The Broken Sphere s-5

by Nigel Findley

  "In any case," the young man went on, "it's not an uncommon problem in Compact. One of the disadvantages of living in a theocracy is that sometimes the faithful let their fervor get a little out of hand." He shrugged again. "The True Path is supposed to be one of peace, but people sometimes forget that it extends to unbelievers as well."

  "You keep mentioning that," Teldin pointed out. "What is the True Path?" He hesitated, then added tentatively, "If you've got the time to talk."

  The man flashed Teldin a disarming grin. "I've got the time," he confirmed. He glanced up at the sun, which hung, bloated and red, in the sky, to judge the hour. "Have you eaten highsunfeast?" he asked.

  "No," Teldin replied, "and I'd be glad to buy you a meal. Or"-he quirked an eyebrow wryly-"would that be against the Way of the Plain?"

  *****

  The blond man seated himself across the small table from Teldin. The place he'd selected reminded the Cloakmaster of the wineshops he'd seen on the Rock of Bral, except that it had small tables right out on the street, where the patrons could watch the passersby. It was one of these outdoor tables that the stranger had chosen.

  As his new acquaintance arranged his chair to his liking, Teldin examined him a little more closely. The first thing he realized was that he could well be as much as a decade off in his estimate of the man's age. His face was smooth and unlined, and could belong to a man of barely thirty summers. Yet his eyes belied that impression. They seemed calmer, more perceptive-wiser-than the eyes of a thirty-year-old had any right to be.

  The only individuals Teldin had ever seen with that combination of apparent youth and rare wisdom had been elves. Trying not to display his interest, he scrutinized the man's ears. Yes, they did seem to have the points typical of the elven race-though, granted, they weren't as pronounced as, say, Vallus Leafbower's.

  The newcomer smiled across the table at Teldin. "I have to say something before we take our meal," he said lightly. "Call it a tradition." Teldin's reaction must have shown in his face, because the blond man chuckled. "No," he reassured him, "it's nothing like the Way of the Plain. It's just that I never let someone buy me a meal unless I know his name."

  Teldin felt his own face relax into a smile. "Aldyn Brewer," he said deciding to stick with the pseudonym-at least for the moment.

  The blond nodded graciously. "Well met, Aldyn Brewer. My name is Djan"-he pronounced it DYE-un. "Djan Alantri, of Crescent."

  Teldin shot him a surprised glance. "Of Crescent?" he echoed.

  Djan chuckled again. "Yes," he confirmed, "I was born here. My father was a priest of the True Path-that makes me a Child of the Path, as I told that lout earlier, and worthy of respect."

  He shrugged. "Unfortunately, my father had the, urn, marginal judgment to fall in love with someone who wasn't 'of the blood'-which makes me worthy of disrespect. It almost evens out."

  "You're a half-elf, then," Teldin stated. Djan nodded. "And that's a problem here?"

  Djan gestured around them. "Look at their faces," he suggested. "Notice anything unusual?"

  Teldin did as he was told. It took him a moment to realize what the half-elf was getting at. "They're all human," he said slowly.

  Djan nodded. "Blood is very important to the followers of the True Path," he explained. "If I weren't a Child of the Path, my life might have ended long ago." He smiled, as if what he'd just said didn't worry him at all. "In any case, I followed in my father's footsteps-I trained for the priesthood. But the ongoing prejudice got on my nerves. I quit, and I even left Crescent." He chuckled self-deprecatingly. "You know the kind of thing: leave home, see the universe. I only arrived home a couple of weeks ago."

  Teldin nodded slowly. That made a lot of sense. Even though Djan dressed like a local, and obviously knew much about the culture, there was something about him very different from those who'd lived their lives on Crescent. "Do you still follow the True Path?"

  "In my heart," Djan replied quietly.

  "And?"

  The half-elf s smile was back. "And what is the True Path?" he finished for Teldin. "It's the religion of Crescent, the worship of the god Marrak, Master of All Knowledge." He shrugged. "The faith itself is based around a reverence for knowledge and learning-an admirable tenet, if you ask me.

