Part Thirteen: The Unfortunate Maritime Incident

Being an account of the time our workplace developed romantic feelings for a ship

Compiled by Bramwell Corin, who considered resignation approximately seventeen times during this incident

Preface

I am writing this document at Mistress Spine’s insistence. She believes that future librarians should be warned that buildings can, apparently, fall in love. She believes this warning will prevent similar incidents. I believe nothing can prevent similar incidents, because we work in a sentient library that makes its own catastrophically poor decisions.

What follows is a chronological account of the worst week of my professional life. I have attempted to maintain objectivity. I have largely failed. It is difficult to remain objective when one’s workplace is standing in a river, making a fool of itself over a boat.

The Library has read this document. The Library is not speaking to me. This is the only positive outcome of the entire situation.

Day One: Initial Contact
Date: 1st May
Location: River Emaris, southern bend

First Observation (Bramwell Corin, 9:47 AM)

We had stationed ourselves near the Emaris to provide services to the riverside settlements. A perfectly normal deployment. The river traffic was typical: fishing boats, small merchant vessels, the occasional passenger barge.

Then the Starweaver came round the bend.

She was magnificent, I will grant that. A tall ship, three-masted, sails bleached white by sun and salt, moving upriver with the sort of effortless grace that comes from excellent construction and experienced crew. Her hull was painted deep blue, her rigging was impeccably maintained, and her figurehead, a woman with arms outstretched, seemed to be reaching for the sky.

I observed all of this from the reading room window. I also observed that the Library had stopped moving.

Not gradually. Not with the usual settling that precedes a planned stop. Just stopped. Mid-step. One leg extended forward, the other back, frozen in position like a dog that had spotted something interesting.

I looked at the ship. I looked at the Library’s windows. Every single window on the riverside had oriented itself towards the Starweaver.

“Oh no,” I said aloud.

Pip appeared beside me. “What’s wrong?”

I pointed at the ship. Then at the windows. Then at the Library’s frozen posture.

Pip stared. “Is the Library watching the ship?”

“Yes.”

“Like, watching it watching it? Or just normal watching?”

“Pip, buildings do not have ‘normal watching’ versus other types of watching.”

“This one does. Look at it.”

I looked, insofar as one can examine the outside of a building from within it. The Library had begun moving again, but slowly, tracking the ship’s progress upriver. Every window remained fixed on the Starweaver. When the ship passed our position, the Library rotated slightly to keep it in view. The floor turned beneath us, gradual and deliberate, books tilting fractionally on their shelves.

“Bramwell,” Pip said carefully, “I think the Library fancies that ship.”

“Buildings,” I said, “do not fancy boats.”

Then the exterior wall to our left gave a small, purposeful shudder. When I looked out at the angle the window permitted, a decorative balcony had appeared on the riverside elevation. A balcony that had not existed thirty seconds earlier. A balcony that served no functional purpose except to be visible from the river.

“Right,” I said. “I’m going to find Mistress Spine.”

Day One: Escalation
Mistress Spine’s Log (11:23 AM)

Bramwell’s concerns are noted. The Library is indeed behaving oddly. All attempts to relocate have been unsuccessful. The building simply will not move. It stands at the riverside, every window angled towards the water, waiting.

I have asked what it is waiting for. The Library’s only response was to arrange seventeen books about ships on the front desk, all opened to illustrations of tall vessels under sail.

This is concerning.

Pip’s Account (2:34 PM)

The ship came back downstream and the Library went absolutely mental.

Not loudly mental. Quietly mental. Which is somehow worse.

Every door opened. Every window opened. The balcony extended further. A second balcony appeared below the first. From inside, I watched the light shift as the building made itself as open and visible as possible, all at once, like something trying very hard to look welcoming.

The ship sailed past without slowing.

The Library’s doors closed. Slowly. Sadly. Like a person who has been ignored at a party.

I felt genuinely bad for our building.

Bramwell said, “Do not anthropomorphise the architecture, Pip.”

I said, “The architecture is clearly sad, Bramwell.”

Through the riverside windows, I could see the ship rounding the bend, getting smaller. The Library shifted slightly beneath us, turning to track the ship’s progress downriver. When the Starweaver finally disappeared from view, all the windows drooped. I did not know windows could droop. They can. They did.

“This is a problem,” Bramwell said.

It got worse.

Day Two: The Library Takes Action
Bramwell’s Log (6:15 AM)

I came through from my quarters this morning to find the Library had moved during the night. Considerably. It was now positioned directly at the river’s edge. Not near the edge. At the edge. The front steps were touching the water.

