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meat. I don’t want perfumed soap and a trickle of water from a copper pipe. I want a healthy blastfrom a frigid New England waterfall. I don’t want the tinny noise from a gramophone. I want the thunder and vibrations of a real orchestra pounding out a Beethoven symphony. Technology has made us soft. I like hard muscle and loud voices and the satisfaction of a sweaty day of labor.”
    â€œYou wear sparkly jewelry,” she countered.
    â€œI wear rocks hauled out of the land I own. Trophies, if you will.” His eyes gleamed, and he looked flushed with health and vigor. Standing this close to him, she barely reached his shoulder, and his enthusiasm was palpable.
    She held up the slim pen. “This is a trophy of modern times. If you’d like to fill out a research request, it is the device you will need to use.”
    â€œMiss O’Brien,” he said in a long, slow drawl. “You don’t think I intend to fill out that ridiculous slip of paper, do you?”
    â€œI’m going to assume that was a rhetorical question and you aren’t really expecting an answer.”
    â€œVery bright, you are. I wish I had you on my staff. Oh, wait . . . that’s exactly what I intend to arrange. Don’t get too comfortable. I’m on my way to file the proper requests to get you reassigned to the fascinating world of oyster taxation.”
    â€œPlease don’t plan on it,” she said sweetly. “We are very busy with moving to the new library, and the director is quite stingy in assigning research assistants. You can’t get your way all the time.”
    He leaned in with a devilish smile and a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “Actually, Miss O’Brien, I usually do.”
    He whistled as he left the room.

    Luke strode to the library director’s office with renewed determination to usurp Miss O’Brien’s time. She was as smart ashe’d suspected. She’d have to be to land a position in this place. She had an alluring voice and a winsome face, with a sharp chin and a slim little nose. Yet it was her eyes that had captured his attention. Lovely, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with wit and intelligence.
    Not that it mattered what Miss O’Brien looked like. He’d happily work with a three-eyed troll if it meant getting enough information to launch his attack against the Speaker of the House. He suspected Speaker Jones was guilty of corruption, and it was going to be a challenge to wade through decades of budget data to find the necessary proof. In the meantime, he wouldn’t neglect his new position on the Fisheries committee. He would perform every task flawlessly. Submit every report on time and in detail.
    Or rather, Miss O’Brien would do it for him. He’d merely sign his name on each report and consider the mission accomplished. The Speaker had an army of research assistants, so why shouldn’t Luke?
    He followed directions to the office of the library director. What a mess it was up here, with crates of books stacked along the walls and dust heavy in the air. The director looked old enough to have been there when the Declaration was signed, with a gray beard and a tall frame bent with age. Luke ought to feel guilty pestering a man so ancient, but he needed the research help and was determined to get it.
    â€œMiss O’Brien?” Mr. Spofford asked in response to Luke’s request. “Certainly she can help you with the offshore fishing boundaries.” The old librarian fumbled around on his desk, littered with mounds of paper that threatened to topple over, until he found a small card. “Fill out this form and I’ll have Miss O’Brien begin work immediately. Whatever you need.”
    â€œI’m afraid my request won’t fit on a five-inch card,” he saidsmoothly. He needed a lot more research than fishing boundaries. Preparing to wage a war against the Speaker of the House would