  Unfortunately, the Church of the True Path-that's the organized, bureaucratic religion that's grown up around the Marrakite faith-has made some changes. According to the Church, knowledge is to be revered… and just about everything else is to be repressed.

  "That's where the 'Way of the Plain' came from," Djan went on, "and all the other repressive trappings of the religion."

  "I don't know how I feel about organized religions," Teldin said quietly, honestly, "but I think I'd like one that put a high priority on knowledge." He gestured around him. "Crescent must be a dynamic place," he remarked, "always learning something new, always-"

  Djan cut him off with a snort. "Maybe that's the way it should be," he said dryly, "but that's not the way it is. That's something else the Church has changed. According to Church doctrine, the only knowledge that counts is old knowledge. Everything that's important-everything that's real-has already been discovered. There's no need to try to discover anything more. Anything you think you find out that's beyond the 'true knowledge' is just lies, created by the Great Deceiver to lead us astray." He snorted again. "Nonsense, of course, and that's another reason I left Crescent: I realized it was nonsense.

  "But at least there's the Great Archive," he went on in a less cynical tone. "At least the Church has done something right, though maybe for the wrong reasons. They think they're protecting the purity of the Truth. What they're actually doing is providing an incredible service to scholars from all over the universe. Such as yourself, hm?" he added, smiling at Teldin.

  The Cloakmaster felt an icy chill in his stomach. "That's the second time you've said-or implied-I'm going to the archive," he pointed out, trying to keep his voice light, but doubting that he was succeeding. "How do you know?"

  The half-elf smiled broadly, disarmingly. "Why else would you have come to Crescent, by the mind of Marrak?" he asked. "To learn from our sense of fashion, perhaps?" He placed his gray-garbed arm next to Teldin's black-clad one, and flicked, the silver button on the cuff.

  Teldin had to laugh, his suspicions dispelled by his companion's easy manner. "Well said, Djan Alantri," he said with a smile. "So just where is this Great Archive of yours?"

  "We're not far from it," Djan answered. "Head up this street here. When you reach the main square, turn right. You can't miss it." He paused. "If you like," he suggested, "after our meal I can take you there. Perhaps even help you find whatever it is you need. The filing system is… interesting."

  Teldin hesitated. It was a kind offer, and a valuable one, too. He'd already been worrying about how he'd find the information he needed-considering the fact that he wasn't the most accomplished reader-even without hearing about the "interesting" filing system. But he instinctively wanted to avoid telling anyone that he was looking for information about the Spelljammer.

  "Thanks for your offer," he said, "but I can't tie up that much of your time." He hesitated again! "But," he added impulsively, "if you'd like to meet me for a glass of wine- here-after evenfeast…"

  The half-elf's smile broadened. "I would be honored, Aldyn Brewer," he replied politely.

  *****

  I should have known better, Teldin told himself wryly. Anytime someone says "You can't miss it," you're going to have the Dark Queen's own time finding what you're looking for. He chuckled dryly. The half-elf, Djan, had neglected to point out that Compact had several large courtyards that a visitor could mistake for the "main square." Teldin had based his search on one of those, and it had taken him almost an hour to literally stumble across the Great Archive.

  At least his wanderings hadn't been interrupted by any more fervent Marrakites out looking for unbelievers to discipline. As soon as he'd left Djan at the wineshop, he'd ducked into a des
erted side street and seen to his appearance. He looked down at his garb, simple breeches and jerkin of rough-looking gray homespun. If this doesn't follow the Way of the Plain, I don't know what does, he mused. Taking a fold of fabric between his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed the cloth. Although it looked like homespun, it still felt like the smooth, expensive fabric of his black outfit. He shook, his head in puzzlement. Sometimes when he used the cloak-now shrunk to the size of a necklace-to change his appearance, all details were changed, including, texture. Other times, however, there were surprising inconsistencies-like now. The results seemed totally unpredictable.

  Oh, well, he thought with a shrug, it won't matter for the moment. All I have to do is stay away from suspicious tailors.

