“At least that aspect doesn’t leave me feeling uneasy.” Cyriana eyed charred wisps billowing from the smoldering crater and felt a moment of unease. “Still a month to go until 21 Nashrenir. We might devise a more subtle resolution in that time. I wouldn’t mind not seeing this in action again.”
Chapter 11
Let all the world’s knowledge henceforth be gathered in one library, where the brightest and most eager academics will assemble for dialogue and debate. No longer shall a thousand scholars and antiquarians each amass a thousand scrolls of literature and wisdom to fill a thousand personal collections. My mind rebels at continuing in the fragmentary manner we’ve followed for centuries. Only together as one voice can we hope to learn the mysteries that have eluded our ancestors.
An address delivered by Galen Honorius, dated 7 Katerinis
A.U.C. 641, Eleventh Regnal Year of Empress
Octavia Tiberianus Drusilla, the Learned
24 Kilessin
Maylene inspected pallid wax reflecting lantern light and snapped the brass locket closed. She tucked it within a pocket and did likewise for spare wax lining another thin case. Lock picks and torsion wrenches were arrayed atop tanned chamois leather, which she rolled and placed into her doublet.
Thorkell finished ruffling a pleated cravat dyed dark burgundy and frowned. “Remind me again why you need to do this. Risks are necessary, but unnecessary risks threaten the game. I’m sure you can pick the damn lock when the time comes.”
“I don’t doubt I could,” she answered. “But how much time will I have? There’s no way to know how long it might take me, or how rushed our timeline. Securing the key fixes both dilemmas. There’s also the chance a lock this valuable might be warded.”
Desin glanced over from where he sat at the table, a smattering of raisins held in one hand. “Warded? You mean sealed with spells?”
“No, not with spells, you moron. We aren’t living some faery tale. Warded means the lock has specific obstructions to prevent it from opening unless the right key is used. The obstacles are called wards.”
Desin grumbled and ambled toward the door. “Going downstairs for a drink.”
Watching him depart, Maylene shook her head and slipped a dagger up one sleeve. “Can’t even take my friendly abuse. Thought a street kid would’ve had tougher skin.”
“All this talk of wards,” said Thorkell, “means what for us?”
“Means I’d have a much tougher time trying to bypass the thing. When I have wax impressions for the key you’ll see the complexity I’m talking about. There’ll be intricate cavities and notches, while the lock boasts grooves, bends and other bullshit hassles. Let’s all believe in the lock picker’s professional opinion for once. Might not seem intuitive, but slinking into Starwatch and waxing the key may prove faster than picking a warded lock.”
“We’ll have to trust you,” affirmed Cyriana.
“At least one person has a little faith. Plus this way I can survey the tower’s interior and verify its layout before we march in blind.” She glanced toward the false-facer. “You’ve also given me the ideal entry.”
“You’re certain they won’t have the presence of mind to search underneath?” Thorkell questioned. “It does seem rather self-evident.”
“Why would they? This is a school, not a lord’s castle. They aren’t infallible.”
“I’ll write those words on your tombstone if this all goes to hell,” Cyriana promised.
“Funny.” Maylene regarded the pale con man while he stared into a small mirror, ostensibly primping his fancy scarf, though she suspected he was only admiring the reflection. “How do I know you won’t fail wretchedly tonight, pretty boy? You know nothing about books.”
“Ah, but I’m fluent in falsities. And I only need to pretend to know about books. Feigning expertise and truly having expertise are so utterly unrelated as to be different matters altogether.”
Zalla rapped a knuckle against the common room’s entry and leaned within from the hallway. “Our carriage is outside waiting.”
Maylene slipped a narrow stiletto into one boot and cracked her fingers. “Rope made certain the contents are as we requested?”
“He’d damn well better have,” snarled Cyriana.
“Far as I can tell, everything’s there,” Zalla answered, prodding a loose splinter in the doorframe with one finger. “I can’t be sure unless I unpack it all. Would you like me to?”
“No reason that I can see. Twine hasn’t failed our demands thus far. This was also the easier list to fulfill.”
