Page 11

As Kraus opened his door for him outside the graceful columned structure, Christian stood immobile for a long minute while his assistant parked the car elsewhere, staring up at the facade.

He knew many librarians, many professors of literature, both German and foreign.

There were men aplenty who had been the ones to recommend books for the banned list to Goebbels.

Why was he the one sent to Paris? Why had it fallen onto his shoulders to dismantle the libraries?

Other men, men who had been quick to join the Nazi Party, who had joyously thrown their own books onto the pyres, would have been better suited to this task. Other men would have no qualms as they marched into each Parisian library and declared it to be the property of the Reich.

And maybe that’s why you’re here, something whispered inside him. Not because your hardheaded friend pulled strings he shouldn’t have for reasons of his own. But because you don’t thrill at it. Because you understand the cost. Because you understand what these people are losing.

He let his eyes fall shut for a long moment. He did, yes. But understanding didn’t stop the French from labeling him an enemy. How could it, when he strode inside even now in his pristine uniform, giving orders that would attempt exactly what he claimed to Corinne no one could accomplish?

He’d spoken truth, when he said that a people’s heritage—literary or otherwise—was something more, something deeper than the physical items that could be stolen. He believed it. He had to.

Didn’t he?

He strode past the emptied shelves, toward where he’d left off before they stopped for lunch. And he drew up short when his commanding officer, Oberstleutnant Ackermann, stepped out of the stacks.

Christian remembered—barely—to snap a salute. “Good afternoon, Oberstleutnant .”

“Bauer.” The man was perhaps a decade his senior, but unlike Christian, he’d seen war before.

Had fought the French before, and the English.

Had been injured in the trenches and had spent his recovery in hospital learning to hate.

..well, everyone, from what Christian could tell.

The enemy. The Jews. The men who had chosen pursuits other than the military.

Christian had been too young to fight in the World War, but that didn’t stop Ackermann from hating him too—or at least disdaining him for his pursuit of academia instead of the military.

“The going is slow,” Ackermann said, nodding toward the empty shelves closest to the door and then looking over his shoulder at the vast number still to be sorted through.

Christian inclined his head. “I was ordered to be meticulous with this one, sir. To show all of Paris what to expect from us.”

Though Ackermann couldn’t argue with the orders that had come straight from Goebbels, his face twisted as though he wanted to. “I suppose the next ones on the list should be quicker—the foreign libraries, filled with only the scribblings of communists and enemies.”

He did indeed already have orders to simply close several of the libraries—the Czech one, the Russian one—and do whatever he pleased with the books inside, with a recommendation of destroying all the “rubbish.”

The last thing he wanted to do was sentence an entire collection to the burn pile. But with Ackermann watching over his shoulder and the list of people to find and interview growing by the day, he didn’t know what else to do.

Paris was indeed a city of libraries. A city of readers. And the Reich wanted all of them controlled, labeled, and any so-called threats neutralized.

At this rate, Christian was going to be here for years. Stuck in a city that held far too many secrets, under the watchful eye of a man who had no respect for him or his work, needing to guard his every word. His every move. His every thought.

Well. That wasn’t so different from Berlin.

Ackermann’s gaze flicked past Christian as new steps came up behind him, and he gave a quick dismissive salute to whoever it was. “Afternoon, Kraus.”

“Oberstleutnant.” Kraus’s voice all but dripped admiration ...and Ackermann lapped it up like a cat with a saucer of cream.

Christian could understand Kraus’s attitude—much like a student who discovered that the dean actually knew his name. What made his shoulders go stiff was the fact that Ackermann greeted Christian’s attendant with familiarity and warmth.

Did they know each other outside of this billing?

Unlikely. Kraus had grown up on a farm outside of Berlin, after all, whereas Ackermann hailed from Hamberg.

No, so far as Christian could tell, their only connection was this job—was him .

The one above, the other below, both with their eyes fastened to him far more often than he would like.

Ackermann even now sent the younger man a knowing smile and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. “Holding up all right beside der bücherwurm ?”

If he meant the epithet as an insult, he’d have to try harder. Bookworm was a badge of honor in Christian’s mind.

Kraus laughed and snuck a sideways glance at Christian. “Of course, sir. My mother will be pleased to know that I’m getting an education as I serve my country, thanks to the professor.”

Christian offered a shrug. “A teacher cannot help but teach.” Unfortunately, all too often students chose not to learn.

He wasn’t yet sure what category Kraus would fall under.

Sometimes their conversations were free and easy, and Christian could even lead him into a discourse on ideas, not just facts.

Other times, it was like a steel trap had slammed shut on the boy’s mind, and nothing could pass through it in either direction.

Just now, Kraus was clearly in his soldier mindset, not his student one. Eager to impress the oberstleutnant .

Ackermann chuckled, clasped his hands behind him again, and pointed his toes toward the door. “Just see that you spend more time cataloguing than teaching, Professor. And if you need more assistance, say the word. We want this business concluded as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll let you know.”

He was still trying to decide if it was a good thing or a bad that his superior called him professor just like his men did, when the man paused a few steps away, spun, and leveled an uncompromising glare at him.

“And Bauer—join us officers at dinner on Saturday. It isn’t healthy to stay barricaded in your rooms all the time. ”

What could Christian do but smile and agree?