“You are out of order, Highliber, kindly respect the procedures of the peerage,” said Cotteram firmly. “In favour?”
Two flintlocks and a musket were raised.
“Against?”
A sword and a flintlock rose.
“I declare an unclear majority, and cast my vote as speaker,” said Cotteram, raising her axe. “The motion is deadlocked.”
“I challenge the result,” said Zarvora, with a tone that suggested boredom.
“Check the rules of procedure, Frelle Highliber, you cannot challenge a deadlock,” said Cotteram smugly. “We shall remain in session until sunset, and you will never be Dragon Black.”
To her surprise, Zarvora gave way to neither outrage nor tears.
“I have already checked the rules of procedure, Frelle Speaker, and I know that it is now time to lobby,” she announced, then left without bowing.
Cotteram and Aymoran abandoned their vigil in the Hall of Investiture and walked out into the corridors, where voices echoed so strongly that their words were quickly garbled. The imposing woman and intense little man were an odd sight together, but none of the lesser ranks dared to laugh as they hurried past.
“She is not one of us!” muttered Cotteram, her hands balled into fists. “Were I thirty years younger—”
“She would still kill you in a duel,” said Aymoran. “Leave her alone now, we have won.”
“Were she one of us I would not oppose her, even though I hate her. Merit be damned! She is a pawn of the mayors.”
“With respect, Frelle, Zarvora Cybeline is nobody's pawn. They did not make her Highliber because they think they can control her, they put her in charge of all libraries because they think she can make them great! She has peddled them a dream. Unity, through the library service, an end to the dominance of the Southmoors, more wealth, lower taxes, greater strength and smaller armies.”
“It cannot be done.”
“She has convinced them that it can.”
“Well, that will do her no good. We can deny her Dragon Black, we only have to hold out until sunset. After that, she will rule the library system, but not its greatest library. Her star will fall, and the mayors will notice.”
The enrobement of Zarvora as Highliber had been the occasion for great ceremony, and the mayors of eleven mayorates, along with envoys from another two dozen nations and trading cities had gathered in Rochester to participate. In a sense the matter of Dragon Black was a minor dispute of arcane library politics, and not at all important. Now that the prospects of the Dragon Black enrobement ceremony going ahead were not good, a lot of important people found themselves at a loose end. Lunch for the dignitaries was an extended and lavish affair, and was hosted by Zarvora as Highliber. Leaving the Dragon Gold for Diplomacy to keep the vigil on the Dragon Black colours, the remaining Dragon Golds attended the lunch as well. The general mood was cheerful, and although Zarvora did not drink, she did give the illusion of becoming a little tipsy.
“Now well may you wonder why we dragon librarians guard Libris so assiduously!” declared Zarvora loudly, standing up and raising a goblet of rainwater.
“Dirty pictures!” shouted the Mayor of Tandara, and everyone roared with laughter.
“Mere dirty pictures, Fras Mayor?” replied Zarvora. “Why the ancients had such extreme refinements of perversion that your wildest dreams could not conjure them. We have their books, you know.”
“I can dream with the best of them!” the mayor called back.
“Gentlefolk, let me issue you with a challenge,” said Zarvora.
“Don't listen, she's already killed two challengers today!” cried the Mayor of Rutherglen in good natured alarm.
“What say this, gentlefolk? I shall take you on a tour of the most interesting chambers in all of Libris, and if you are not shocked to your very core, I shall grant one wish, be it something within my power, to the mayor who sponsors me.”
“I'll sponsor!” shouted the Mayor of Rutherglen.
The rowdy gathering streamed out of the door, led by Zarvora. Cotteram and Aymoran followed in the rear, wondering what was behind the challenge. They walked along corridors, down stairs, through courtyards, up yet more stairs, then down into the lower basements of Libris.
“Hah, the vixen is about to lose more than Dragon Black,” laughed Cotteram as Zarvora opened the doors to the Oblivion Chamber. “This is the most boring part of all Libris.”
“Indeed, her sponsor is known to savour virgins, and she is reputed to be one,” agreed Aymoran. “Who is that scrawny old Dragon Green who is never far from her side?”
