by Sever Bronny
A Riddle
“We’re almost out of time,” Bridget said as a crier proclaimed the 11th strike of the morning bell. They had walked all about the hall, searching for the section on artifacts. They did not dare ask anyone where it was, especially not any of the numerous Legion guards posted at each door. Instead, they read what signs were posted, finding rather mundane sections thus far: law, languages, economics, farming, music, poetry, history, the trades, heraldry, herbology, and so on. A watchful gray-robed attendant and a guard manned each room, and the trio saw everyone who entered had to sign a form.
“But where are all the rooms on arcanery?” Leera whispered. “I don’t get it, all of those sections so far have been for Ordinaries.”
“Some people find that word offensive,” Bridget said.
“Only Ordinaries do. And the necromancy study room doesn’t count—they didn’t even have spell books in there, or anything interesting really.”
“What about those at the front of the hall?” Augum nodded at a pair of massive black doors, guarded by two brutish-looking Legionnaires, their mailed hands resting on the pommels of two-handed swords.
“You want to be the one to ask them?” Leera asked.
“Think I’ll pass.”
“Thought so.”
Bridget withdrew the library map. “Interesting … it’s unmarked. The room is grayed out on here, with a dotted line.”
“Something tells me we’re not supposed to be going in there,” Leera said.
“Which is exactly why we should find a way in,” Augum whispered, grinning.
“Let’s look around.” Bridget moseyed by a guard, pretending to glance at the ancient artwork behind him, though she was really searching the walls. Augum and Leera did the same.
“Don’t whistle,” Leera said to him.
“Why?”
“It’s suspicious, and you’re a terrible whistler, like squeaky bellows or something.”
They casually walked the room, but finding nothing particular, exited back the way they had come.
“Place is spooky now,” Leera whispered as she eyed the statues in the arched hallway.
Augum absently nodded as he spotted another tapestry with a hidden gargoyle.
Bridget stopped before one of the tapestries. “Look.” She subtly nodded her head at a figure in a tapestry.
Augum paced over to see a proud and stern looking man with a large group of people behind him. Everyone wore ancient clothing that had lots of ruffles, and stood on a wide marble staircase flanked by two smaller curving staircases. Stone globes marked the baluster endings. Near the back stood an empty suit of shining armor.
“Look familiar?” Bridget whispered.
The hairs on the back of Augum’s neck stood on end. “Castle Arinthian … do you think that’s him—?”
“Could be,” Bridget said. She glanced at a patrolling Legionnaire. “We shouldn’t stare at this too long, come on.”
Augum spotted another gargoyle in the scene as he slowly strolled away. This one was tucked away in a corner, camouflaged by the checkered flooring, and held a candle.
“Is this library really that old?” Leera asked as they paced away.
Bridget’s gaze fell upon a triple-headed dog as they passed. “Something tells me it is. At least the castle part.”
Augum’s ancestor, Atrius Arinthian, defeated Occulus after receiving a scion from the Leyans, but the tapestry looked like it was a scene before the war of the scions started. That would date the tapestry, at the very least, 1500 years …
“Since the Legion made spell scrolls illegal,” Bridget muttered, studying the map, “they would have restricted access to them, not to mention spell books, or anything related to arcanery. There’s a large room beside that grayed-out one on the map here. Maybe there’s a way to sneak in.”
“ ‘Hall of Ancestry’,” Leera read. “There’s no hallway leading to it though.”
“Must mean we have to take a portal,” Augum said.
They soon returned to the entrance hall of the library, then dipped into the main Portal Room.
Augum thought to try something. He found an etched oval with the words Arcane Studies next to it. Restricted had been chiseled in underneath. “Shyneo,” he said after checking to make sure they were the only ones there.
“Aug, don’t—” Bridget said as he placed his hand on the oval.
“Might be worth a shot,” he said. “We can just say we’re lost or something and play dumb.” He turned back to the oval. “Augustus Westwood,” but nothing happened.
“No surprise since we don’t have access,” Leera said, finding another oval. “This one leads to the Hall of Ancestry.” She activated it and they stepped through.
