“What can I do for you, Constable?” the elf said, his voice laced with condescension. Ansee read his tone and body language to say We are an exclusive club and do not welcome intrusions from the likes of you.
“I’m Seeker Carya. I have a letter of introduction to Archivist Locera that grants me permission to use the archives.” Ansee managed to sound authoritative, standing erect and showing the letter, but not handing it to the elf.
The elf looked down his nose at Ansee, which was quite a trick since they were same height. “Well, certainly. We are always pleased to be of assistance to our valiant Constables.” The words were said politely, but Ansee was sure that this elf would rather throw him out on his ass.
He didn’t, which was good. Instead, he turned and gestured for Ansee to follow. They walked down a short hallway to a large, irregularly-shaped rotunda at the center of the tree. A large seal, an oak tree with stars encircling it, was set in the floor. Written in Old Elvish script around the seal was “Preserving the Purity of Elvenkind in the Past and for the Future.” The seal and the lettering were crafted from different colored wood and set seamlessly in the wooden floor of the room.
Hanging from the ceiling above the seal were two flags. The current Tenyl flag hung on the left. To the right hung the older Royal flag, a red oak tree with two rampant red stags facing the tree on a field of blue. A balcony circled the room, with several doors heading off from it. Around the rotunda were several exits, doors, and small alcoves. Paintings hung from the walls, and statues and busts occupied the alcoves.
Ansee took all of this in during the few seconds it took his guide to quickly walk across the rotunda to one of the unmarked exits. This was another short hallway that led to stairs going down under the tree. They descended a couple of floors, the air taking on a damp, earthy odor, before entering a new chamber.
At this level of the building, the organic wood construction of the trees above had been replaced by stone pillars and a vaulted stone ceiling. Crystals glowed with a bright magical light from small niches set in the ceiling—an ostentatious display of wealth, Ansee thought. The room was rectangular in shape and had three doors leading from it, not including the arched entry for the stairs. The doors and the stairs were set in the center of each of the room’s four walls. Alcoves had been constructed at an even spacing to the left and right of the doors and the stairs, two alcoves on each wall, and each alcove had a wooden statue of an elven knight. All of the statues were decorated with real armor and real weapons held at the ready.
The vaulted ceiling was painted a deep azure blue with clouds painted in a brilliant white. Other parts of the ceiling were painted in shades of green to represent the boughs of trees, while the four large pillars were painted to resemble tree trunks, complete with birds’ nests and scampering squirrels. The walls, too, were painted with large trees receding into the distance, all to give the room every appearance of a forest, and not stone.
Ansee’s guide walked to the right-hand door set in one of the room’s short walls. The door had a label painted on it in the same flowing, Old Elvish script used for the motto upstairs. “Archivist,” it read. The guide opened the door and gestured for Ansee to enter. “Here you go, sir,” he said, before turning back to the stairs.
Ansee walked into a small room that was maybe twice the size of FC Aescel’s office at New Port. The room held a large wooden desk and two bookcases on the left-hand wall. Every flat surface was cluttered with piles of parchments, scrolls, books, and other items; many of the stacks were threatening to topple over. Ansee saw a chair to his right, in front of the desk, but it was also occupied by stacks of books and large rolls of parchment and vellum. Small woodcuts showing woodland glades hung on the right-hand wall and another magic crystal set in the ceiling provided light. On the wall behind the desk hung a large, ornately framed ancestry, finely illuminated in vibrant colors. The name at the bottom, written in flowing gold lettering, read “Locera.”
Sitting at the desk was an elf that may have been around FC Aescel’s age. He had golden-blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. He wore a simple linen tunic embroidered with green vines at the collar and had black sleeve protectors on both arms. He looked up as Ansee entered the room, setting down a large magnifying lens he’d been using to examine a document.
“May I help you?” His voice was soft, but strong and confident.
