The City Archive – Part 1: The Missing Ledger

The city archive lived in the basement of a Victorian building on Miller Street, behind a door marked Staff Only and a smell of old paper and radiator.

Isla's first day began with a lanyard, a mug and a man glaring at her over a pair of cotton gloves.

"You're the new archivist," said Callum. He was thirty-two, broad and rumpled, with ink on his cuff and a brown cardigan that had seen better decades. "Do you know what 'acid-free' means?"

"I did a master's in it."

"Good. Then you'll understand why I am about to be very difficult. The 1912 shipyard ledger is gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone. It was in bay four on Friday. It is the most valuable item we have, and there is a researcher coming from Aberdeen at five."

Isla put down her bag. "Right. Where did you last see it?"

He stared at her. People did not usually ask. "On the cart. With the foxed maps."

"And who moved the cart?"

They searched the whole basement together, between steel shelving and ranks of grey boxes, in the dim fluorescent hum. They found a tin of shortbread (1987, Callum swore), three umbrellas and a stuffed pheasant. At twenty to five, in the old boiler room, Isla spotted the ledger on top of the kettle cupboard, wrapped in tissue.

"Under a cup," she said.

"I put it there to keep it warm," said Callum, mortified. "The humidity. I forgot."

She laughed so hard she had to sit down on a box. After a second, helplessly, he began to laugh too.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Yes."

"Are you always this bad-tempered before nine?"

"Only before lunch."

"Green?" she said, and wondered where on earth the word had come from.

"Green," said Callum, slowly. "Very green. I'll make the tea."

Continue the story: Part 2 – After Hours.