  The Great Archive was one block ahead of him. He could see it clearly now. The street he was on was narrow, which surprised him a little. Shouldn't a thoroughfare leading to one of the city's most significant features be wider, more prominent? It wasn't even as busy, as crowded, as the other streets he'd wandered down, lost. He was surrounded by gray-clad natives of Compact, but no more than a dozen. He shrugged. It didn't really matter, did it? He headed toward the archive.

  And that's when he saw the figure ahead of him. It was a large man, dressed in sand-brown sheepskin and leathers. He was broad and muscular, with curly black hair that fell to his shoulders. The man looked as out of place among the smaller, drably clad Marrakites as a wolf among lambs. He had his back turned to Teldin as he looked out over the small square in front of the archive. As Teldin watched, he started to turn.

  He's dangerous. Very dangerous. The thought flashed into Teldin's mind without warning, with the intensity and suddenness of a mental shout. He had no idea where the thought came from, but that very fact made it impossible to ignore. Without hesitation, Teldin stepped off the road, into a narrow alleyway-quickly, before the curly haired man could turn and spot him. He flattened against the rough brick wall of a building. His heart pounded a triphammer beat in his ears. He held his breath….

  Just what the hell do I think I'm doing? he asked himself. Where did that reaction come from?

  Who was that man to drive him to hide? Nobody that Teldin knew-just another stranger to the city of Compact. The Cloakmaster had reacted to the mental warning of danger… but where had that warning come from, and why should he trust it? With a muttered curse, he stepped out from the alley again, and looked around for the broad-shouldered figure. But the man was gone, without any clue of the direction he had taken.

  Teldin cursed again. What in the Abyss had just happened? he asked himself again. Where had that sensation of danger come from? From the cloak? Certainly, the ultimate helm sometimes fed him information, or enhanced his senses-he recalled how it had let him see through the magical disguise of Celestial Nightpearl, the radiant dragon-but had this been an example of the same kind of thing?

  Or had his mind started to play tricks on him? Was this the first sign of the onset of paranoia? He definitely had reason enough to distrust strangers, considering his recent experience….

  No. He shook his head firmly. Smoothing his drab gray attire, he strode down the last block, crossed the small courtyard to the Great Archive, and climbed the marble steps toward the big double door.

  The archive was a huge building, sprawling over two city blocks. Constructed of finely dressed blocks of gray-white marble, it seemed to combine half a dozen architectural styles. Tall and narrow archways opened into broad, squat-looking colonnades. Pillars of several different styles flanked the stairway, and mismatched carvings and bas-reliefs covered the front facade. In any other setting, the mismatch of techniques would have looked chaotic, even ugly. The sheer size of the Great Archive made it all right, however. While Teldin would have found fault with a smaller building, the archive was so daunting that he simply accepted it: the archive was, and that's all there was to it. He hesitated a moment, then pushed open one of the huge, blackened oak doors and stepped inside.

  He wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting. If he'd been pressed for an answer, he'd probably have expected the Great Archive to consist of small, claustrophobic rooms lined, floor to ceiling, with shelves of leather-bound books and carefully rolled scrolls. But nothing's ever quite what I expect it to be, is it? he asked himself silently.

  The double doors opened onto a great circular hall, at least a dagger cast across. It looked totally empty: no people, no shelves of books. Around the periphery he saw arched doorways, leading off into the depths of the building. Right across from him, diametrically opposite the door, was a large, ornate wooden structure, like a huge magistrate's bench. It, too, seemed empty. He took a couple of steps across the polished marble floor toward the bench, his footsteps echoing hollowly, and stopped.

  The hall was almost as high as it was wide, walls and columns stretching up, ten times or more the height of a man, to a hemispherical dome above. The dome had windows set into it, windows formed of many small, irregularly shaped pieces of crystal, each a different color. The ruddy light of Crescent's sun shone down through them, its beams scattering into fragments and spears of a hundred hues, each dazzling his eyes as the multicolored stars of wildspace did.

  It took him a few moments of staring to realize that the colored glasses actually formed pictures. Men and women, three times life-size, strolled through forests of emerald green, under impossibly blue skies, or sat around tables in rooms hung with crimson and gold curtains. In a dozen frames, people dressed in flowing robes of luminous colors did incomprehensible things.