“Plus we’ll have some time on our hands during the leisurely ride,” Maylene added. “We can investigate while we’re bored.”
“Once again,” Cyriana inquired of the youngest felon, “what’s your name?”
Zalla scrunched her face for a moment. “Blaer Sororssa, from Miklagard on Zyrah Island.”
“Good. And your Irbi isn’t too rusty in case you’re introduced to a Zyreni galen?”
“I’ll be fluent in it forever.”
“Ah, right. My mistake in asking. Remember, the most crucial aspect of any con is exuding confidence. That’s why Thorkell is so damned good at this stuff. He’s among the most arrogant men you’ll ever meet.”
“Confidence,” Zalla repeated. “I can be confident. I’m a Zyreni named Blaer. I grew up on the Molten Sea coast and paid homage to King Malvald Thonarsson. Nothing to it.”
“Isn’t Thyrsus the king?” Thorkell questioned.
“Only for the last three years. Malvald would’ve ruled if I’d lived there as a child.”
“Why do I even ask? Of course you damn well know.”
Zalla wrinkled her forehead and offered him a bemused stare. “Wait, you’re actually Zyreni. I’m just pretending to be. Do you honestly not know who your own king is?”
“I left home two decades ago. I didn’t care who sat his arse on the throne when I lived there, and I sure as hell don’t give a shit now that I’m almost a thousand leagues to the south.”
“He’s a worldly fellow, as you can imagine,” Maylene said.
Cyriana turned her gaze to Zalla. “Sounds as though you’ve put more thought into this scheme than Thorkell. But if you aren’t thrilled with lying, then shrivel up and adopt a shy persona. Leave Thorkell to field questions and handle subterfuge. Given how much he loves hearing his own voice, this shouldn’t be difficult.”
Maylene whacked Thorkell on the shoulder. “Watch out for her, you pompous prick. You’re not in there alone tonight.”
“I’m insulted you think I’d do otherwise. Zalla, I give you my word one eye will always be observing you.”
“Only because the man’s enamored with your posterior,” Maylene affirmed.
Zalla blushed and retreated into the hallway without uttering another word. Maylene answered Thorkell’s glower with a jovial smirk and watched him depart grumbling. She turned and found Cyriana seated at a table as though carefree. “Have any plans for the evening, Cy?”
“There’s a chicken downstairs that needs eating.”
“Don’t rightly know how you endure this life. I’ll pray for your good fortune while hiding from lethal guards.”
“Desin also labors under a fatal misconception that he can best me in High Royal.”
“You’re going to play cards with a sleight of hand connoisseur? What makes you think he won’t cheat?”
Cyriana glanced up, her hands deftly shuffling scarlet cards she had produced from a pocket. “The fact I’ve cheated at the game myself for the better part of a decade. I’d like to see him try out cheating me.”
Maylene sighed and paced toward the gaping door. “Enjoy your night.”
*
Pallid candlelight flickered over the unwound scroll atop Aryll’s cedar desk. Florid script was penned a century earlier in High My’shirl, language of the ancient My’shi Empire’s classical era. Most galens living today continued to believe the dead tongue should be the preeminent speech for
academia and staunchly refused to translate My’shirl into Thierr or any other living dialects. Though beautiful, Aryll’s bitterness stemmed from the frustration of learning a new language at age ten in order to read even simple texts. More advanced tomes were frequently written in the needlessly convoluted Old My’shirl, and she felt thankful to rarely ever need one.
Movement caught her eye and Aryll glanced beyond two vacant beds to see Kimiko reaching for the doorknob. “Where are you off to tonight?”
“Outside to the gardens,” replied Kimiko. “Thought I’d go for a walk and clear my head.”
“Want me to come along?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s nothing against you, but I’d rather be alone tonight.”
“Oh, okay. I understand. And I’ll be here if you change your mind.”
“Thanks for understanding, Aryll.”
