said, “I’m aware. We’re humouring it.”
The Library dropped a book at her feet: “Humour as Healing.”
We continue to be manipulated by architecture.
Day Four: The Night Shift Incident
The Lantern Bearer’s Note (Found on staff room table)
Library very unwell during night. Constant sneezing. Books everywhere. Temperature unstable. Tried to comfort. Sat with building from midnight to dawn. Library seemed calmer with company.
Left lantern beside Maritime Romance section. Library kept it there.
- L.B.
Bramwell’s Morning Discovery (7:00 AM)
I came through to find the Lantern Bearer asleep in a chair beside the Maritime Romance section, their lantern still burning nearby. Books were scattered everywhere: evidence of nocturnal sneezing fits. The Lantern Bearer had apparently spent the entire night keeping the Library company whilst it felt poorly.
When I moved to wake them, a book fell gently onto my hand. “Let Them Rest.”
I left the Lantern Bearer sleeping and began clearing up books. The Library had sneezed out everything remotely related to loneliness, sadness, and missing people. The message was clear: the Library had felt wretched during the night, and the Lantern Bearer had stayed.
This is possibly the kindest thing I have witnessed in this building.
Pip’s Response (Morning)
When I heard about the Lantern Bearer staying up all night with the Library, I got quite emotional about it.
The Library was poorly and lonely and the Lantern Bearer just sat with it. Didn’t try to fix anything; just provided company. That is really lovely.
I have decided we should implement night-shift companionship until the Library recovers. We will take turns. The Library should not be alone when it feels rotten.
Bramwell said this was unnecessary. Then he immediately signed up for tomorrow night’s shift.
We are all softer about this building than we pretend to be.
Day Five: Collective Care
Staff Rota (Organised by Pip, reluctantly approved by Mistress Spine)
Day Shift Responsibilities:
Bramwell: Read to Library from interesting cataloguing texts, reorganise sneezed books, monitor temperature
Pip: Provide flowers, cheerful commentary, emotional support, resist urge to hug walls
Mistress Spine: Overall health monitoring, stern encouragement, tactical book selection
Lyria: Gentle interpretive dance (healing-focused, no sudden movements)
Thaddeus: Research building wellness, document symptoms, provide footnoted comfort
Night Shift Responsibilities:
Rotating schedule; never leave Library alone
Lantern Bearer supervising (they know what the Library needs)
Dame Pellifrax’s Medical Rounds (11:00 AM)
The Library is responding well to care. Temperature more stable. Sneezing less frequent. Windows no longer perpetually fogged. General demeanour improving.
I have noticed the Library has started making an effort. This morning all the books reshelved themselves without being asked: slowly, as though still tired, but the effort was there.
This is a good sign. Buildings that tidy up after themselves are on the mend.
Continue current treatment. The Library should be ambulatory again within three days.
Collective Sneezing Incident (Pip’s Account, 2:47 PM)
The Library had a massive sneezing fit that lasted seven minutes and expelled books from every section simultaneously. We were buried in literature. Completely buried.
But here is the thing: after it finished, the Library very carefully helped us dig out. Books moved themselves back to shelves one by one, creating clear paths for us to escape the piles.
The Library felt bad about sneezing on us. The Library was apologising through reorganisation.
I called out, “It’s all right! We know you can’t help it!”
A book landed gently in my lap. “Forgiveness and Understanding.”
We are all managing.
Day Six: Visitors
Captain Sten’s Unexpected Arrival (Bramwell’s Account, Morning)
Captain Sten appeared at our door looking uncomfortable and holding what appeared to be a pot of soup.
“Heard the Library was poorly,” he said. “Brought something warming. For the, er, building.”
I stared at the soup. I stared at him.
“It’s leek and potato,” he added. “Good for colds. Or so I’m told. Not sure how a building eats soup but thought I’d bring it anyway.”
The Library’s front door swung open wider, which I interpreted as an invitation.
Captain Sten entered, placed the soup on the front desk, and stood there looking at the walls. “Right then. Hope you’re feeling better soon. River’s not the same without you making a nuisance of yourself.”
This was possibly the kindest thing I had heard anyone say to our building.
The Library’s windows all opened slightly. A book drifted down from the Maritime section and settled beside the soup: “Gratitude: Theory and Practice.”
Captain Sten nodded, patted the wall, and departed.
The soup remained on the desk all day. The Library would not let anyone move it.
Additional Visitors Log (Pip, Afternoon)
Word has apparently spread that the Library is unwell. We have had:
Three river merchants bringing “get well soon” cards addressed to “The Building”
A scholar who once used our collection, leaving a potted plant “for recuperation purposes”
The Harbourmaster (!!) sending a note reading “Hope you’re back on your feet soon. Stay out of rivers.”
Dame Pellifrax bringing actual medical supplies: hot water bottles, which we have placed against walls
An oak tree sending a message via a very confused squirrel (message unclear, squirrel unhelpful)
The Library has been opening and closing windows in what I think is pleased embarrassment. Buildings can be shy about receiving attention whilst unwell.
