Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume VII

"Saint Nicholas Owen. Saint at least, here in Grantville."

Athanasius opened the book to a marked page. "And who is this?"

"Saint Elizabeth Seton, the first American saint."

Athanasius nodded. "Who will never be born, nor sainted by a Pope who will never be born nor elected to the seat of Peter. And yet, here, in Grantville she is a Saint."

Nicholas looked up. "So?"

Athanasius gestured to the volumes of the catholic encyclopedia. "What of all those other Grantville saints in their dozens or hundreds? Are they less saints because they will not live? Are they less saints because they were proclaimed so by popes who will neither live nor serve? I do not know. But I know that I have agreed that here, in St. Mary's, and in Grantville, we honor their days."

"Yes, Saint Nicholas Owen and the Forty Martyrs-a third of whom are perfectly well alive-is a mass I intend to celebrate myself."

"So, it isn't their realness that makes them saints here is it? Or who proclaimed them?"

"No…" Nick agreed cautiously.

"Then I offer you your talisman, and your protector for the radio team." Athanasius laid another book on the table. The Warlock Unlocked .

"I offer you Holy Saint Vidicon, patron saint of the Cathodian order of the church. Martyred in 2020 in service to the Church, sainted in 2030 by Pope Clement. Those of his order are dedicated to reducing the action of Murphy's imps and the control of the perversity of technology. His feast day is February twenty-ninth."

"February twenty-ninth? That's, that's…"

"Perverse?"

"A fictional saint?"

"A saint, who will never be born, named so by a Pope who will never be born, nor elected. Read the book. Then, we will talk again. In the mean time, I offer you this as well." He handed Nicholas a wooden handled tool.

"What is it?"

"Your talisman. The same one John carries. The some one most of the 'techs' carry. A 'little yellow screwdriver.'"

"No. You may not form an order dedicated to a saint invented by a science fiction writer in 1982." Larry Mazzare looked most firm.

"But…"

"Which part of no didn't you understand?"

"But…"

"You may distribute the talismans. You may use the story from the book as the inspiration for the talisman. You should use the terminology. God knows that Murphy certainly is perverse and acts in the world. If that weren't true then several of the parishioners' cars would quit breaking for no reason."

Nicholas saw Larry's look become stern. "However, if you need to call on a saint to assist you, I urge you to look to the saint most closely related to your talisman, not some fictional construct of an unchurched Episcopalian."

"Who?"

Larry picked up one of the screwdrivers from the box. "I note the appropriateness of the cross at the tip. I'm glad you didn't get flat bladed ones." He paused. "You ought to know who I mean. He was canonized not 10 years ago. A man known for his sense of humor. He ought to be able to help us laugh in the face of Murphy's perversity."

"But the talisman?"

"Oh, come now. He would have appreciated the appropriateness of it. By all accounts, he would have had the entire congregation laughing."

Nicholas just stared at Larry.

Father Mazzare opened a reference to a painting of a man. He grinned as he showed it to Nicholas. The man in the painting wore half a beard and was kicking a ball while leading a rag-tag group of people who carried household goods through a street. "Come now. The pun is even in your native tongue." He spun the book around. "Saint Phillip."

Thy life hast thou ordered in wisdom, and hast called understanding thy mother.

(Deuterocanonical Apocrypha, Esdras 2:55 (Ezra 4:55))

The hallowed halls of the Grantville National Research Library were far from Nick's idea of what a library was. First, there were far too many books. What had started out as the Grantville High School library had changed over the last months. Now, with the ceiling tiles removed and the shelves extended up to the metal ribs holding the roof, with more shelves tucked into every nook, and tables and chairs in every cranny, Nick felt that the services of his name saint would be well used. No master carpenter had designed this place.

And the books! There were more titles in this one room than existed in the rest of Europe. Books, pamphlets, magazines, broadsheets, newspapers. Surely the answer would be here.

It amazed him that the Americans had not tried this. He had asked John for the results of the library search and their notes. One page of notes, and one magazine article. It simply wasn't possible that there was not more information that that. He looked at the room again. There was a sign. Library research orientation class: 09:00. He saw someone standing in front of a small group of what appeared to be down-timers, and joined them.

"Welcome to the Grantville National Library. My name is Gladys Wood. I'm a senior researcher here. This brief orientation will help you to begin to find material in the library. We will cover several basic areas: Our fee structure, collections, indexing, annotation mechanisms, physical access…"

"Dictionary form. They organize information alphabetically. It is insane! Related material may be completely separated. Related people are not listed together. Related places are not listed together. It is completely arbitrary and utterly brilliant." Nicholas looked at his long list of words taken from the article he had. Dictionary form. "I can do this. It was what I was trained to do. They don't need a jeweler. They need a scholar."

Nicholas tapped his screwdriver on the table as he looked out across the desk, contemplating. "Brother Johann, Melville Dewey was a very great man."

"Yes, he was."

"The index, the 'card catalog,' was a work of genius. The subject coding, clearly the work of inspiration. But these…" Nicholas waved his hand over the pattern of three-by-five cards carefully arranged on the desk. "These are brilliant. Without them, glossing this library would have been the work of years. But this… this is wonderful. I make a note of the source, I list a topic, a comment and so on, and I can re-arrange, I can move the gloss from place to place. Cross references. Dictionary Form. Brilliance."

Brother Johann nodded. "I know." He looked at the cards, with a bit of irritation showing. "I only wish the stationer we ordered them from had not been so literal when we said we wanted him to duplicate the sample we provided. The "Recipe" printed across the top, and the drawing of breads doesn't actually assist in the work. But, we have only fifteen thousand left. They'll soon be gone, and we can get more. Plain ones this time."

Nick nodded. "That will help. But it is really no matter now. I just use the plain side."

"So," Johann asked, "have you found it yet?"

"No, but we are getting closer. I can feel it. With each additional source, with each additional reference, the quarry is that much closer to us. It won't be long."

With that, the two men bent their heads back over the books they were reading, and continued in pursuit of the alternator so desperately needed by their friends.

Nick's eyes widened. He sat back in his chair with a sudden jerk, and his chair screeched on the floor.

"Those idiots." Softly whispered. Brother Johann looked up in surprise.

"Those idiots!" No whisper now, but full voice and almost yelled.

"What is it, Father Nick?"

Nick turned to his fellow researcher.

"Brother Johann, have you heard the word 'sophomore' here in Grantville?"

Johann nodded. "Of course. They use it to identify a rank of their children in school."