Lyria was already at the riverside end of the building, performing interpretive dance in the direction of the front wall in what appeared to be an attempt to communicate disapproval. The Library was ignoring her.

At 6:47 AM, the Starweaver appeared upriver, heading south on the morning tide.

At 6:48 AM, the Library walked into the river.

Not tentatively. Not carefully. Just walked directly into the Emaris until it was standing, at a rough estimate, knee-deep in flowing water. If buildings have knees. I remain uncertain on this point.

The floor tilted at an angle that sent two chairs sliding into the shelving. Books shifted. My inkwell moved. I held onto the nearest desk and watched through the window as the ship approached.

The Library stood in the river with every window open, every door ajar, looking as inviting as it possibly could whilst being, fundamentally, a building standing in water where buildings should not stand.

The ship sailed past.

The Library remained in the river for three hours.

Pip’s Account (9:30 AM)

Working inside a building that is standing in a river is extremely peculiar. Everything tilted slightly. Books kept sliding across tables. My tea would not stay in its cup. I attempted to work at my desk for approximately twelve minutes before accepting that this was not a working-at-one’s-desk sort of morning.

But the strangest part was the silence. The Library made no noise. No creaking, no settling; just hopeful silence, as though it were holding its breath.

A fishing boat came past and the fisherman shouted, “Oi, you’re blocking the channel!”

The Library paid no attention. The Library only had eyes for one ship.

Bramwell opened the riverside window and attempted to explain to passing boats that our building was experiencing “temporary positioning difficulties.” This did not help. Possibly because it is very difficult to sound authoritative when you are leaning out of a first-floor window above a river in a building that should not be in that river.

By noon, there were seven boats backed up waiting for the Library to move. The Library did not care. The Library was watching upriver, waiting for the Starweaver to return.

Incident Report (Mistress Spine, 1:47 PM)

The Harbourmaster has lodged a formal complaint. Apparently our building is “disrupting river commerce” and “causing a navigational hazard.”

I attempted to relocate the Library using a combination of persuasion and threats. Neither worked. The Library is staying in the river.

I have sent word to Dame Pellifrax. If anyone can talk sense into a lovesick building, it is her.

She responded: “Buildings in love cannot be reasoned with. Wait it out.”

This is not helpful.

Day Three: Complications
Bramwell’s Log (Morning)

The Library spent the entire night in the river. I know this because I did not sleep, and every hour or so I looked out of the window to see if anything had changed. It had not. The Library stood in the dark water with extraordinary patience, waiting for a ship that would not come until morning.

At dawn, the Starweaver appeared upriver. The Library had known somehow, perhaps felt the change in the current, because it straightened imperceptibly just before the ship came round the bend.

This time, the Library extended all ten rescue platforms simultaneously. Not to rescue anyone. Simply to display them. Like a peacock showing its tail feathers. I had not previously known we possessed ten rescue platforms.

The ship’s captain noticed. I observed him through the reading room window, studying our building through a spyglass, his expression suggesting profound confusion.

The Library vibrated hopefully. Several books fell off the nearest shelf.

The ship continued past.

The Library’s platforms drooped and retracted.

I felt embarrassment on behalf of my workplace. This is not an emotion I had previously anticipated experiencing.

Internal Chaos Report (Pip Thimble, 11:00 AM)

Everything inside is going wrong because the Library is distracted.

Books are reshelving themselves in completely random locations. “A Brief History of Bread” ended up in Maritime Navigation. “The Philosophy of Waiting” appeared on every table simultaneously. The lavatory door opened onto the staff room three times this morning.

The Autocurator has given up. I found a note from it reading “Cannot work under these conditions,” and every index card has filed itself under “Lovesick Nonsense.”

Thaddeus attempted to do research. Every book he opened contained only illustrations of ships. Even the books that are definitely not about ships. “Genealogical Records of the Frostborne Clans” had somehow developed an entire chapter on maritime vessels.

The Library is rewriting its own collection to be about boats.

River Traffic Report (Bramwell, 2:39 PM)

Seventeen vessels are now backed up waiting for the Library to move. The Harbourmaster has threatened legal action. River merchants are shouting increasingly creative insults at our building.

The Library ignores them all. The Library only moves when the Starweaver is in sight, and then only to position itself more attractively in the water.