The trio was spit out into a vast, dim room with a vaulted ceiling. There were great stone sculptures everywhere, depicting figures, battle scenes, miniature castles, towers, towns and villages. Someone was chiseling distantly, the sound echoing with every strike.
“State your business for visiting the Hall of Ancestry,” said a snippy voice. They turned to see a bell-shaped woman behind a battered desk, flanked by two gruff-looking Legionnaires, their helms removed. A single candle sat before her, fluttering with every labored breath she expelled.
Augum blurted the first thing that came to mind. “We’re here to see the statue of Occulus.”
The woman, wearing draping gray attendant garb, glanced at their necrophyte robes before scribbling something down. “Sign and date this.” She wore pointy spectacles that gave her the appearance of a cat. Her hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it was distorting her face.
The trio paced over. Augum was conscious of the guards watching him with grim eyes, and noted their hands rested on their sword pommels. He signed his name and dated it in the spaces provided, 17th day of the 3rd month, year 3341, 11th toll of the morning bell.
“You are from out of town.”
“We are,” Augum replied.
“That will be four silver a head.”
“It costs that much just to come in here?” Leera said.
“My, aren’t you precious. Why of course it does, silly dear,” giving the guards an amused look. “There are a lot of administrative costs to cover in keeping this place running. Nothing in life is free now, is it?”
Bridget hesitated but handed over twelve silver coins.
The woman nodded at the hall. “Occulus is around the corner in the very back, and be mindful of the works. Just because you are necrophytes does not mean you get any leeway.” She snorted at one of the guards. “Kids these days. Always acting above their station.” Their lips curled with sneers.
The trio hurried off, trying not to appear too curious as they shuffled past assorted large scale dioramas carved out of marble and blackened with age.
“Pure robbery,” Leera muttered. “Bet you she’s gouging us. Probably pocketing the difference.”
“Not everyone is a thief, Lee,” Bridget remarked, eyes traveling over the many works.
The place smelled of oil and was poorly lit, with only a portion of the braziers burning. Many of the carvings were hidden in shadow and covered with a layer of dust. The sound of chiseling slowly got louder as they made their way to the back of the hall.
Augum suddenly did a double-take at a defaced statue. He stopped, grabbing Leera’s arm.
She gave a yelp. “What the—” and then immediately saw what he was looking at. “Bridge, I think you need to see this.”
They crowded near a roped-off, full-sized statue, arm detached, with part of the head chipped off.
“ ‘Anna Atticus Stone’,” Augum began to read in a whisper, “ ‘depicted here on her 10th degree victory at the Antioc Classic Warlock Tournament, is one of the few to hold the distinction of achieving victory in every tournament battle she has fought. She is noted for many academic contributions to the arcane arts, and gained respect as a lethal battlefield warrior after defeating numerous warlock opponents, most notabl
y the Desert Destroyer, the Canterran Cobra, and Totillus the Turncoat Monk. Known as a true arcane artist, the distinguished warlock later went on to accept the position of Headmistress at the prestigious Academy of Arcane Arts in Blackhaven, where she continued contributing to academic arcane knowledge, only to disappear during her most famous duel against Narsus the Necromancer, whom she is credited with vanquishing. Her whereabouts are currently unknown.’ ” The words thief, traitor, and villainous dog were scratched on her face.
Augum stood gazing at it, trying to ignore the clipped and echoed chiseling. He felt his nails dig into his palms. He glanced back the way they had come and saw that the attendant was unable to see them.
“Aug, what are you doing—” Bridget hissed as he stepped over the rope.
“Fixing it.” He placed his hands over the damaged statue and visualized it repaired, channeling the appropriate arcane energies. “Apreyo,” he said, and the statue began to reform. The scratchings disappeared, replaced with fragments from the floor the attendants never bothered to sweep up. Soon Mrs. Stone stood in her original condition, staring straight ahead in determination, chin slightly raised, right arm rippling with ten carved lightning rings. Only one small piece from her cheek was missing, perhaps too far away to re-attach.
Bridget sighed as she helped him back over the rope.