All the cards and the plant are displayed prominently on the front desk. The Library is keeping them.
Day Seven: Recovery
Mistress Spine’s Health Assessment (Morning)
The Library’s fever has broken. Temperature stable at 18 degrees throughout. Windows clear. No sneezing in twelve hours. Doors operating at normal speed. The congested wheezing in the walls has ceased.
The Library is recovering.
It attempted to walk this morning: just a few steps, testing its legs. Movement was slow but steady. Good progress.
I have informed the building that it may begin light activity but no long-distance walking for another three days minimum.
The Library responded by very gently moving my desk six inches to the left. Affectionate protest. I am counting it as a good sign.
Bramwell’s Observations (Afternoon)
The Library is definitely improving. This morning it successfully reshelved the entire Maritime section without sneezing once. The books are in perfect order. The Library is proud of this accomplishment.
I told the building that it had done well. A window near me opened slightly, which I interpreted as “thank you.”
We have entered a strange new phase of our relationship in which I regularly compliment architecture on its filing achievements. I have decided not to examine this too closely.
Pip’s Relieved Account (Evening)
The Library is getting better, and I am so relieved I could cry.
This afternoon, it extended a small platform for a visiting bird that wanted to rest on a windowsill. The platform was unnecessary, the sill was perfectly adequate, but the Library wanted to be helpful. To show it was feeling more like itself.
The bird seemed confused but appreciative.
Watching our building make unnecessary accommodations for wildlife because it feels well enough to be generous again made me genuinely emotional. Bramwell witnessed this and said nothing, but he brought me tea.
The Library kept the bird’s platform extended all afternoon. Just in case other birds wanted to visit.
We are all going to be all right.
Day Eight: First Walk
Collective Staff Report (Morning)
The Library announced its intention to take a short walk. We attempted to dissuade it; rest is important. But the Library was determined.
Dame Pellifrax said, “Let it try. Short distances only. We’ll supervise.”
The Library walked for approximately twenty minutes at a slow, careful pace. No stumbling. No overheating. Just gentle movement through nearby meadows.
All staff accompanied it. This was not requested but felt necessary. The Library’s first post-illness walk seemed like an event requiring witnesses and moral support.
When we returned, the Library settled itself carefully and all the doors sighed in what sounded like satisfaction. The building was tired but pleased with itself.
Captain Sten’s soup, still on the front desk, was now positioned beside a book: “Small Steps: A Journey Back to Health.”
The Maritime Romance Section Update (Pip’s Observation)
The Library has added a new book to its special shelf: “The Difference Between Loving and Letting Go.”
It sits beside the books about ships and star-crossed romance and beautiful things that do not last.
I think the Library is processing its feelings in a healthier way now. Illness and recovery have given it time to think.
The shelf also includes Captain Sten’s get-well card. The Library is keeping that too.
Some loves become friendships. That is all right. That is actually quite nice.
Concluding Remarks
The Wandering Library caught a severe cold from standing in rivers and making poor romantic decisions. It was ill for seven days. It sneezed books, ran fevers, felt tremendously sorry for itself, and required constant care and attention.
We provided that care because the Library is our workplace and our, well. Our friend, I suppose. Our ridiculous, mobile, occasionally lovesick, frequently pompous friend who needed us.
The Library has recovered, and I find myself reflecting on what the week demonstrated. Standing in cold rivers has consequences. Heartbreak and poor health make a wretched combination. People will, it turns out, bring you soup even if you are a building with no digestive system. Being cared for matters, even to architecture. And staff are more attached to their workplace than any of us are particularly comfortable admitting.
I have also learned that I am apparently capable of nursing a building through illness. This was not a skill I expected to acquire. And yet.
The Library has read this document and responded by creating a small shelf labelled “Recovery Reading: For Buildings and Staff Who Survived Together.”
On it sits Captain Sten’s card, the Harbourmaster’s note, all the get-well wishes, and a single book: “The Importance of Not Standing in Rivers.”
Final Notes (Added by Mistress Spine)
The Library is forbidden from river-standing for a minimum of six months. This is non-negotiable.
Staff performed admirably during this crisis. I am proud of everyone’s commitment to building care.
The soup has been disposed of. It was three days old and beginning to develop concerning properties. The pot has been returned to Captain Sten with thanks.
Additional Notes (Added by Pip Thimble)
The Library was poorly and we made it better. That is what you do for things you care about.
Bramwell says I am being sentimental again. The Library just created a reading nook specifically designed for comfortable recuperation. The nook contains soft cushions, warm lighting, and books about hope and healing.
The Library built itself a recovery space and made it available to everyone.
I think that is the Library’s way of saying “thank you for taking care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself.”
We would do it again. Obviously, we would.
Compiled during a week of architectural illness. The Library is recovering. We are recovering from recovering the Library. Captain Sten’s soup pot has been returned. The get-well cards remain on permanent display. We do not stand in rivers anymore. The tea helped tremendously.