by Robert Evert
“Thank you. I’m at yours.”
When Horic had gone, the mouse-like woman shifted uneasily in front of Edmund, as if waiting for an order she didn’t particularly want to perform.
“What may I get for you?” she whispered. She noted Edmund’s shabby attire and then redirected her gaze to the counter in front of her.
Now what?
“Yes, thank you. I, I . . . I need information on the upper Haegthorn Mountains,” Edmund said. “Particularly the east side, if that’s possible. I believe that Sir Franklin of Overshire led an expedition to map the region in the year 235—”
“He returned in 235,” she said, cutting him short.
“I beg your pardon?”
Edith flinched as if being reprimanded.
“No, please miss,” Edmund said. “By all means. You were saying?”
“I didn’t mean to correct you, sir,” she whispered even softer. Edmund had to lean forward to hear her. “But Sir Franklin returned to Eryn Mas in 235. His expedition of the Haegthorn was actually from 229 to 234.”
She’s smart!
She should be, being surrounded by all of these books.
Let’s hope there’s something here that can help us. Otherwise you just wasted a silver piece.
A silver piece . . . I remember when I wouldn’t even stoop to pick up a silver piece off the street.
“Yes, well . . . do you have any copies of anything that he might have written about his journey? A journal or a secondhand account, perhaps? Anything that shows the topography of that region would be useful.”
What are the chances that Sir Franklin got within sight of the Undead King’s tower? None. This is all a waste of time and money.
I need information! We have to get back to the tower. I need a map of the area, a description . . . anything that can help the knights plan their attack.
That’s if you can get to speak with the King.
I will . . . one way or another.
“I understand. Please have a seat. I’ll be back momentarily.” She disappeared though a doorway behind her.
Unsure of where to sit, Edmund examined his options. There were over seventy tables, each flanked by long benches with plump green cushions. But every table already had numerous people sitting at it, reading or copying some manuscript by the light of crystal lamps.
Who should I sit by?
Somebody who has a poor sense of smell. You haven’t washed in three days. And sleeping with the horses didn’t help at all.
He selected a table toward the rear of the hall that was occupied by a boy carefully transcribing a lengthy scroll and an older gentleman peering over a thick tome of faded brown parchment. Edmund sat across from the boy.
“The oratories of King Baris the Second,” Edmund said, examining what the boy was working on. “Wonderful!”
The boy put a finger to his lips.
“Oh,” Edmund whispered. “Sorry.”
As he surveyed the room, hoping that Edith would return soon, something poked Edmund’s leg. He looked underneath the table. Thorax winked. Edmund laughed. Several people glowered at him, including the boy across the table.
Good girl!
He patted her head.
Moments later, Edith appeared with an armload of parcels, scrolls, and books. As she approached, her eyes slid to where Thorax lay by Edmund’s grubby bare feet. Edith and Edmund exchanged glances, a slight smile appearing on her thin lips.
“This is what I found for you,” she whispered, setting the materials in front of him.
One of the scrolls rolled off the table. As she went to pick it up, she scratched Thorax behind the ears.
“Remember these are originals, not copies. Please take utmost care.” She handed Edmund a moist towel.
“Oh, I will,” Edmund said, cleaning his hands. Then, nodding toward Thorax, he added, “And . . . thank you for not saying anything. I’ll make sure she doesn’t bother anybody.” He handed the towel back to Edith. She took it, curtseyed, and shuffled back behind the counter, holding the blackened towel away from her nose as if it were a skunk.
For many hours, Edmund studied the materials that Edith had given him. Most were loose pages of notes written by Sir Franklin during his travels, papers that were the basis of a book that Edmund had previously read and kept in his library back in Rood. Some of the maps were interesting, but without points of reference, it was impossible to determine exactly what part of the mountains they depicted.
Leaning back, Edmund groaned.
I’ll never find the River Gate this way.
Then you’ll have to try something else. Maybe where the door was in that the guard chamber. You could probably find that again. It was in a dell facing the west not far up the foothills.
Perhaps, but it’ll be guarded.
I’m sure the knights could force their way in.
First I have to speak with the King . . . somehow.
Edmund groaned again.
The boy across the table frowned at him.
Think. What pieces of information am I missing? What do I need to get into that tower?
Besides a thousand heavily-armed knights?
Carefully, Edmund gathered the materials together and brought them to Edith. She looked up from her book, surprised to find somebody standing over her. She stood, straightening her skirt.
“Thank you for all this,” Edmund said.
“Not what you wanted?” she asked in her delicate voice.
“No. I, I, I mean, it was fascinating . . . but it didn’t contain anything new for me.”
“Perhaps you’d like to examine something else? You still have a few hours before we close.”
Edmund tapped the counter, thinking.
“Do you have anything about Lord Iliandor of the Highlands? Specifically about his interest in metallurgy?”
“I’ll check. Half a moment.”
She disappeared through the doors behind her desk.
Trying not to disturb the boy and old man with the nervous energy bubbling out of him, Edmund returned to his table.
Do you honestly believe that Iliandor published the formula for his secret alloy?