“She looks so … young,” Leera said.
“And beautiful,” Bridget added.
“She must have been an awesome combatant to watch,” Augum noted, suddenly feeling the ache of wondering where she was, and if she was all right.
“You three—what are you doing!” shouted the attendant. “Get away from there!”
“Nothing!” Leera replied. “Just looking at this traitor here,” and they quickly sped off. Augum risked a glance back and was relieved to see the attendant return to her desk.
“You can’t take chances like that, Aug,” Bridget whispered. “What if they discover it’s been repaired?”
“I don’t care,” he said. “Couldn’t leave Nana like that.”
Bridget’s mouth thinned but she said nothing more on the subject. Instead, she subtly raised her hand and said, “Un vun deo.” Augum and Leera promptly did the same. Augum recalled doing this in Castle Arinthian—searching for the eggs together, or pieces of that map. Now here they were, using the same spell in the real world looking for a way to get into a restricted section, with far greater consequences should they get caught.
They slowed their walk, faces tight with concentration. Suddenly all stopped before the same statue—that of a lion draped in ragged cloth, overseeing a large iron chest.
Bridget dropped her hand, nodding at the chest. “Leads to that,” she whispered. “I think it might be a secret door.”
The chiseling suddenly stopped and a dusty and sweaty-browed man appeared from around the corner. He was middle-aged and wore a soiled leather apron over his gray attendant robe. He looked past them at Anna Stone’s statue, and flashed a roguish grin before glancing at the chest.
“Found it, did you?” He dabbed at his balding head with a dirty cloth, chisel and hammer clutched in the other hand. “That’s one of the easy ones there.”
“Uh, we’re here to see Occulus’ statue,” Augum quickly said.
The man gave a grunt. “Secret passageway are more fun, but suit yourselves.” He jerked his head behind him. “He’s between His Lordship and the library founder.”
“Who is?”
The man gave Augum a look like he was slow, something Augum was getting used to in the city. “Occulus. You know—that there statue you came to visit?”
“Oh, right.”
“Where does the passageway lead?” Leera suddenly whispered, much to Bridget’s alarm.
His lips curled mischievously. “You I like. You didn’t hear this from me, but too many of you necrophytes don’t have the courage the previous generations had, before they made you wear those silly costumes. What a nice thing it be to see some rule breakers.”
His voice dropped. “Did you know in the old days in this here library, warlocks were made to earn their learning by solving puzzles? If they were too stupid to solve a puzzle, they didn’t get to visit the section, or find the book. Did you know that? You had to be smart, that’s right. Smart and clever and curious. That’s what the library was founded upon, curiosity … and mischief.” He winked before making a dismissive gesture, voice derisive. “Now you can’t even visit a section without the appropriate authority’s blessing or whatnot. They even banned spell scrolls. You believe that? I reckon they’re more paranoid that a—” Suddenly his eyes flicked to a spot behind them and he quickly returned to work.
The trio turned to see the bell-shaped attendant striding their way, brows crossed like two swords.
“Uh oh,” Bridget said as the trio hurried to Occulus’ statue, which stood near the Lord of the Legion’s effigy. The carver was already on his knees, chipping away at the boot of the statue.
“Why did you fix that traitor’s statue?” the attendant asked in silky tones after arriving.
The trio, who had been pretending to be studying the statues, whirled to gape at her.
Augum could barely speak. Nothing was coming to mind. “We … uh, that is …”
“I had ‘em fix it, Secretary Watts,” the man said in a suddenly heavy commoner accent.
Secretary Watts pushed her spectacles back up her oily nose. “Why in the Lordship’s name would you do that, you simple fool?”
He shrugged from his seated position. “I spend tendays, sometimes months carving these here works without arcanery. Months. Now, that might not mean nothin’ to someone as advanced in spell casting as you, Secretary Watts, but it mean lots to me. She be a villain and all, I give you that, but it don’t mean my work is to be disrespected.” He pointed at the trio. “These three stood yonder laughing at there statue, and I dared them to do somethin’ positive and try fixin’ it instead. I dared them, told ‘em they ain’t smart enough to fix that there statue I done carved years ago. They sure proved me wrong, but I is a simple fool, as you say.”