“He's Lewrick, of Research. He tends Mathematics Archives, or somesuch.”
Nobody above the rank of Dragon Yellow normally worked in the Oblivion Chamber. Here there were books that could take in excess of a lifetime to progress from Accessions to Cataloguing. They were not so much the forgotten books, as the unknowable books, for a book that cannot be located does not exist. Minutes of the Felt Hatters Guild Meetings, the self-published biography of a paraline warehouse manager, Flatworms of the Tandara Region, and Theological Questions of the Commoners with Approved Responses all resided here, inching their way toward eventual cataloguing and possible use in centuries to come.
Each book had a white accessions band that bore an accessions number on the spine. The numbers were broken into blocks of four numerals, and there were four blocks per number. The code designated whether or not the work was important, its value, the subject, the size, and even whether or not the subject matter was lewd. The content of the Oblivion Chamber was utterly predictable, because only a quota of one shelf the oldest books was removed each year, and a new quota of one shelf added. The shelf with the oldest books was designated with the Venerablian pennant, a small rectangle of tasselled silk on a stick that had outlasted most of the mayorates that had been in existence when it had been fashioned.
“Now does something seems a little odd about the Oblivion Chamber?” asked Zarvora as they entered.
“I see nothing unusual,” whispered Aymoran, and Cotteram nodded.
“I see no dirty pictures!” bawled the Mayor of Tandara, who still had a jar of wine in his hand.
“There is no dust,” Zarvora pointed out. “This place is clean. It has the look of extensive use, even though it is the most neglected collection in all of Libris. Can someone explain that? Frelle Cotteram, can you explain why this place should be dusty?”
“There are a few requests for the books here, one or two per year,” said Cotteram, annoyed at being forced to speak by Zarvora. “The Oblivion Chamber is under the domain of Accessions, but Cataloguing has access when books are removed for coding. Reference also has access , for when readers occasionally request books from here.”
“Such a thing is very rare,” added Aymoran. “The books are not catalogued and of little interest, you see, and access is via a special card catalogue in order of accession number.”
“Presumably to discourage use of the Oblivion's stock,” commented Zarvora, her voice suddenly sharp. “Readers must go through every card, and there are thirty thousand cards.”
“Quite rightly so,” said Cotteram. “Readers may use the collection on our terms alone.”
“Yet it has been used a lot recently, enough for the dust to irritate someone, who has had it cleaned away.”
“Such as Reference staff?” suggested Aymoran.
“I did,” said Zarvora. “Certain characters of dubious repute, identified as Alton the Sly, Slogghern, Rank Derris, and Lurking Horace have all been seen to use it.”
That fact had certainly not been known to Aymoran and Cotteram, and the very sound of their names immediately had them on edge.
“When a book is requested, the card from the Oblivion Chamber catalogue is removed and kept in the usage tray,” continued Zarvora. “They stay there a long time, because the shelvers only return the books and their cards every six months. Each place is tagged by a coloured blank card. Anyone looking
through the catalogue can see what number is not there from the sequence. Anyone looking through the Oblivion Chamber can see what is not there as well. It's the spaces on the shelves, it gives them away.”
“With all respect, Highliber, is this all that we're to see?” asked the Mayor of Rutherglen. “I'm getting anxious about my wish, because I'm certainly not shocked.”
“The working of libraries are of interest to librarians and nobody else, just as the workings of my bowels are of interest to myself and nobody else,” added the Mayor of Echuca.
“Quite so, and there is now the prospect of my wish, because I am definitely not shocked,” said the Mayor of Rutherglen.
“Ah well, do forgive my little obsession with seeking out patterns, and noticing things that are out of place,” said Zarvora as she produced a sheet of poorpaper. “Permit me to read a decoded passage from a beamflash transmission: Suddenly he raised my skirts as I gazed out of the window of the tower, with my elbows resting on the sill, saying 'In truth this way you could tell your husband that no man lay with you.' 'Just as well,' said I, 'or there would surely be war.' Thereupon he grasped me firmly by the cheeks of my buttocks and entertained me to great effect. Are we shocked as yet, gentlefolk?”
