by Mark Robson
Several turnings later, the slightest of noises behind her raised the hairs on the back of Femke’s neck. Trying to appear casual, she looked around. She could see nothing. The long shadows of evening were deepening. Whatever had made the noise was well hidden, but it served to warn her of the possibility she might have picked up a follower.
CHAPTER FIVE
Reynik looked around the vast hall of the city library and his heart sank. There was an army of books, thousands upon thousands of them, marching in rows along the bookshelves. Within each of those volumes were hundreds of pages, and on each page were hundreds of words. Large high windows admitted shafts of light: great diagonal vessels filled with a swirling miasma of dust. Despite its size, the hall felt musty and close. The smell of leather and beeswax hung in the air as thickly as the dust. Reynik pinched his nose, twitching and rubbing it to try to relieve the itching sensation that had begun the moment he had stepped through the door.
When he and Femke had decided this was the most likely avenue for finding proof of the location of the assassins’ lair, he had pictured skimming through a few books and the answers leaping out at him. The reality of the magnitude of his task was overwhelming. One look at the huge walls of books made scouting around the Imperial Palace and counting vents, as Femke had first thought, seem a lot more appealing.
Proving that the Guild of Assassins’ headquarters was below the Imperial Palace was never likely to be an easy task. Femke’s initial idea of seeing how many vents actually emerged within the Palace and comparing the number with those found outside was sound in principle, but getting access to every underground room and cellar in the Palace would be all but impossible. What he needed was written evidence – if there were any.
What were the chances that the Guild allowed anything to be written down? Little to none, most likely, he thought with a silent sigh of resignation. The search here could prove futile, but he felt he had more chance of finding something here than he did of penetrating the Palace at the moment. The Palace guard had at least doubled over the last few days. No doubt the Lords looking to gain the Mantle would verge on paranoid over the coming weeks – with good reason.
The library appeared empty. Reynik began walking from one bookcase to the next, scanning the spines for anything that might lead him to the section he required. The only sound was the distant noise of people outside the building and that of his footsteps, which seemed almost to echo around the great space. The near silence added to the feeling of reverential awe that the room inspired. Reynik began to place his feet with more care, hardly daring to breathe for fear of polluting the stillness.
‘Can I help you?’ The voice was female and soft.
Reynik turned in surprise. Despite the silence, he had not sensed her moving up behind him. Femke would not have been impressed to see him caught off guard so easily. The young woman he faced was taller than average, and slim, with willowy limbs and a friendly smile that looked almost apologetic.
‘Are you the librarian? It’s just that I thought . . .’
‘That the librarian would be a man?’ she asked, her expression hardening to a reproving stare. ‘You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Now, what can I do for you? Are you looking for something specific?’
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ Reynik replied, giving her his most winning smile in an effort to make up for his unfortunate opening comment. ‘I’m something of an architect. I design buildings for the nobility: mansions, large houses, you know the sort of thing. I was wondering, do you have anything by the architects or builders of the Imperial Palace. The buildings that make up the complex are fascinating, and I would love to get some sort of insight into what the designers were thinking when they built certain elements of it.’
His obvious enthusiasm for his subject made a positive impression. The librarian’s face softened again as she replied.
‘The Imperial Palace? Yes, well we don’t have floorplans, or the like, of course. Such information is not open to the general public. However, we’re bound to have something that will interest you. Come with me. I think I know where we should begin looking, but it would be as well to check in the index first. That is what it’s for, after all. All the books and documents here have been stored in order of the date of printing and cross-referenced by subject matter. I don’t know how much we will have in the way of material, but if you give me a moment, then we should be able to find something for you to read.’
The librarian led Reynik across to a large table on which was the biggest index system he had ever seen. Flicking through the boxes of filed parchment, the librarian quickly found what she was looking for. Nodding to herself, she murmured pleased-sounding noises as she made mental notes of her findings.
‘As I thought,’ she said. ‘We need to look over here.’
Once again she led him across the library, this time to the end furthest from the main doors. She did not hesitate, but led him straight to a particular shelf where she proceeded to run her index finger along the spines until she found what she was looking for.
‘Here’s one . . . and here’s another,’ she said, tipping each out in turn and passing them to Reynik. ‘There should also be some more over here. Yes, here we are. There are several more here. Hmm, that’s odd!’
‘What?’ Reynik asked, his ears pricking immediately. ‘What’s odd?’
‘Two of these have been tagged, but I’ve never seen tags this colour before.’
‘Tagged? What does that mean?’ he asked, sensing potential trouble.
‘It’s part of our library administration system. Normally a tagged book has particular handling restrictions. For example if this were a blue tag, then the book could only be handled in the presence of a librarian. If it were a gold tag, then the book is regarded as so rare as to be priceless. Those books may only be viewed in a locked side room. Books with gold tags are obviously not kept out on the general shelves, but you get the idea. I’ve been working here a couple of years now, but I’ve not noticed any books with a black tag before. I’d better go and check what the handling restriction on these books are before I let you look through them, if that’s all right.’
