Enjolras goes often enough to the library. Its geography is peculiar, its collection vast, its organization impenetrable; the librarians are sometimes of assistance, sometimes less so. He does not always ask. His interests are narrow, but he will read anything within them, and his spare time for reading is far more copious than he'd like. He finds books to occupy himself.
(Every library has a connection to L-Space
buried deep within its stacks, but at Milliways that connection is naturally quite close to the surface. This is not a concept with which Enjolras is familiar.)
It takes him some weeks to find a French history section. He has nearly concluded that perhaps there is none when he finds it. A treasure trove. The titles stamped neatly on the spines are often heartening, often ominous.
The only thing which prevents him from immediately selecting a book is this fact: that Milliways has taught him that there are alternate worlds and alternate histories. A truth of the world, a thought experiment proven true, a vast delusion of a peculiar afterlife -- it doesn't matter, because the pragmatic fact of the matter is that not every book on this shelf will reflect the truth of what happened to the France Enjolras lived for and died in. He has no way to know which do. An author's bias is inevitable, but variation in the root facts is something quite different.
He studies the rows of books for a long time. Then he turns on his heel and walks away.
He makes very certain he remembers the location of this shelf.
Enjolras has requested news of France's future before. What Bar doles out to him is newspapers, each day's at a time, the next day's only after he's finished, a detailed but painfully slow progression through the months of 1832 and 1833. This digestible course of information has its advantages, but as a sole source it's unsatisfactory.
The conversation Enjolras holds now with a bartop and a succession of scribbled napkins is long, low-voiced, and intense. (Bar is a mechanism which he does not understand; the limits of its internal operation are fathomless. That doesn't matter either.) At the end of it, he holds a napkin with a title, author, and a numerical code which Bar assures him will signify that he has selected the correct universe's version of A Complete History of France, 1789-2200, in 3 volumes
He returns to the library.
He locates the shelf, the book, an empty table. He starts from the beginning: the Revolution and what followed are events he knows in minute detail, but this book's account of them will give him a good idea of its author's loyalties and biases.
He has no plans to stop before he has finished