The Ninth Arrangement

1.

On the morning the shelves were reordered, Elias arrived at the archive ten minutes early.

This only mattered because the building unlocked at exactly eight, so arriving early meant Elias had a few extra minutes to wait. He stood on the third step, holding his briefcase, and looked at the brass plaque listing donors who no longer came.

At eight, the door released. He entered. The day began as planned.

2.

The archive was in the old town courthouse. All records, including births, deaths, property transfers, marriages, and resignations, were stored alphabetically by last name and then by date.

Elias had a simple task: reorganize Shelf C using the new indexing system. The change was small. Names starting with Mc would now be included with the rest, not set apart.

He reviewed the memo again. He already knew it by heart.

3.

By midmorning, Elias noticed the first inconsistency.

A folder labeled Morrison, Leah (b. 1984) appeared twice.

The contents weren’t the same. One had a marriage certificate; the other didn’t.

This was not urgent. Elias wrote a note on a yellow slip and put it between the folders. The system allowed for these kinds of mistakes. They were fixed later or quietly ignored.

4.

At lunch, Elias sat at the long table by the east window.

Clara from Records Verification sat across from him. She always had the same lunch: soup, bread, and an apple.

“You’re on C today,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Mc integration?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. With nothing else to say, the conversation ended.

5.

At 13:47, Elias opened a folder labeled Elias Rowe.

This surprised him, but it was normal. Employee files were kept with civilian records to keep things clear for the administration.

Inside, he found familiar papers: employment contracts, tax forms, and emergency contacts. There was also a resignation notice dated three years ahead.

The signature matched his own.

Elias checked the date stamp. The ink was dry, and the form was in the right Position.

He closed the folder and returned it to the shelf.

6.

That afternoon, Elias changed how he worked.

He slowed down. He checked each label twice and cross-referenced dates, even when it wasn’t needed.

When he found Morrison, Leah again, he quietly merged the files, keeping the one with fewer attachments. That way, there were no duplicates.

He threw the yellow slip into the trash can under the table.

7.

Before the day ended, Clara walked over to Elias’s desk.

“Your name was in the system today,” she said, not looking at him.

“Yes.”

“Everything in order?”

“Yes.”

She paused, then wrote on her clipboard.

“Good,” she said. “It’s better when the records align.”

8.

At 17:59, Elias finished Shelf C.

The final arrangement matched the new index. There were no extra folders and no obvious mistakes.

He turned off his computer, returned his key to its place on the table, and signed the log. His name showed up in the right place.

Outside, the light had changed. The courthouse steps were empty.

9.

Three years later, on a morning much like this one, a different archivist arrived early.

She unlocked the door at eight and went right to Shelf C.

Inside was a resignation notice, effective that day and signed as it should be.