by Ellias Quinn
The Sangriga screamed in the back of his throat.
Dask thumped the guy’s collarbone with the hilt of his blade. “You wanna die, Sparkles?”
Under Dask’s hand, the man shook his head with widened eyes.
“Good choice,” Dask said. “You’ll be good and quiet?”
He nodded vigorously.
“Okay. I’ll let you go. Light this place up first so you can see what to be afraid of.”
The man’s eyes glowed for just a moment, unnerving Dask, but all that happened was his wings brightening against the floor and a small globe of light fizzling into being above his bound hands. The knife blade glinted in the soft new light. The man observed his intimidator. His prominent alva’s apple went up and down as he swallowed.
Dask let go of the man and sat back in the armchair with his feet hanging. Sangriga furniture was too tall. He scooted forward so that his feet touched the floor.
“Oh,” the Sangriga said, crestfallen. “You’ve got feathers on my reading chair.”
Itching under his arm at his right wing while prominently displaying the knife, Dask said, “Is it…problematic that I’m getting feathers on your reading chair?”
“No, it’s…perfectly fine…that you’re getting feathers on my reading chair.”
“Well then, if that’s settled,” said Dask, “let’s talk business. I need something here in Icto Lan. A frog pendant.”
“Frog pendant…” The man sat up. “We don’t have a—oh! You must mean the wooden toad! Why would you want that? We decided a long time ago that it’s worthless.”
“It’s a frog pendant, isn’t it?” Dask growled. “That’s why I want it.”
“Toad, actually, it’s—”
“Where is it?”
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “You wait here and- and I’ll find it for you.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Dask said.
“I’d hoped you were, but I suppose you’re not. Let’s be off.” The man stood, lifting his tied hands to cradle the floating light globe, and moved to go.
Dask set his foot against the wall to bar the way. “Just tell me where it is.”
He looked troubled. “Won’t you have, er, difficulty finding it?”
“I’m a Ranycht. I can see in the dark.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Tell me!” Dask said. This exchange was taking too long. If Matil and Khelya were still all right, they’d be worrying about him, too. The thought suddenly made him feel…goopy, like honey on the inside. He twitched his ears to bring himself back to reality.
The Sangriga gazed at the light globe. “The last I remember of the pendant…it was in the treasury room in the back of the Library. The Library’s northeast of here. You’ll recognize it right off, it’s quite an eye-catcher. White roofs and stained-glass windows.”
“Northeast, Library, treasury room. I got it.” When Dask got up from the chair, he was peeved to find out that his head only came up to his captive’s chest. He stuck his wings out a little to look larger.
“Wait now, I’m not finished,” the Sangriga said. “The treasury room’s a bit confusing – honestly, we ought to reorganize – so you’ll have to rummage about in the desks for a catalogue. And the desks are past the archived directories shelves, to the, erm, to the right? No, left. To the left as you walk in. Past those shelves are the desks. Once you find a catalogue, you might need to guess at the shorthand, but with some common sense it’s simple enough. ‘Up’ is upper shelf, ‘low’ is lower shelf, ‘five up two d’ is fifth upper shelf, two rows deep, and so on. Finding the catalogue entry for the pendant could be harder…it’s probably in the P section, but T’s another option, if P doesn’t have it. Also try F for frog and A for amulet. They might even’ve put it in J, for jewelry, or W for wood! Just a few weeks ago I was hunting for an ancient sang flute and had to go through each section till I found it. Someone had listed it under T for, get this, T for ‘thingy’.” He shook his head with a laugh. “Unbelievable.” Something in Dask’s expression caught his eye and he meekly shuffled backward into the corner. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “D-did you catch all that? Would you like me to repeat—”
“Lucky you,” Dask said in resignation. “You get to show me where the frog necklace is.” Picking up an extra length of curtain cord, he tied one end to his left wrist and the other end to the Sangriga’s wrist-bindings.