“Er, may I see that?” managed the chalk-white Mayor of Rutherglen, reaching for the paper as the other mayors and envoys stared wide-eyed and silent.
Zarvora held the paper behind her back.
“That is from a beamflash transmission, decoded by means of the codes in this room. Look here, mayors, dragon golds. Twenty Six books are gone from each row. Twenty six books designated by sixteen digits. The first digit of the first book represents a, the second digit of the second book represents b, and so on. At seventeen, the progression goes backwards, and the remaining ten digits are for 0 to 9. How many codes are stored here, do you think? There are about thirty thousand books in the chamber.”
“The beamflash codes for all mayors, they are stored here?” gasped the envoy for an absent mayor.
“There are books missing for a number of rows equal to many dozens of codes. The Chamber of Oblivion is storing the beamflash codes and subcodes for a lot of important people.”
“In your backlog chamber!” exclaimed Cotteram, suddenly turning on Aymoran.
“In your output chamber!” retorted Aymoran at once.
Zarvora turned to the other mayors and envoys, producing yet more papers from beneath her cloak.
“I could hand out transcripts of recent messages to each and all of your diplomatic missions,” she said sympathetically, “but I can see from the expressions on your faces that you would prefer me to burn these papers, then return all books to their spaces, and file their cards back into the Oblivion Chamber's catalogue before less trustworthy eyes than mine continue make use of the codes stored so cleverly in here—for those who know how to find them.”
“One of you two is to blame!” shouted the Mayor of Rutherglen, now confronting Aymoran and Cotteram.
“No, no, Reference removes the books!” cried Aymoran.
“Alton the Sly, Slogghern, Rank Derris, Lurking Horace, and many others have been under surveillance for some time,” said Zarvora.”They have stolen the codes from somewhere, and hidden them here, for all to see but none to read. They can be arrested—”
“No, no, they will tell more lies, and before a magistrate, in open court!” exclaimed the Mayor of Rutherglen at once. “This could be the makings of a war.”
“Lots of wars,” added the Mayor of Tandara.
“Not if the Tiger Dragons make the arrests, and bring all concerned back to Libris for discrete questioning,” said Zarvora. “I can oversee that, once I am Dragon Black.”
“But the Peerage can oversee that now!” protested Cotteram.
“Two members of the Peerage share control of the Oblivion Chamber, and have allowed it to be used as a public code exchange,” Zarvora pointed out. “I would not.”
“Reference, Reference removes the books for the users,” said Cotteram.
“Quite so, but Accessions staff leave the books unshelved for six months,” said Zarvora. “Whose orders allow that?”
Zarvora's enrobement ceremony finally took place in the late afternoon. The staff of Libris had been on alert all day, waiting for the word to rush to the Investiture Hall, and the vigil candles had burned down twice and been replaced. Suddenly a bell began ringing, and was quickly joined by others. Presently every bell in Libris was warning that the staff should hurry to the Investiture Hall, and the corridors became jammed with librarians, attendants and external guests.
The Peerage was seated and armed as the audience streamed into the hall, but there was an important departure from the ceremonies for lower ranking dragon librarians, and even from the investiture of the previous Dragon Black. The area behind Dragon Gold Cotteram and Dragon Gold Aymoran had been cleared, and before them were two dozen Tiger Dragons, twelve kneeling and twelve standing, all with the fuses of their matchlocks smoking. Beside them stood several of the mayors of the Southeast Alliance, and their expressions were grim and unsympathetic.
The light was streaming through the leadlight windows at a nearly horizontal angle as Zarvora entered. The older members of the staff at first thought that she was one of the Highliber's retainers, for she was dressed in a black cloak over a black tunic, gathered at the waist by a black leather belt with a haematite clasp. In a complete departure from tradition, she wore trousers that vanished into calf-length black boots, and as she walked her boots made no sound at all. This was because she had affixed black sheepskin to the soles of her boots with resin, but nobody else was to know that. To all the onlookers in the hall, Zarvora seemed to have the footfall of a shadow. Some looked to the darkening windows, and wondered if there was some symbolism in the gathering darkness.