The Harbourmaster brought his boat alongside this afternoon and called up at the building. I opened a window and explained that our building was experiencing emotional difficulties. He said, “I don’t care if your building is having a midlife crisis; move it or I’m sending bailiffs.”

I asked how one sends bailiffs against a mobile building. He had no answer, but looked very determined.

Day Four: The Grand Gesture
Mistress Spine’s Emergency Log (9:15 AM)

The Library has waded deeper into the river. It is now standing in water up to what would be its chest, if buildings had chests.

The current is strong. From inside, the floor lists noticeably to the left. The Library is leaning slightly against the current but holding position through what I can only assume is sheer determination and architectural stubbornness.

Captain Sten’s vessel passed by this morning. He knows the Library, having helped transport Nix and the brothers previously. He brought his boat alongside and called up, “What in the name of all the rivers is your building doing?”

Bramwell called back from the window, “It’s in love with the Starweaver!”

Captain Sten stared. Then nodded slowly. “Aye, she’s a beautiful ship. Can’t fault the Library’s taste. Can you get it out of the river?”

“We’re trying!”

“Try harder! You’re blocking the shipping lane!”

Pip’s Account (10:47 AM)

The Starweaver came upriver at half ten and the Library did something I have never seen before.

It extended every platform, opened every door, opened every window, and grew approximately seven feet taller. Simultaneously. And whilst doing all of that, it developed additional decorative architectural features: three new balconies, a small tower, and what appeared to be a widow’s walk.

The Library was showing off everything it had.

The floor lurched upward slightly as the height changed. My desk moved six inches to the left. A lamp fell over. I caught my inkwell before it went.

The ship slowed. Finally, finally, the ship slowed.

Through the open windows I could hear the captain consulting with his crew. They were pointing at the Library, clearly discussing it.

The Library held very, very still. Trying to look its absolute best whilst standing chest-deep in a river.

The captain raised a speaking trumpet to his mouth. His voice came through the open windows clearly.

“AHOY THE LIBRARY!”

Every single window flew wider.

“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? YOU APPEAR TO BE STANDING IN A RIVER!”

There was a long pause. The Library seemed to be considering how to respond when one does not have a voice.

Then every book in the Maritime section flew to the windows and opened itself, pages facing outward. Hundreds of pages, all showing illustrations of ships, all displayed at once.

I think the Library was trying to say: I like ships. I like you, specifically.

The captain stared at this display. His crew stared. Everyone on seventeen backed-up vessels stared.

“RIGHT,” the captain shouted. “THAT’S VERY IMPRESSIVE. BUT YOU’RE BLOCKING THE RIVER. COULD YOU POSSIBLY MOVE?”

The Library’s windows all closed simultaneously. The books fell to the floor inside with dejected thumps.

“I APPRECIATE THE ATTENTION,” the captain continued, “BUT WE NEED TO PASS. WE’VE GOT CARGO FOR DRAKKENSUND.”

The Library did not move.

Bramwell’s Crisis Log (11:30 AM)

The Starweaver’s captain attempted to navigate around the Library. The channel is too narrow. They are stuck.

We now have the ship the Library is infatuated with trapped on one side of us, and seventeen angry vessels backed up on the other.

The Harbourmaster has arrived in person, by boat. I can see him from the reading room window. He is not pleased.

I have retreated to the back reading room, where the windows face away from the river. I cannot continue to watch this unfold.

Day Four: Intervention
Dame Pellifrax’s Account (As recorded by Bramwell, 2:00 PM)

Dame Pellifrax arrived by hired boat, climbed the Library’s rescue platform, and entered the building with the air of someone about to deliver difficult news to a friend.

She walked to the riverside windows and stood there for several minutes, looking at the Starweaver. The ship was beautiful in the afternoon light, her sails furled, waiting for the Library to move.

Dame Pellifrax said, quietly, “She is lovely. I understand completely.”

The Library’s windows seemed to lean towards her slightly.

“But, my dear,” Dame Pellifrax continued, “she is a ship. She belongs to the river. She has routes to sail, cargo to deliver, places she must be. She cannot stay in one place, no matter how much you might wish it.”

A book fell off a shelf. “The Poetry of Longing.”

“I know,” Dame Pellifrax said. “I know it is difficult. But she has her life, and you have yours. You walk the land. She sails the water. Some loves are not meant to be more than a beautiful moment. An appreciation from afar.”

The Library was silent. The kind of silence that feels like sadness.