“Lucky,” the Sangriga repeated. He looked despondently at Dask’s knife. “I am, aren’t I?”
* * *
Silent buildings sprawled beside perfect stone paths and the rare guard floated among them on the cool night breeze. Below, Dask flitted from shadow to shadow while pulling his hostage behind him. The way most Sangriga moved through the air gave Dask toadbumps, but this Sangriga had his feet tied and was trying to match Dask’s sneaking. As he wobbled along like an ungainly leaf, it spoiled the image of eerie Sangriga flight.
They entered the university grounds, creeping below its sky tunnels and towers. Soon, the Sangriga raised his bound hands to point.
“There,” he whispered. “The Library.”
Dask took a look upward and almost whistled. Out of all the spindly spires and flowing walls, the Icto Lan Library was the tallest and thickest structure, with its buildings ranging across the grounds and towering up into the great trunk of a knotty tree. Rays of moonlight fell through the tree’s thin leaves high above and illuminated the Library’s white-tiled roofs. Dask and the scholar passed beneath soaring bridges that connected the main building to towers surrounding it. Grand, colorful windows set beneath the coiling eaves showed pictures of alva, beasts, Elders, and complex symbols.
The Library was like something out of the old stories, Dask had to admit. Matil would love seeing it. Khelya, too. She’d stare for a while and then try making a model out of sticks. Though it was pretty, Dask much preferred the villages of Nychtfal, and fancy Sangriga architecture couldn’t hold a daisy to his huge hometown of Ecker’s Brug.
“That door, use that door,” the scholar said, lifting his hands toward a skinny wooden double door on the main structure.
Dask narrowed his eyes. “Better not be a trap.”
“Oh,” the scholar said. “I suppose I should have been inventing a way to trap you. On the other hand, I would dearly like to learn what that pendant is useful for.”
“I’m sure you would,” Dask muttered. He slowly approached the door and opened one side of it to reveal a slim passageway. His sharp ears picked up no tricks.
The two of them entered. The Sangriga made a globe of light in his hands like before, casting a yellow glow on the stone walls. Ankles restricted by the curtain cords, he shambled a couple of steps and then turned to Dask.
“Would you untie me?” he said. “We could go more quickly then.”
Dask left the wrist cords in place and still held the other end of the cord looped in his hand, but he bent down and sliced through the ankle cords.
The Sangriga cringed. “Ahh. I’d hoped you might untie what remains of my curtain pulls rather than…destroy them.” He set the light globe down – it levitated slightly above the floor – scooped up the fraying cord remnants with his tied hands, and dropped them in a pocket on his tunic. With a steadying breath, he took the globe and started to creep down the passage.
They went past several doors before turning through an archway. It let them out under the lofty ceiling of the Library. It was vast, supported throughout the room by four-sided pillars that, Dask realized, were massive wooden bookshelves. The bookshelves started out wide at ground level, narrowing gradually until they connected with the ceiling’s slabs of stone. It looked like there were at least a hundred bookshelf-pillars in the entire room. And between the bookshelves, wooden platforms hung from the ceiling by chains at each corner. The Sangriga’s light glob
e cast deep shadows among the rows and rows and rows of dusty books, and his unsure gait lengthened until he strode with single-minded focus down the aisles. Dask hurried to keep up with the scholar’s long legs.
Each bookshelf looked the same. It wasn’t long before he was lost in this new kind of forest. They came at last to a spacious area filled with desks, chairs, and tables. The scholar made for the largest and oldest-looking desk and then put his light globe atop it in an elevated metal bowl obviously designed for that purpose.
“Help me look,” he said, sliding open one of the drawers. “We need a big book with ‘Treasury Catalogue’ written on the front. There’s no telling where they’ve put it this time.” He rifled through the papers, books, and odd bric-a-brac filling the drawer, then quickly moved on to the next one.
Dask eyed the many drawers and reluctantly pulled one open. There was just enough time to notice that the thing on top said ‘Catalogue’ before the Sangriga snatched it up.