The Mayor of Rutherglen drew his sabre and pointed it in the direction of Dragon Gold Cotteram and Dragon Gold Aymoran, who were by now so thoroughly alarmed that they scarcely dared to breathe.
“Form to!” ordered the mayor.
The Tiger Dragons took two steps on the spot, the action in perfect unison and sounding like two gunshots in the echo-prone hall.
“Present arms!”
The two lines of Tiger Dragons held their weapons forward, and the mayor walked slowly up the double line, then back again, nodding his approval, and even allowing himself a little smile.
“Release guards!”
Two dozen trigger bars clicked free. Urine began to drip from beneath Aymoran's chair.
“Take aim!”
The matchlocks came up, and twelve barrels were trained on each of the two Dragon Gold librarians. The mayor raised his sword.
“Dragon Librarians of Libris, we are gathered here today to celebrate the enrobement of Dragon Silver, Highliber Zarvora Francelle Cybelene to the rank of Dragon Black,” declared the mayor. “There is, however, the small formality of an endorsement by the Peerage of Dragon Golds of Libris. I now call upon the Peerage to proceed with this vote. Please excuse the presence of the firing squad, there are matters of security and treason currently under investigation, but I am sure that it will all be resolved in the days to come.”
The mayor allowed his arm, still holding the sabre high, to tremble slightly. Cotteram's mouth dropped open a fraction. To her surprise and relief, she found herself still alive.
Dragon Gold Lucoste of Diplomacy very, very slowly raised her sword.
“Frelle Speaker, I motion that a vote be taken to revoke the denial of the petition of Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybeline to be made Dragon Black,” Lucoste declared.
“Second?” asked Cotteram, and the head of Beamflash Networking raised his musket—although much more slowly than at the previous vote.
“In favour?” Cotteram asked.
Very slowly, four weapons were raised. One of them was the sword of Frelle Lucoste, who had enough experience with diplomacy to know when to change sides. Aymoran did not move.
; “Against?” asked Cotteram.
Aymoran still did not move, mainly because he was paralysed with terror. Cotteram did not raise her weapon.
“Four in favour, one abstention,” declared Cotteram. “Because there is an unassailable majority, the Speaker's vote is not required. I—”
“Hurry up, my arm is getting tired!” snapped the Mayor of Rutherglen.
“Frelle Speaker, I motion that a vote be taken to enrobe Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybeline to the rank of Dragon Black,” declared the Head of the Beamflash network.
“Second?” asked Cotteram, her voice now reduced to a squeak.
Dragon Gold Lucoste raised her sword.
“In favour?”
Four weapons were again raised.
“Against?”
Cotteram's eyes darted to Aymoran, but he still sat petrified.
“Four in favour, one abstention, by an unassailable majority I declare Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybelene—”
“You will use the correct form of my name or you will not live to see another dawn!” said Zarvora sharply. “An incorrect form of address can be used as grounds to challenge my enrobement at a later date.”
The Mayor of Rutherglen grinned, and again allowed his sword to tremble a little.
“Four in favour, one abstention, by an unassailable majority I declare Dragon Silver, Highliber Zarvora Francelle Cybelene to be enrobed to the rank of Dragon Black!” babbled Cotteram.
“Stand weapons, secure guards!” ordered the mayor, and the rattle of two dozen trigger bars locking down whispered through the hall.
The mayor slowly lowered his sword. Cotteram stood up, walked to the dias and took the Dragon Black sash from its cushion. Approaching Zarvora, she spread it wide to drape over the Highliber's neck and right shoulder. With a speed that showed why she had won so many duels, Zarvora snatched it out of her hands.
“Protocol dictates only that I be presented with the sash of office,” said Zarvora, who then removed her cloak and draped herself with the sash.
“On behalf of the mayors of the Southeast Alliance, I congratulate you on your enrobement,” declared the Mayor or Rutherglen, and Zarvora acknowledged his words with a bow before turning back to the Peerage.
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