Ansee came to attention, but didn’t salute. “Seeker Ansee Carya, Royal Tenyl Constabulary, Acer Division. I have a letter of introduction from First Constable Aescel requesting that I be given access to your archives to assist us in an investigation.” Ansee handed the letter to Locera.
He stood quietly as Locera opened and read the letter. He talked absently as he read. “Aescel. Oh, yes…Malys Aescel. Son of Talwynn, son of Eoin, son of Revall. Did you know that all the Aescels for eight generations have been Constables? One was even Lord Constable Inspector.” He looked up from the letter.
“No, sir.” Ansee wasn’t sure if that had been a rhetorical question or not.
Locera set the letter on the desk. “Certainly, Seeker. It would be my pleasure to help the Constabulary. How can I be of service?” He folded his hands together and gave a cheerful smile.
“I need to examine your collection of weapon pedigrees.”
“How interesting. You know, our pedigree collection is the finest in the Kingdom.” There was a considerable amount of pride in his voice. “And thankfully, I’ve been able to keep those fools from the TSA from getting their hands on them.”
Ansee nodded. He appreciated Locera’s sentiment.
“Does this have to do with a murder case?” asked Locera, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.
“I’m really not allowed to talk about the case itself,” said Ansee. He fidgeted a bit on his feet.
“Can you tell me nothing?” Locera spread his hands as if to say, You have to give me something. “We have 2,071 pedigrees in our collection. Certainly you don’t want to look through all of them. That could take weeks.”
Over two thousand pedigrees! Ansee had not anticipated the size of their collection. He realized that he would need to tell Locera some information about the case in order to narrow his search, but he didn’t want to divulge too much detail. “I just need to look at the pedigrees for swords.”
“Oh! Just the swords, you say?” Locera blew air through his lips. “Only I have 1,087 sword pedigrees in the collection. Certainly you can give me a little more information. I’m only trying to make your job easier, you know.” He looked at Ansee with wide, almost pleading eyes.
Ansee wanted to give him more information. He hadn’t figured on there being so many sword pedigrees. But CI Lunaria’s voice sounded in his head as she’d told him earlier that morning: “Only give them as much information as you need to. We need to keep as many details about the sword to ourselves. We can’t risk the killer finding out what we know about the weapon. If any details get out into the public, I’ll know who to blame.”
Ansee had thought she’d been kidding at the time, but now, faced with the dilemma of sharing more details about the case or not, he started to think she was serious. The First Constable’s scolding and questioning his fitness to be in Acer Division were also at the forefront of his mind. I’m not going to be the one to mess up the case, he told himself, even if it means I need to spend several days to do the job.
“No, I’m sorry,” Ansee said firmly. “I am under orders to not say anything more.”
Locera shrugged, as if it was no concern of his. “Well, orders. I see. Mustn’t disobey any orders now.” He smiled and stood up, carefully walking around the desk. “Come with me,” he gestured. “I’ll take you to the archives.”
They walked across the stone forest towards the opposite wall. Ansee saw that the door to the right was labeled “Storage.” They stopped in front of the last door, labeled “Archives.” L
ocera pulled out a key and unlocked the plain wooden door.
Inside the room, Locera stopped and picked up a short three-pronged candlestick from a table by the door. Instead of candles there were crystals placed in the holders. Locera touched each in turn, activating their magic. “Expensive, I know, but I don’t allow any flames in here,” he explained. “One loose spark and whoosh, our great collection would be gone.”
Ansee nodded his understanding. Paper and flames do not mix well.
With the magical light, Ansee could now take in the room. It was large—bigger than the Stable at New Port. The walls had a detailed frieze at the top that ran around the room, showing elves performing a variety of tasks—working, playing, eating, relaxing. The room was filled to capacity with bookshelves, drawers, bureaus, and cabinets. Unlike Locera’s office, the archives were neat and orderly. Ansee saw nothing out of place.
“Wow!” Ansee couldn’t help himself. He had a fondness for libraries.