“Well done!” he said. With a grunt he set the large book down on the desk and ran a finger down the lettered tabs on its side. The speed with which he flipped the pages and hunted through the tiny scribbles inside was supernatural.
“What time did you wake up?” Dask said.
The Sangriga didn’t break rhythm as he answered, “Just after dawn.”
“And you’re not tired?”
“I’m absolutely done in, but isn’t it quite energizing to have a mission? Ah-ha!” The scholar grabbed a piece of paper from the desktop and a stick of charcoal from the drawer, put them in his pocket, retrieved his light globe, and then floated away. Since Dask hadn’t moved yet, he came to the end of the rope and tugged on it. “Follow me, please,” the scholar said.
Shaking his head, Dask walked along behind the Sangriga. The rope barely kept the rabid firefly from spinning off into the shelves as he darted down the aisles. The two of them reached a wall with a line of doors from floor to ceiling. The Sangriga flew to the second one up and struggled with its handle until it popped open. Inside he went. Dask followed with a sweep of his wings and some maneuvering.
The room they entered was full of tall, spiral-carved columns. The two of them stood on a maze of walkways suspended over the first floor, each walkway leading from one column to another. Above them were several other levels of walkways. Stacks of dusty leather display cases filled much of the floor space. The cases had metal-reinforced corners and glass fronts.
As the Sangriga set off, he began to talk. “Welcome to the treasury room, visitor. I must tell you, I looked in the catalogue at all of the places I mentioned, starting with T for ‘toad’, of course. I didn’t see our pendant anywhere. Then I got a feeling, went back to T, and, you won’t believe it, there it was – under ‘thingy’! Really, I’ve brought the state of our cataloguing to the attention of so many, but still it languishes. They just don’t…listen to me.” His pace slowed. “I think it’s because I work a bit differently, you know. They trade favours, have connections and pensions, they’re mostly from the nobility, and…” He looked nervously over his shoulder. “And you don’t care, so I’ll button up now.”
A weird feeling descended over Dask as the Sangriga’s words repeated themselves in his mind. A knowing feeling. He didn’t like it. But the sad silence in which they walked was too familiar, and, before he could think better of it, he spoke. “It really stinks when alva tell you the world is so bad that you gotta go along with it. And you know they’re wrong.”
The Sangriga gave a glum nod. “It does stink, doesn’t it? Like a rotted fish.”
“Like a fungus shop,” said Dask.
They both sighed.
As if struck by a bolt of lightning, the scholar visibly filled with vigor. “Found it!”
He floated ahead of Dask in an arc over the display cases to their right and landed before a tall, slim case, marked on the back with, ‘Potentially Ancient,’ in white lettering. Once Dask had caught up, he saw through the glass that this case was full of pendants on strings. On each shelf, the necklaces were piled in disorder. The scholar took a small key from his pocket and opened the case’s front. Dask grabbed a wad of the pendants to sort through.
“Gently!” the Sangriga said. “You’re holding history.”
“Old or new, it’s junk,” Dask said. He picked out a pendant, a lopsided metal lump. “See? What’s this blob supposed to be?”
“That’s…” His forehead wrinkled up perplexedly. “I don’t know.” He took it from Dask and laid it back in the case. “But I’m sure it meant something to someone.”
For a few moments they slid the pendants around in their search.
“There we are,” the scholar said, shaking the other necklaces off of a large, flattish pendant. He gave it to Dask.
The pendant was as big as Dask’s hand, a fat toad of smooth-worn red wood with flared nostrils and slits for eyes. He turned it over a few times. It felt solid and reassuringly natural. No magical looloo business, no slimy spirits hanging around. He’d flown jobs for the gang transporting that kind of thing, and if they were uncanny, he could always feel them scratching at the edge of his senses. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case with this necklace. If it wasn’t magic, though…it was useless.