The woman’s wide lips widened even further. “Basil, I think the only reason you haven’t been sent to the mines is because you are too stupid to handle a pickax but just smart enough to wield that chisel.” She glared at the trio. “And don’t you touch anything again.” She made an irritated noise and turned on her heel to waddle off.
Basil watched her go. “That’s Secretary Grizelda Watts,” he said, mostly dropping the commoner drawl. “She’s only 4th degree but puts on airs. More sour than a bucket of limes. Stay away from her, she enjoys inflicting pain and misery into people’s lives.” He smiled and winked at the trio, then returned to work.
“Thank you, but why did you do that for us, sir?” Augum asked in a whisper.
“And why did your accent change?” Leera added.
“You know, I’ve been working here all my life. That statue that you repaired, that was one of my first commissions, back when I was a wee apprentice about your age. Ever since Anna Atticus Stone was branded a traitor, that statue has been subjected to nothing but vandalism. Now and then, I’d spot someone standing in front of it, looking at it differently, like you three. But not once had I seen anyone dare to fix it. Not once. I ain’t going to ask you your reasons, but I just appreciate it, that’s all. Oh, and—” He made sure they weren’t being watched before flexing his arm, revealing two fiery stripes, before quickly disappearing them.
“You’re a warlock—” Bridget said. “In secret though?”
“How do you think I wasn’t conscripted? By lying. Nobody knows I’m a warlock, and I intend it to stay that way. That’s why I never repaired the statue myself.”
Augum frowned. “So you’ve been working here all your life, carving statues and stuff, but you could be using arcanery to do the work—”
The man shook his balding head. “There ain’t no craft in chiseling telekinetically. Tried it at the begin
ning, ain’t no fun at all and nowhere near as precise. Maybe if I was a 10th degree or something, I’d be a better and more efficient carver, but I hit my ceiling at the 2nd.” He tapped at his temple. “It was Mind Armor. That was the end of it. The old noggin’s just too feeble for the advanced stuff, and to be honest with you, that’s just plenty fine with me.”
Basil the chiseler leaned a little closer. “Anyhow, when the Legion took over, they changed most of the attendants. Took the warlocks for their cause. But I ain’t no fighter. I don’t have the courage or the skill or the desire to kill. And I certainly ain’t smart enough.” He shrugged. “So I decided to play dumb. I was born in the country and I just decided to sound that way again. And no one’s been the wiser.”
“How do you know we won’t tell on you?” Leera asked.
“Because you repaired Anna Atticus Stone’s statue. That rightly mean you’re not true necrophytes, ain’t that right?”
The trio did not reply and the man smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me, as I know mine is safe with you. Oh, and speaking of secrets—” He nodded past them. “There are a whole bunch of secret entrances like that, hidden around the library, and almost all of them lead to the Labyrinth.”
“The Labyrinth?” Augum asked.
Basil tapped at the floor, voice even quieter now. “It’s called The Dungeon, and it’s deep below the place. Back in the day, it used to be a trial warlocks passed with pride—getting through the labyrinth and earning g—whoa, almost gave it away for you there. Don’t want to do that, do we? Ruins the fun. Anyway, the builders of the library rewarded cunning, daring, and curiosity. They rewarded it with knowledge. If you read your history, you’d know it was the way of the old world, before the Leyans withdrew.”
“How do you know all this?” Leera whispered.
“This a library, ain’t it? I may not be as quick with the smarts as some, but I love to sneak a book now and then, more than what’s good for me I reckon, especially nowadays. I also met plenty of smart folks over the years. Smart and good of heart that told me lots of stories, mostly in whispers. Most of them are gone now. It’s darn sad to watch the old traditions slowly die and be smothered and kept under lock and key. Reckon you shouldn’t be limited to no necromancy and only what they teach you—which isn’t much at all from what I hear, just enough to make you a good soldier. You should be allowed to study whatever you want. Did you know they’re slowly killing off the elements? Have you not noticed that?”