Once alone, she returned to the scroll and Eusobia’s incomprehensible prose. Aryll suspected she might never truly grasp nor appreciate the intricacy of poetry, which did not seem like a terrible fate to suffer. The medium was impractical compared to medicine and astronomy, little more than a distracting pastime from more noble pursuits. She vowed to never again consult a poem after her requisite studies were finished, and admired older students for their scholastic freedom.
A timid tap sounded beyond her entry and Aryll turned. Crossing the modest chamber she shared with Kimiko, Aryll unbolted its latch and opened the door to find a diminutive novice draped in flawlessly tailored clothing. The young girl could not have been older than perhaps eleven, likely in only her first or second year studying basic fundamentals. She waited in the corridor, wringing tiny hands together and darting her eyes at the floor. “Learner Aryll?”
“That’s me.”
“Headmaster Chaereas wants you to meet him in the Tower Galleries.”
“Thanks for the message.” She closed the door partway and paused when the child did not move. “Was there something else?”
“Do you want me to take you there?”
Aryll smiled at the youngster and shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll find my own way.”
A shy nod answered her declaration and the novice scampered away from sight. Aryll shut the door, crossed to her wardrobe and slipped out of an informal doeskin tunic. She donned a more refined violet frock with sheer sleeves and pearlescent embroidery on the shoulders. Her bare feet slid into flat sandals with black lacing.
Aryll bent her arms and surveyed the worn fabric. At three years old, the dress was beginning to show its age. A slender tear broadened atop her right elbow and Aryll hoped the flaw was not noticeable. Children of the nobility were endlessly cruel to those whose families struggled to achieve wealth and respectability. The sin of not being born into the aristocracy forever excluded her from earning their reverence. Rising costs for boarding at Starwatch prevented her parents from affording any new clothing this year, and Aryll had mended all she owned with a meticulous eye. Training for when the order granted her a galen’s robe following the completion of studies, she often joked.
She strode through the dormitory hallway and descended one winding staircase leading to a veranda. Students milled on benches or grassy knolls, sipping drinks and snacking on sweetmeats dusted in confectionary sugar. She passed one marble fountain and followed a brick pathway wending through groomed gardens into Starwatch Tower. Candlelit chandeliers depending from the high ceiling banished night and danced over mock creeks flowing through the galleries.
Chaereas waited alongside two strangers on the opposite bank of an artificial pond sprinkled with floating lilies. A scabrous frog splashed into placid waters and swam from sight while Aryll crossed atop one arching wooden bridge.
“Thank you for meeting me here,” Chaereas said.
“Of course, Headmaster.”
He turned to the strangers and beckoned for her to come closer. “I’m pleased to introduce you to Aryll, a gifted learner and sixth year student.”
“The pleasure is mine,” responded the man. “My name is Fendrel Ornaen and this is my associate, Blaer Sororssa.”
“It’s nice to meet you both,” she replied.
“That is a radiant dress, my dear. If you don’t mind my saying.”
Aryll felt her face flush. “Thank you. Professor, may I ask what this is about?”
“Fendrel and Blaer represent a wealthy benefactor who is regrettably living his final days. With no heirs to inherit his considerable estate, he’s chosen to generously donate some of what he owns to us.”
“He was ever a gracious and enthusiastic patron,” Fendrel asserted. “He financed small theater performances, commissioned promising painters and supported musicians and bards whenever possible. As the manager for his estate and affairs, I was appointed to liaise with Starwatch in this matter.”
“Aryll, I would like you to escort Fendrel and Blaer to the House of Wisdom and assist in cataloguing their donation,” instructed Chaereas. “I can think of few other students who have spent as much time in our library as you have.”
“I hadn’t known you were aware of my habits, Professor,” Aryll admitted. “And I only browse the shelves when my other studies are finished.”
“Voracious readers grow into the most knowledgeable and renowned galens, and let no one tell you otherwise.” Chaereas directed his attention to Fendrel. “Aryll is at your service. You’ll find no greater guide in our tower.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Professor,” Aryll said.