No . . . But maybe there’ll be hints or clues . . . or something. Anything! I can’t just sit and do nothing.
Edmund imagined Molly in the wet cells, sobbing in the foul darkness that she couldn’t take it anymore and that she wanted to go home. He could almost feel her tears.
Reappearing from the storage rooms, Edith placed five books in front of Edmund. Edmund was about to thank her for her troubles when he saw what was on top of the stack. He sprang back with a cry, knocking over his bench and sending the cushion skidding across the floor. Underneath the table, Thorax leapt to her three functioning feet.
Many patrons hissed for him to be quiet.
“What’s wrong?” Edith whispered, withdrawing a step as if Edmund might be delusional.
Perched on top of the pile, like a specter from his past, was Iliandor’s diary.
“Wh-wh-what? What?” Edmund said, trembling. “Yes. I’m . . . I’m fine. Thank you. Thank you very much. There was a bee. That’s all. A bee.”
“A bee?”
“Yes,” Edmund said, his heart still pounding. “But it’s gone now. Everything is fine. Thanks!”
Edith walked to her counter, turning and looking periodically at Edmund as she went. When she had gone and all eyes were off him, Edmund righted his bench and sat down. With shaking hands, he lifted the diary from the pile.
What are you so spooked about? You asked for information on Iliandor and she brought his diary. There’s no meaning behind it. Calm down. You’re making an ass out of yourself!
His chest pounding, Edmund opened the diary’s cover like he was touching a corpse. There was no doubt about it. It was one of the two copies he made back in Rood more than twenty years earlier. Even with only one eye he could recognize his own work.
What are the chances?
You sent a copy
to the Royal Library in Eryn Mas. Obviously they didn’t want it and the book ended up here. Relax!
He started flipping through the diary, trying to appear as if he was doing something productive. When he got to the last page, he pushed it aside and examined one of the other books Edith had brought him.
There’s nothing useful here. This is such a waste of time.
I hope Pond is having better luck than I am . . .
Something gnawed at the recesses of Edmund’s mind. From the corner of his eye, he kept looking at the diary, as if to make sure it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He closed the book he was skimming.
It’s your copy. There isn’t a doubt in the world.
Edmund brought the diary closer to him.
Something’s wrong with it . . .
He started flipping through its pages again even though he knew every word like a member of his own family.
Everything is exactly like it—
He got to the last page.
This isn’t right . . .
The last page of the diary wasn’t the last page he had copied all those years ago.
Edmund looked closer at the binding.
I can’t believe it.
Somebody had meticulously cut out the last four pages—the pages that gave the clues Edmund followed to Tol Helen.
Who would have done—?
Then the answer came to him.
Someone who didn’t want anyone else looking for the Star.
No, not the Star—the riddle written in the cave!
Chapter Fifty
“Yes, my lady,” the shopkeeper said with exaggerated grace. “I can assure you they are authentic. They came from the High Courts of the Longborough Providence. Lady Josephine used to wear them herself. In fact, they were a birthday gift to her from Queen Isabel.”
Edmund listened from the back of the gallery, pretending to read one of the overpriced books lining the merchant’s many shelves. After learning nothing of use at the Lower Library, he had been exploring the city’s numerous antique shops, hoping to find a map of the northern mountains or maybe a weapon made from Iliandor’s smoke-colored metal. Unfortunately, he found nothing that could help him rescue Molly.
He doesn’t know what he is talking about. Lady Josephine would have been only three years old when Queen Isabel died.
Stay out of it.
I hate fakes.
Edmund exhaled in disgust. Lying next to him, Thorax tilted her head and raised her floppy black ears.
A woman wearing an expensive mink wrap and a treasury full of jewelry examined the pair of earrings the shopkeeper was holding.
She doesn’t have a clue what she’s looking for.
Stay out of it.
But she’s being taken advantage of! How can I just stand here and do nothing? I should do something.
Don’t do a thing. It’s none of your business.
“I will take them,” she said, opening her coin purse.
The amount of money she handed the salesperson made Edmund look twice.
This is worse than highway robbery!
Stay out of it.
But he’s robbing her!
Stay out of it.
If he had a knife to her throat, I would be expected to do something. Why shouldn’t I do something now? She’s being robbed just the same!
“Thank you so much for your business, Lady Annette. And if I come across anything else that you might like, I will be sure to keep it in the back with the merchandise for my . . . special customers.”
“It is always a pleasure, Reginald,” she said, putting on the fake diamond earrings. “You are my favorite, you know that. So many of these other dealers are nothing more than poorly dressed charlatans.”
Somebody should teach him a lesson. I have to do something.
Don’t!
The skinny salesman offered a high-pitched chortle as he escorted her to the door. His chuckles became deeper and more genuine after she had gone. Then he noticed Edmund standing by the stacks of books.
“My dear sir,” Reginald said, slipping the Lady’s coins into his pocket as he bounded over to Edmund, “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see you back here. Please excuse my horrid oversight. I—”
He took in Edmund’s ill-fitting attire and bare feet, the pleasantness draining from his face.