“You have shown her who you are,” Dame Pellifrax said. “You have shown her your best self. She noticed you. Her crew are still watching. They will remember the Library that stood in the river with every window open. That is something. That matters.”

Dame Pellifrax placed her hand on the wall. “But now you need to let her go. You need to step out of the river, let her pass, and carry on being who you are. A magnificent library that walks the land and holds knowledge and cares for its people. That is who you are. Not a building that stands in rivers blocking traffic.”

Nothing happened for three full minutes.

Then, very slowly, the Library began to move. Backwards. Out of the river. One step, then another, the floor gradually levelling beneath us, until we stood on the bank again, dripping and dignified.

The channel was clear.

The Starweaver’s Departure (Pip’s Account, 3:15 PM)

The ship prepared to sail. Her crew unfurled the sails, adjusted the rigging, made ready to catch the wind. From the riverside windows, we watched all of it.

The Library stood quite still with every window pointed at the ship. Silent. Watching.

As the Starweaver passed, her captain appeared at the rail. He removed his hat and performed a small bow in the direction of our building.

It was respect. Recognition. An acknowledgement that something unusual and rather touching had occurred.

The Library’s windows flickered. Just slightly. Like someone trying not to cry.

The ship moved downriver, getting smaller and smaller until she rounded the bend and was gone.

The Library stood there for an hour after she had gone. Just stood there, looking at the empty river. From inside, nobody moved either. It did not seem the right moment.

Every book in the Maritime section quietly reshelved itself, pages closed, settled into orderly rows like mourners taking their seats.

Day Five: Recovery
Mistress Spine’s Report (Morning)

The Library is functioning again, though subdued. Books are filing themselves correctly. The lavatory opens onto the lavatory. The Autocurator has resumed operations.

We are no longer standing in rivers.

I have received a letter from the Harbourmaster withdrawing his complaints and apologising for “not understanding the depth of the situation.” Apparently the Starweaver’s captain explained what had occurred, and several river merchants admitted it was “actually rather romantic in a deeply inconvenient sort of way.”

We are allowed back on the Emaris whenever we wish, provided we stay on the bank.

Bramwell’s Observations (Afternoon)

The Library has created a new section: Maritime Romance. It contains exactly one shelf. On that shelf are books about ships, river navigation, and star-crossed love affairs.

The shelf is positioned where it can be seen from the riverside windows.

I asked Mistress Spine if we should discourage this. She said, “Let the Library have its memories.”

I am allowing the shelf to remain.

Pip’s Final Notes

The Library fell in love with a ship. The ship sailed away. The Library is sad but managing.

This is the strangest thing that has happened here, and we have had a book that communicates through flatulence.

I found the Library reading “The Impermanence of Beautiful Things” yesterday. Just reading it, somehow, all the pages turned to the most meaningful passages.

I sat with it for a while. Seemed like the Library could use company.

Bramwell found us and said nothing, but he brought tea and left it on a table near the Maritime Romance section. The Library kept the cup on that shelf for three days.

I think we are all managing as best we can.

Concluding Remarks

The Wandering Library fell in love with the Starweaver. This caused chaos, disrupted river commerce, traumatised seventeen boat crews, and resulted in the Harbourmaster threatening legal action against a building.

Buildings, it turns out, can love. This is inconvenient but not entirely inappropriate. The Library wanted something it could not have. It tried anyway. It was noticed, acknowledged, and ultimately had to let go. Dame Pellifrax is better at relationship counselling than one might expect from someone who arrived by hired boat.

The Maritime Romance section remains: a small memorial to a ship that sailed by and a building that stood in a river and tried its absolute best to be impressive.

I still need stronger tea.

Final Notes (Added by Mistress Spine)

This incident is closed. We do not discuss it with visitors. The Maritime Romance section stays.

If the Starweaver returns, we will maintain appropriate distance and professional decorum. I have had words with the Library about appropriate behaviour near boats.

The Library has agreed to nothing but has stopped extending balconies whenever ships pass, so I am calling this progress.

Additional Notes (Added by Pip Thimble)

The Library loved a ship. The ship was beautiful and the Library was brave and it did not work out, but the Library tried.

I am proud of our building for trying.

Bramwell says I am being sentimental. The Library just created a small reading alcove specifically for books about hope and new beginnings. The alcove is positioned to catch the morning light.

I think the Library is going to be all right. We all are.

Compiled during the strangest week of my professional life. The Library has moved on. The Maritime Romance section remains. We do not stand in rivers anymore. The tea was insufficient, but we survived regardless.