  Something tapped Teldin's left hip. With a start, he looked down.

  A small figure, dressed in gray shirt and baggy gray pantaloons, stood beside him, staring up at him. Brilliant green eyes flashed out of a weather-tanned face, framed with tightly curling brown hair. The figure was a gnome, quite obviously.

  "Are you here for the tour?" the small figure asked, his voice so fast-paced the words almost ran together. "If you are here for the tour, I'm very sorry to tell you there is no tour. There used to be a tour," he went on, without even a breath, "but so few people took the tour that we decided there was little reason to have a tour anymore. So if you're looking for a tour-"

  "No," Teldin said sharply, cutting off the torrent of words.

  The gnome's eyes opened wide, apparently startled by Teldin's brusqueness.

  "No, thank you, Master Gnome," the Cloakmaster went on, less forcefully. "I'm not here for a tour."

  The gnome looked relieved. "That's good, because we don't have a tour anymore, but if you'd like to hear more about the stained crystal windows above you, I can certainly tell you. They represent the Golden Age of Learning, when Marrak-may His wisdom always be praised-walked the face of the world, before the Great Truths were all learned, and before…"

  Teldin held up his hands, palms out.

  The gnome's words trailed off, and he looked puzzled. "You don't want to know about the stained crystal windows?" he asked after a moment. "Then what do you want?"

  "I want some books."

  The gnome blinked. "Ah, books, is it?" His face suddenly brightened again. "Well, you've come to the right place. As you may or may not know, this is the Great Archive of Crescent, and…"

  Again Teldin cut him off. "I know," he said evenly. "That's why I'm here."

  "Ah," the gnome repeated. "Ah. Yes. Well." The gnome blew out his cheeks. "What kind of books?"

  Teldin sighed. This conversation was going the way all his conversations did when gnomes were involved. "Maybe I should speak to someone in charge," he suggested carefully. "A librarian."

  "That's me," the gnome announced with a huge grin, hooking a small thumb toward his chest. "Second Assistant Third Backup Vice-Librarian's Aide (Day) Fazinaleantin Mememelnisikian. You may call me Fazin if you like."

  "Fazin," Teldin started, struggling mightily to keep his voice steady, "you're the Second Assistant Third Librarian's Aide-"

  "Second Assistant Third Backup Vice-Librarian's-"


  "Whatever," Teldin cut him off. Fazin's face fell. "Where's the First Assistant whatever the rest of it was? Or, better yet, the real librarian?"

  "I can tell you where they all are," Fazin pointed out.

  "Can you do it in five words or less?"

  The gnome hesitated for a moment, then started counting on his fingers. "They're… not… on… duty… today-and-they-won't-be-on-duty-for-another-week-or-thereabouts-but-if-you-want-to-come-back-then-you-can-talk-to-them,"he finished in a breathless rush.

  Teldin didn't trust himself to speak for a few moments. Although he recognized he was getting much better at talking to gnomes-a very specialized skill, if one wanted to avoid homicide-he still found it rather more taxing than mortal combat. "Can you help me find some books?" he asked at last.

  "That's my job."

  The Cloakmaster sighed. "Take me to them," he suggested.

  *****

  Instead of taking Teldin to the shelves of books as the Cloakmaster expected, Fazin led him to a small but comfortable waiting room off the circular hall. The gnome pointed to a small box containing square pieces of paper, a quill pen, and an inkwell. "You write down on the paper the subjects you want to read about," Fazin explained. "Then I go to the indexing system and locate the appropriate books. Then I bring them to you here. It's an efficient process, much better than you trying to use our indexing system yourself. After all," he added with a quick grin, "I've been studying it for six years now, and sometimes it still surprises me. When we get the new indexing system working, things'll be much better, but…" Apparently he saw the impatience in Teldin's face, because he slid the box of papers across the tabletop toward the human. "There," he suggested, "just write down what you want to know."

  Teldin looked down at the pen and paper. "Can't I just tell you?" he asked.

  Fazin looked scandalized. "You have to write it. That's the system, and the system won't work if you don't follow it."

  "Why?"