Locera smiled. “Yes,” he agreed. “Within this room is the entire history of Pfeta fey Orung, along with the personal histories, memoirs, and biographies of many of our members. Plus, we have other things stored here as well, like general histories, scholarly folios, works of poetry, plays, and other writings, along with all of the ancestries. I’ll grant you that Auros has a better collection of magical writings, but nobody can beat us for histories and ancestries; and not only of just our members, but of everybody in the Kingdom.”
“Everybody?” Ansee asked, incredulous.
“Well, not everybody,” Locera replied a little sheepishly. “But that is our goal. A majority of the work is done by volunteers and is very time consuming.”
“What about halpbloeden?” asked Ansee. He couldn’t help himself from asking, even though he thought he knew the answer.
“Certainly not!” Locera practically exploded with anger. “We would not taint our archives with the history of that filth. This hallowed room is for the preservation of elven heritage.”
“But certainly the halpbloeden have played a role in Tenyl’s history, both before and after the Purity Laws. They are a part of our Kingdom. Don’t their stories deserve to be told?” Locera’s reaction had gotten Ansee’s hackles up and he couldn’t stay away from the argument.
“The halpbloeden have no place in an elvish history. We do not record the deeds of oxen, or horses, or other beasts of burden. Why would we waste the ink on other such creatures?”
“But I’ve read of the deeds of famous war hawks and war horses,” countered Ansee. “And wasn’t it true that the repeating crossbow was invented by an elf who was later learned to be halpbloeden? Can’t the same be said for the elves who discovered the uses of willow bark or the magical properties of malachite?”
“Hacks and thieves, stealing the work and credit from the elves who should rightly be recognized.” Ansee could see that Locera was shaking. He knew plenty of elves who were just as passionate, and just as narrow-minded, about the issue, but he could never understand why.
“So, where are the pedigrees kept?” he asked, changing the subject. He wasn’t going to apologize for his own thoughts, but he was afraid that if he pressed the argument, Locera might explode in a rage and throw him out, and that would get him into trouble with Inspector Lunaria.
Locera seemed agreeable to the change in subject and regained his composure. “This way,” he said curtly. He led the way across the room. In addition to the books, scrolls, and other documents, Ansee saw all manner of knickknacks, small statues, and objects of art. Hanging from every open space were framed family ancestries. Some were extravagant, fully illuminated like the one in Locera’s office, while others were simpler affairs, with just names and lines connecting relations. Nearly all were faded, aged, and covered in dust.
Locera stopped at a table and gestured. “Have a seat, please, Seeker.” He was polite, but stiff. Apparently their earlier argument on halpbloeden was still bothering him.
Ansee sat down as the archivist removed a small key from his pocket. He unlocked a set of drawers, pulling open the topmost drawer. “I’m afraid I can’t give you free access to these files,” he apologized. “No offense, but I am very particular about my filing system and I just don’t trust anybody else, even an esteemed member of the Constabulary.”
Ansee considered whether Locera was just making this up as punishment for the halpbloeden comments, or if he was just this particular about the records. He finally decided that Locera was just protecting his archives—Ansee could be obsessive about how his own possessions were organized—so he nodded his understanding.
Locera set down a stack of pedigrees on the table. “Here you go, Seeker. Since you won’t tell me what you are looking for I will just give them to you in historical order.”
“Thank you,” Ansee said. He opened the satchel bag he carried and pulled out parchment, ink, and quills.
Locera saw the ink vial and cringed slightly. “Do be careful, Seeker. Many of these pedigrees are one of a kind. I’d hate for them to get covered in ink.”
Ansee reddened a bit. I’m not some first-term wizard at the Academy, he thought. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll be careful.”
Locera visibly relaxed. “Good. When you are finished with these, please let me know and I will give you the next group. If you need water or to relieve yourself, you will find facilities and a kitchen on the ground floor.” He pointed toward the ceiling with an ink-stained finger. “Please don’t bring any food or drink into the archives.”