“Oh,” Edmund said, examining his baggy clothes. “These.” He winked knowingly at the merchant. “Consider this a disguise. I’m actually n-n-nobility.”
“Of course you are, sir,” Reginald said as if his time was being wasted. “May I be of some assistance? Beautiful animal by the way. We usually don’t have customers bringing them into the shop. This is a rare treat.”
Thorax bared her teeth.
“That’s a fine work you are examining,” he said, motioning listlessly to the book on the military exploits of King Romis the Sixth in Edmund’s hand. “It’s an original dating back to the early 400s, most likely written by Eol the Scribe.”
The ink is barely dry. The pages are brown because they were placed by a fire. I can smell the smoke.
Edmund slipped on a smile. “You have such a beautiful shop here. It’s positively wonderful! I’ve been all over this city and I must say, there is no other establishment its equal.”
A little more pleasure crept into Reginald’s tone. “You honor me. How can I repay your kindness? Are you looking for anything in particular or just . . . browsing? We don’t sell shoes, in case you weren’t aware.”
Edmund ignored the sarcasm.
“I was hoping that you might have something from the old n-n-northern lands, something from Iliandor’s time? He’s of great interest to me, you see.”
“Iliandor?”
The fake doesn’t know who Iliandor is.
“How, how about weapons?” Edmund asked, changing the topic. “Have you ever seen antique weapons made of a smoky, bluish kind of metal?”
“Smoky, bluish metal?” Reginald repeated. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“It’s of no great matter,” Edmund assured him. “It’s just an inferior alloy that turns color as it ages . . . very rare. I’d pay a great deal for such an item.”
At this, Reginald’s eyes regained their twinkle.
Edmund pretended to think. “Do, do, do you have any books or maps from the northern lands? Something that may be special? Perhaps something that you don’t keep out here where just anybody could sully them with their uneducated hands?”
“You know,” Reginald said, as if an idea had just come to him. “I have just such the thing for you. And if I remember correctly, it came from Iliandor’s own personal library.”
“You don’t say?” Edmund said with mock amazement. “Well, I would love to see it.”
Reginald considered Edmund’s appearance again. “You understand, these items are quite rare and, although reasonably priced, not everybody could afford such treasures.”
Edmund snorted a laugh.
“Let me see what you have. I have m-m-more than enough money, I can assure you.”
Still skeptical, the salesman went off to a back room.
When he was out of view, Edmund withdrew the three tiny diamonds that Norb had in his coin pouch. Winking at Thorax, he put his finger to his lips. Thorax lay back down.
“Forstørre nå.”
The minuscule stones doubled in size.
“Forstørre nå.”
They grew again. Edmund stole a glance around, making sure that the salesman hadn’t returned.
“Forstørre nå.”
Now the diamonds were as large as Edmund’s thumbnail. They were still flawed and crudely cut, but by size alone they would fetch fifty gold pieces each from any reputable dealer.
Reginald returned with a towering stack of books. He beckoned to Edmund as he arrayed them in a line across a glass table.
“I’m sure one of these will be of interest to somebody with such a fine eye for—” He stopped, hi
s hand covering his horrified mouth. “I, I . . . I am truly sorry for my slip of the tongue. I meant . . . ”
Touching where his left eye used to be, Edmund waved a hand. “Oh, not to worry. Not to worry. Please, show me what you have. They look splendid.”
“Thank you, sir. You’re most kind.” Bowing, Reginald finished arranging them across the table. “As I said, they came directly from Lord Iliandor’s personal library in the far northern city of Azagra. Did you know that he had one of the most extensive libraries in the entire continent? It contained some of the oldest books ever written, it is said. It’s a shame that it was burned down in the year 439.”
He just looked all of that up when he was in the back. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about.
Edmund examined the books placed in front of him with forced eagerness.
These are all cheap fakes. I hate fakes.
You shouldn’t be doing this. Just leave. Leave now before you get yourself into trouble.
He stole money from that woman and somebody should teach him a lesson.
Don’t!
I’m tired of running from fakes!
Picking up a small book of poetry with a faded green cover, Edmund read the title aloud. “Leaves of Spring.” He sucked in air like he had found a Crown Jewel from the Gods.
“Oh, you have tremendous taste, sir.” Reginald said. “It is said that Lord Iliandor used to read these very poems to his beloved wife every night before she fell asleep.”
I bet.
Don’t do it. Just walk away.
Edmund clutched the book as if he couldn’t stand to part with it.
“How much?”
“For you, a new customer, I’ll give it to you for one hundred and fifty silver—a bargain as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“I would indeed!” Then Edmund let a sad expression settle on his face. “B-b-but can you hold it for me? I don’t have many coins. Horribly heavy things, you understand.”
A look of validation appeared in the Reginald’s smug eyes.
“But I have an appointment with a jeweler tomorrow,” Edmund went on. “He’s going to give me ten gold pieces for each of these.” He opened his hand, showing the three monstrous diamonds. They shone in the sunlight streaming in from the windows.