Reynik regarded her for a moment, looking for any hint that there might be more to the tags than she was letting on. Either she was telling the truth, or she was an extraordinarily accomplished liar, he thought.
‘That’s fine,’ he said, putting his discomfort down to unwarranted paranoia. ‘Go ahead. I’ve plenty here to be getting along with.’
Reynik took his stack of books across to a nearby table and shuffled through the volumes before choosing which one to begin. The tome he picked was thick and looked to contain a lot of detail. He had barely skimmed the preface before the librarian returned.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said, her face a little flushed. ‘The tags were old; left over from a previous indexing system, I believe. I’ve removed them now. Here you are.’
He thanked her as she handed over the books and she gave him a weak smile before beating a hasty retreat. There was something strange going on here, he realised. The librarian had seemed perfectly organised and confident before finding them. It was true that no one liked to look the fool. Maybe she felt her lack of knowledge about the tags made her look unprofessional in some way. Regardless of the reason for her fluster, he determined to keep an eye on her as best he could whilst reading the books. He knew he could not be too careful whilst in the heart of Shandrim.
Reynik placed the two books on the top of the stack and returned to his first choice of text. He was not a fast reader. This was going to take some time. Opening the front cover with a sigh, he began reading. Within a few minutes the text drew him in such that he forgot his intention of monitoring the librarian.
At the other end of the library the young woman sat down at her desk, pulled out a piece of parchment and, with shaking hands, swiftly scratched out a short note. She signed it, folded it and sealed it with the city library seal. She glanced n
ervously across the hall at where the young man sat reading. He looked oblivious to her, lost in the pages of the book in front of him. She rose silently from her table, crossed the short distance to the main door and slipped outside. The grand entrance steps between the twin columns led down to a small square.
It took less than a minute for her to find a boy willing to run an errand for a few copper sennuts. As she watched him race off down the street clutching the letter, the librarian wondered what would happen next. The instructions in her desk on what to do if someone asked for those two books had been strange. The administrative notes had led her to a sealed letter placed on a high shelf in an obscure corner of one of the side rooms. The letter had clearly been there, unopened, for some years. The instructions it contained were most specific, and a little worrying. She had the distinct feeling that by following them she had made trouble for the man in the library, but what was she to do? The letter was clear: if it were found she had not complied with the instructions, she would lose her job. She loved working in the library. It was the most rewarding job she had ever done. She did not know what sort of trouble she had made for the young man, but she feared the worst.
Femke knew that it would be impossible to lose a competent tail on horseback in the city without setting off at a gallop through the streets. A galloping horse would create so much noise it would leave a trail of witnesses that even the least skilled of trackers could follow.
It was irritating, but she knew she had to change her plan. Thoughts of a bath and a hot meal would have to wait a little longer. If she were to lose a shadow, particularly one with any skill, then she would have to dispense with her horse. She thought hard for a moment. Deception and caution would be the key. If there were someone following her – someone sent by the Guild – then whatever she did would have to be slick if she were to shake him.
It took a few seconds, but she formulated a new plan. There was an inn not two streets away that would serve her initial purpose. The prickling sensation on the back of her neck had not gone away. She felt sure now that someone was creeping along behind her. It was not that she heard or saw anything to confirm it, but more like a sixth sense – a certainty that someone was watching. It was not a comfortable feeling. If the watcher had a distance weapon like a crossbow, or even a throwing knife, she would make an easy target. The temptation to kick her weary horse into a gallop was strong, but she suppressed it. Keeping her horse at a steady, plodding pace, Femke forced herself to stay calm and show no outward sign of her unease.
Every step seemed to take forever. In reality it was a mere handful of minutes later when she guided her mount around the final corner and up to the inn. The stable boy was quick to take the reins and help her out of the saddle. She thanked him for his swift attention and gave him a few coppers.
‘Do you know if there are any spare rooms tonight?’ she asked as she handed him his tip.
‘Yes, my Lady. Plenty.’
‘That’s good. Thank you.’ She set off towards the main door, but turned just before she reached it. ‘Would you mind bringing my saddlebags inside, please?’ she called.
‘No problem, my Lady. I’ll just settle her into a stable and I’ll be right with you.’
Femke took the opportunity to surreptitiously scan the street as she turned back to the front door. She saw nothing, but then she did not expect to. A skilled operative would never be seen so easily.
She went inside. The taproom was all but empty. Those who were there looked to be the sort of regulars who wore grooves in the furniture. They all appeared so at home, they could have been a part of the decor. The proprietor took one look at her clothing and a broad smile crossed his face. In an unconscious gesture, he swept his few remaining hairs across the top of his head as if trying to conceal his almost complete baldness.
‘Come in, my Lady. Take a seat. What can I get you? You look as if you have travelled some distance today,’ he said, bustling up to her and making a great fuss of taking her hand and leading her to a nearby table.
‘Actually I was wondering if it would be possible to take a room for the night,’ she replied, sitting down gracefully into a chair. ‘It has been a long day.’