Locera abruptly turned and walked away, leaving Ansee alone with the stack of pedigrees. “This shouldn’t take too long,” he said to himself. “How many black swords can there be?”
Fourteen
The bell above the apothecary shop’s door jingled cheerily as Reva entered. The shop’s scents overwhelmed her—a combination of herbs, roots, and alchemical odors. As she walked to the counter, she saw jars filled with ginger root, ginseng, willow bark, and other herbs and powders she couldn’t name. Bundles of herbs hung from the open rafters and a small collection of fresh herbs was growing in a window planter. A tall, willowy elf with auburn hair flowing down her back walked through a beaded curtain from the back room.
“Ah, Constable Inspector Lunaria,” her voice was soft and airy. “It has been some time. How is your mother?”
“Hello, Yasmin,” Reva replied. “Mom is doing well. That salve you made has helped relieve the ache in her hands.”
Yasmin smiled. “I am glad to hear it. Arthritis can be so painful, especially for someone as skilled in their craft as your mother.”
Reva nodded in agreement.
“What can I do for you today?” asked Yasmin. “Does your mother need more salve already?”
“No, she’s good. I think she still has half of the pot left. I’m here to get something for myself,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“I see. Some long hours at work lately?”
“You might say that,” Reva said. “I’ve been pulling some all-nighters.”
Yasmin nodded in understanding. It was a phrase Reva had used before on many occasions, though she hadn’t done so within the past year. “You know I’ll take care of you. Wait here.” Yasmin parted the beads and headed to the back room.
Reva milled about, opening a jar with cherry drops and taking one. She puckered as the sour flavor hit her. Yasmin’s apothecary shop had been one of the shops that Reva had patrolled before joining Acer Division. As with many of the businesses, Reva and Yasmin had reached an understanding—in exchange for some extra Constabulary attention Yasmin had supplied Reva with herbs and other remedies free of charge. When Reva had been in Betula Division, walking night patrols and working double shifts, Yasmin had introduced Reva to something that Yasmin had promised would help get Reva through the long hours—she had called it Wake.
Wake was made from the root of the siliac plan
t and was imported from the Kingdom of Cantull far to the south. The roots grew in thin bundles off a central root bulb and were a bright orange color. The root was called Wake because it had a stimulating effect similar to tabak, but was much stronger. Cantullians chewed the root, but it reacted with saliva, creating a red stain on the teeth and gums which involved a lot of spitting of red-stained saliva. Reva found this habit disgusting and had been reluctant to take the root until Yasmin had offered it as a snuff, which was much more agreeable to Reva and less distasteful to the general public. Most Tenylese thought of Cantullians as lazy good-for-nothings who sat around chewing Wake and spitting out red saliva all the time. It gave Wake chewers in Tenyl a bad reputation that Reva tried to avoid.
Yasmin returned with a clatter of curtain beads. Smiling, she handed Reva a small tin box. “Here you go, dear.”
Reva took the box and quickly opened it to reveal a fine, red-orange powder. She felt a tingle of excitement and anticipation as she smelled the sweet, nutty odor. Without realizing it she licked her lips at the thought of the first pinch.
Reva grabbed a pinch between her finger and thumb and quickly brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply, the fine powder being sucked up. Reva’s eyes opened wide, the foggy feeling in her head instantly gone, as if a strong breeze had blown it away. She was keenly alert now and ready for anything.
Closing the snuff box Reva smiled. “Thank you, Yasmin.” She put the case into a small pocket crafted into the front of her armor.
“This must be a tough case,” commented Yasmin. She knew Reva well, probably better than Reva knew herself.
“Very tough,” Reva said without thinking. “Two murders in as many days and I have no clue who the killer is.”
“Well, certainly you must have some idea?” Yasmin prompted. “You are the best Inspector in the RTC!”
Reva nodded at the compliment, acknowledging the truth. “Well, I think there’s a link between the victims. They were both members of Pfeta fey Orung, you know.”
Wrath of the Fury Blade Page 11