Dask lowered the string over his head. As long as it got to Matil, he figured things would turn out – which reminded him of the need to hurry. The longer he was out here, the less safe they would all be.
“Now…” The Sangriga took the charcoal and paper from his pocket and began to scribble.
Dask glanced toward the exit and back at the Sangriga. “What are you doing?”
He held up the paper. “This is a permission slip. Not only does it provide you with the proper documentation to possess the item, it has the due date on the bottom so you know when to bring it back.”
“Uh, thanks.” Taking the paper and tucking it under his vest, Dask noticed a few very large display cases. Jars and weapons filled most of them, but at least one in the middle was empty. An entire Sangriga could fit in there…
“Won’t you tell me why you need the toad?”
“I’m on a mission, like you said.” He edged toward the big cases. “I guess I’m gonna see if the legends are true.”
The Sangriga stood up straight and his wings brightened. “Legends? Which legends?”
“Hey,” Dask pointed at the empty case. “I think something’s in there. Open it up and let me take a look.”
As the Sangriga walked to the case he took out his key again. “But which legends are connected to that toad? After all this inconvenience, you really ought to tell me.” He unlocked it with a click, opened the door, and stuck his head in. “I don’t see anything.”
“I was sure I saw…” Dask shoved the Sangriga in the back and pushed the flailing limbs into the case long enough to slam shut its glass front.
The Sangriga’s struggling rocked the case, so Dask rapped on the glass. A terrified face peeped at him. Dask held up his dagger and then put two fingers across his mouth. He stood on some shorter cases to reach the top of the big one. With the dagger he punctured the case’s leather top twice, making an X and folding its corners inward.
“You’ve been a real help, Sparkles,” he said through the square hole.
The Sangriga shinnied himself so he could look up. “But—”
“Keep it down. You’re in a library.”
Dask took off the way they came in. Hopping from the edge of the treasury room’s doorway, he glided along the wall, and the huge, pillar-like bookshelves whipped past his right wing. Soon he slowed and stopped to try some doors. The third one opened to the outside.
It was a swift and silent trip tracing his path back to the apartment building and, from there, to the place where he left Matil and Khelya. Plants reared up in the darkness around the base of the tree.
“I’m back,” he said, sh
ort of breath.
Out of the plants and out of her fading stepped Matil. Khelya was right behind her, holding the reins of the two beetles. The sight of the beetles gave rise to a memory that he quickly put away.
“Guess what I have…” He pulled the toad out from under his shirt.
Matil’s face lit up. “You found the pendant? You found it.”
“Huh. Doesn’t look too special.” Khelya bent over and squinted at it.
Dask lowered his hand holding the pendant. “Oh, so should I put it back?”
“No!” Khelya said. “No, good work, you got it.”
Dask grinned, going near to let them see better. A soft sound entered his range of hearing. He paused and moved his ears. He could hear gasping breath getting louder. He turned to see a spark hurtling through the tree branches in the distance, fast, but not as fast as a Ranycht would fly.
“Talrach.” Dask hurried to the tree. “I don’t know how the guards saw me. Hide.”
Matil was already fading with a frightened glance at the ball of light, which resolved itself into a string-bean figure as it approached. She and Dask took Khelya’s hands and ducked under the plant leaves beside the tree.
A thud on the ground close by made Dask’s heart speed up. No, he had this, he could handle it. Whoever was out there swallowed up great lungfuls of air. Dask tried and failed to see through the foliage. He was starting to think—but it couldn’t be that guy!
“I saw you down here,” came the voice of the Sangriga Dask had abandoned. “I’m sure I did, I…”
With an unbelieving shake of his head, Dask slipped away slowly enough that his fading was barely disturbed. He crept to the side as the Sangriga went toward their hiding place. They switched places. Smoothly, Dask unsheathed his knife, held it by the Sangriga’s torch-bright back, and grabbed the guy’s arm.
The Sangriga whimpered.