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chapter-9

“We’re from out of town,” David Krinkle said to the holographic research librarian stationed behind her desk in the Rotunda Reading Room.

“We’d like to do a little research,” added his brother, Frederick, clutching a flat briefcase with combination-lock clasps.

“So I assumed,” said the research librarian. She pointed to the illuminated sign over her head: ADRIENNE WAINTRAUB, RESEARCH LIBRARIAN

I may not know everything, but I know how to find it.

“We hope we’re not too late,” said David.

“The library is open until ten p.m. on Fridays,” said Ms. Waintraub without any emotion, because her interface was strictly data-driven.

“We would’ve been here sooner, but we had to fly to Detroit and then rent a car,” explained Frederick. “Too bad this sleepy little burg doesn’t have a proper airport.” “Actually,” said the holographic librarian, “Alexandriaville is served by the Wood County Regional Airport. Although no commercial carriers operate out of the facility, it is home to many general aviation aircraft and is a destination for corporate aircraft doing business in the region.” David leaned forward. “Tell me, Miss Waynetree…”

“The proper pronunciation of my name is WINE-trowb. It is a Jewish-German surname meaning ‘grape.’ My ancestor Abraham Waintraub’s name can be found on the New York arriving-passenger lists of 1824.” “Very impressive research,” said Frederick, sounding anything but impressed.

“Research is my job, Mr. FREDERICK KRINKLE.”

“What? How do you know my name?”

“I am equipped with facial recognition software.”

“So you know who I am, too?” said David.

“Yes, DAVID KRINKLE. You two, together, are the Krinkle brothers, the game makers. You have a combined net worth of three hundred million dollars. You make most of the dominoes, marbles, pachisi, and Chinese checkers sets sold in America and Canada. You are considered Mr. Lemoncello’s chief domestic rivals in the toy and game-manufacturing sectors of the United States economy.” “So?” bristled Frederick. “Are you going to toss us out of the loony old bat’s loopy library just because we’re his main competitors?” “No,” said the flickering hologram. “This is a public facility. All are welcome here. Also I am a hologram, a three-dimensional projection of a photographic image. As such, I cannot toss anything. Excuse me. One moment. Data loading. Data loading.” Her eyeballs turned into spinning pinwheels for a few seconds.

“Your most popular game to date is Whoop Dee Doodle, versions one through thirteen, which, according to Game Maker magazine, was a ‘Whopper of a Dee-saster.’ Your cat’s name, when you were growing up, was Lucifer. You like the crusts cut off your toast, soft-boiled eggs—” “How can you possibly know all that?” demanded Frederick.

“I am a research librarian. Knowing things is what I do.” “You sound like a robot!” exclaimed David.

“Yes. Because I am. A robot. My name was given to me by Mr. Lemoncello in an attempt to humanize my interface and to honor the research librarian at the New York Public Library who, in the early years of his career, gave him assistance, guidance, and all the answers he ever sought.” “Is Luigi here?” asked Frederick, his eyes darting back and forth nervously.

“No. He is at his home. Entertaining his board of trustees.” “Oh, too bad,” said David. “Can you tell us where we might find the so-called Lemoncello-abilia Room? We’d like to examine some of the artifacts from Luigi’s past.” Ms. Waintraub’s eyes grew wide. Her pupils dilated. She leaned forward and projected a 3-D animated display of the library’s multilevel floor plan above the reference desk.

“You will find THE LEMONCELLO-ABILIA ROOM on the third floor,” she said as a blinking line of dots illustrated the shortest route. “It is conveniently located right next to THE ART AND ARTIFACTS ROOM. You may access the upper levels of the library via the spiral staircases, the elevator, or—if you have the proper mountain-climbing gear and will sign a liability waiver—the hover ladders.” “We’ll take the elevator,” snarled Frederick.

“The Lemoncello-abilia Room will close in fifteen minutes,” said the hologram.

“We’ll be quick,” said David. “Come on, Frederick.”

Frederick hugged the briefcase tightly to his chest as the brothers bustled over to the elevator and rode it up to the third floor to do what they had flown to Ohio to do.