‘Of course, my Lady! No problem at all. Just you wait there a moment and I’ll go and see which rooms we have available. I’ll be right with you. Did you want me to bring you something while you wait?’
The innkeeper brushed instinctively at the grubby apron spread across his ample torso. Femke glanced at his hands. At least he had clean nails, she thought. That was a good sign. His face looked flushed, though the room was not overly warm. She could only presume that this was his normal complexion.
‘Would it be too presumptuous to ask for food and drink to be taken to my room?’ she asked. ‘I’d appreciate some privacy and quiet this evening, as I’m tired and not in the mood for company.’
He nodded, his expression one of understanding.
‘I’ll take your order shortly,’ he replied. ‘Just bear with me whilst I arrange a room for you. I’ll be back in a moment.’
Femke looked around. The taproom was typical of the locality: dimly lit, a low ceiling with exposed beams, and tables of various shapes and sizes, many of them showing the signs of repairs. The room smelled of smoke from the open fire mixed with odours of cooking food and a hint of stale beer, most likely from spillages that had not been properly cleaned up. The smell was not unpleasant, but neither did it cause her to inhale deeply to soak it up.
The door of the inn opened again and a figure, hooded and cloaked in black, stepped in across the threshold. Femke instinctively reached for her most accessible blade. The stranger took a couple of steps inside, threw back his hood and unbuttoned his cloak. Several of the regulars instantly called out greetings. He was clearly well known here. She let out the breath she had instinctively held. Blood pounded in her ears as she felt the burn of adrenalin deep in her gut. She began to relax a little again, though she remained edgy. She watched the newcomer carefully until one of the serving girls had brought him a drink and he had settled himself at a table with two of the other regulars.
After a couple of minutes the innkeeper bustled back into the room. ‘I have a room that should meet your needs, my Lady,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Come this way, please.’
Femke got to her feet and allowed the innkeeper to lead her through a doorway into the heart of the inn. The corridor was narrow, and a rickety wooden staircase at the end of it climbed steeply around two right-angled corners to the first floor. There was another narrow passageway at the top of the stairs. Doors were situated at regular intervals along both walls. The innkeeper led her forwards until they reached the penultimate door on the right. Here he stopped and produced a large iron key from his apron pocket.
‘This will be your room, my Lady. It’s one of our better ones.’
Femke stepped through the door and into the bedroom. It looked comfortable, if a bit spartan. There was a bed, a single chair, a small chest of drawers, a boot rack, a cloak stand and a tiny dahl table. The walls were decorated with hangings that had seen better days. Bare wooden floorboards were covered in two places by small rugs – one next to the bed and one in front of the chest of drawers. There was also a small, wall-mounted mirror at an average lady’s face height above the dahl table.
‘This will do fine, thank you,’ she assured him.
‘Very good, my Lady. Young Thommis will be up with your saddlebags shortly. Now, what would you like to eat? We have roast beef and vegetables, or rabbit pie, on the menu tonight.’
‘Some of the beef and vegetables will be fine, thank you. And a small glass of ale, please.’
‘Beef and vegetables with a small glass of ale – no problem. I’ll be back with your food just as soon as I can. Will there be anything else, my Lady?’
Femke was tempted to ask for a tub of water in which to bathe, but she did not anticipate staying long enough to enjoy a bath. ‘No,’ she said, giving him a tired smil
e. ‘The food and drink will be all, thanks.’
The innkeeper withdrew. As soon as she was sure he was not going to re-enter, she went straight to the window and partially opened it. A glance outside revealed that her room was at the back of the inn – ideal for her purposes. She opened it further and leaned out. There were no obvious climbing routes down to the rear courtyard, but that was not a major problem. She had a small length of rope in her saddlebags. All she had to do was to wait for the stable boy.
It would be as well for her to eat here. Working on the assumption that she had been followed, her tail would most likely watch the inn for some time to confirm she was planning to stay, before going either to report or to fetch some back-up. It would be a fine line between waiting long enough that the watcher would be fooled and so long that he could leave and return with help. She hoped the innkeeper’s ‘just as soon as I can’ would not be too long.
Femke had barely sat down in the solitary chair when there was a tap at the door.
‘Come in,’ she called. It was Thommis with her saddlebags. ‘Just put them on the bed for now, thank you.’
‘Will that be all, my Lady?’
‘Yes, thank you, Thommis . . . actually, no. There is something else you can do for me. If you have time, I’d really appreciate it if you could give my horse a rub down and a good brushing. She worked hard today. Would a senna cover it?’
The stable boy’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, my Lady, a senna would be fine.’
Femke dug in her purse and flipped the silver coin to him. He plucked it from the air and gave a rough imitation of a bow.
‘I’ll see to it that she gets a good feed of mash as well, my Lady. She’ll have her hay, of course, but I’ve always found that horses recover faster if they’re fed an oat mash after a particularly hard day.’
Thommis left with a bounce in his step. Femke smiled at his enthusiasm. No sooner had he gone than her food arrived. It was still early evening, and the inn was not yet busy. The innkeeper was clearly looking to stay ahead of his customers for as long as he could.