“I regret that I’m unable to escort you personally, owing to a prior commitment I have on this night.” He placed parchment into Aryll’s hand. “Here. It lists the donated items. As an addendum I added where in our library each is to be placed.”
Dark brows lifted on Chaereas’ forehead and he reached into his robe. “Almost slipped my mind. Please pass this along to your master and convey my gratitude for his generosity.”
Fendrel accepted a folded letter and pocketed it in his waistcoat. “I’ll be certain to.”
“Goodnight to you both. I leave you in Aryll’s capable hands.”
“Fare you well, Galen Chaereas,” remarked Fendrel. He clapped pale hands together and smiled at Aryll through a trimmed auburn beard. “Shall we depart for your famed library?”
*
Blackness engulfed Maylene, wedged upside down under their hired carriage. She wriggled sweaty palms clutching padded handholds and tilted an aching neck to one side. Cramps burned through both shoulders, a bearable discomfort compared to the restraining band slicing into her back. She spat gritty morsels from a mouth tasting of dirt, wondering how much filth encrusting the avenues she had inhaled.
Footsteps sounded as the driver climbed down and meandered in a circle. To galens and patrolling guards, he was merely a bored man waiting for his clients to return. Thorkell had bribed him the equivalent of six months’ salary for additional considerations however, so he had damn well better perform as commanded. She shoved herself downward, unleashing fresh anguish where leather bit into sore skin, and craned her head for an awkward view. The driver halted alongside and Maylene heard him unwrap a snack. Faint voices drifted to her ears and she caught glimpses of two nearby sentries marching past benches.
Finally he lifted one boot, knocking the heel softly against a wheel. Maylene released wooden grips attached to the undercarriage and reached behind her back, unhitching a broad strap. Rawhide snaked through buckles, dropping her to the ground beneath with a muted thud.
She rested atop grass for a moment while massaging her shoulder with one hand. Even though Maylene only transferred under the brougham a short distance prior to reaching Starwatch, the ride seemed never-ending. Fiery pangs lanced through her entire body as their transportation lurched over rutted cobblestones or ascended inclines. As it turned out, positioning oneself below and behind horses was also not the ideal location to be. An obvious concept had she bothered to give thought toward the idea.
Maylene rolled atop
pained arms, crawling out from the carriage. She hauled herself onto bruised knees using wheel spokes, surveyed an empty lawn stretching into shadows under pallid starlight, and scampered toward awaiting bushes. No guards uttered a holler or accosted her, leaving Maylene to huddle against foliage. Discomfort lessened throughout enflamed joints and fatigued muscles until the pangs felt distant.
A dark figure coalesced behind one mulberry tree, scurrying closer with shoulders hunched and her head tucked low. Maylene’s distressed accomplice halted in a crouch, short breaths puffing from her open mouth.
“I started to think you weren’t coming,” Kimiko said. “Your stagecoach stopped a while ago.”
“Tell me about it. Be glad you weren’t the one in my position.” She brushed an errant leaf from one shoulder. “Time to get to work. Chaereas?”
“He’s keeping to his mystery engagement like you hoped. Though I couldn’t learn more about it.”
“Doesn’t matter so long as he isn’t in his chamber.”
“He won’t be. That’s the only thing anyone knew for sure. He’s off the grounds entirely from what I could gather.”
“Happy to hear your confirmation. And how will I know what key to lift?”
“Shouldn’t be difficult.” Kimiko brushed imaginary hair strands behind an ear. “He’s obsessed with order, so all the keys are labeled.”
“That makes things exceedingly difficult.”
“Why’s that?”
“I can’t read.”
“You…can’t read?”
Maylene lifted a warning finger. “Make one wise quip and I’ll smack you. Regular folk outside your hoity-toity inner circle aren’t given an education. We’re expected to scrape by on our gods given wits. Most don’t make it.”
“Okay, it still shouldn’t trouble you. I’ve been asked to speak with him in his office before. If I remember right, the library key is third from the left. Will you know which one that is?”
“I’m illiterate, not a moron. Aside from making sense of letters, I’m fine. Wait, what do you mean if you remember right?”
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