Starwatch

by Ian Blackport

  “I haven’t stepped into his study in more than a year. My memory might be hazy. Or I suppose he could’ve rearranged things.”

  “Lovely. So I’m supposed to presume you know what you’re talking about?”

  “I have an idea. Give me a minute while I find a quill.”

  Kimiko scrambled from sight and Maylene felt inexplicably vulnerable without the young student. A tense span of time crawled past until she finally returned with fluttering parchment in her fingers. She handed a scrap decorated with incomprehensible scribblings to Maylene.

  “Match this word exactly with Chaereas’ labels. It spells out ‘library’. If the letters don’t look like these ones then it’s a key for a different door. He only has one library key.”

  Maylene studied the nonsense prose with a doubtful eye. “I don’t know about this.”

  “Pretend it’s a map. You only need to follow the precise lines. Don’t look at the word as a whole. Do each letter one at a time and it shouldn’t be as overwhelming.”

  Grumbling frustration, she crumpled the sheet and shoved it into one pocket. “Comforting to know even the galen pups are taught to be holier-than-thou.”

  “Think I’ll ignore that. Here, put this on.” Kimiko retrieved a brown woollen robe folded behind a shrub and tossed it atop Maylene’s knee. “Time to become a galen.”

  “I’m pleased to see you were able to acquire one.” Maylene inspected the material, noting an absence of nicks and stitching. “I don’t see stains or damage. Aren’t galen robes supposed to be battered? This one is pristine.”

  “It should be. Students elevated to galens are given brand new robes. It’s only the elder ones who need to mend their clothing after years of service. It’s obvious you’re a young galen.”

  “I’m flattered you’d think that.”

  “Someone like you will be wearing an unmarred robe.” Fingers traced over her temple and behind an ear without touching any hairs. “And remember, most guards know all the galens, but only up close. From a distance they won’t be able to tell who you are, and none will bother you.”

  “What about the students?”

  “Avoid the older ones. There aren’t many adepts, and they’ve each probably interacted with every galen. But the novices and learners won’t have. You can stroll right past them without a problem.”

  Maylene scowled and scratched her irritated neck. “Damn thing itches like mad. Why the hell would galens make the fabric this coarse and unpleasant?”

  Kimiko shrugged. “I think it’s the same type of cloth used a thousand years ago. Maybe that was the most comfortable material available then. Or maybe it’s supposed to build patience.”

  “Must everything be a bloody test in your order?”

  “Everything I’ve gone through has been.”

  Maylene stood and smoothed kinks from her robe into a more regal fit. “You’ve done what I requested. The night is yours.”

  Kimiko nodded and departed without another word, leaving Maylene alone to comprehend how absurd the whole scheme was. An audacious ploy such as this belonged to Cyriana, not her. Maylene made a habit of never being seen, operating as a ghost in the night whose presence might not be uncovered for days afterward. Traipsing through a courtyard swarming with galens and kiddie galens seemed not only brazen, but also a short path to discovery.

  Maylene lifted a woollen hood over her head and set out, avoiding fountains, pathways and other more frequented areas. She kept her gaze ever forward, suggesting a mind lost in thought and unwilling to entertain interruptions. The ruse appeared curiously fruitful until a squeaky voice echoed in her ears.

  “Excuse me, Professor.”

  She glanced sidelong and spied two diminutive boys nervously staring upward at her. With scruffy, windblown locks of hair, pudgy faces and scattered freckles, neither stood higher than her stomach. One even had a dribbling nose and wiped it with an embroidered sleeve. Damn it all to hell. They were actually adorable. Maylene did not like what she was becoming, cursed by some impractical yearning to be kindhearted and patient. What inconceivable poison encouraging such behavior was splashed over the robe she wore? Children were confounding, ugly menaces to be avoided or ignored. Not cute critters filling her with unwanted sentiments.

  Maylene folded her arms into voluminous sleeves in what she trusted was a fittingly galenesque gesture. She silently hoped neither wanted her to critique a written report or whatever nonsense was assigned here. That would bring the charade to a crashing halt. “Yes, young ones?”

  “We have a question,” said one.

  “What’s the north star called?” asked the other lad.

  Gods be praised, she actually knew this one. Seven years earlier Maylene became hopelessly lost in the Karbraen mountain range within Prydin’s Domain after bandits ambushed her caravan. Forced off the main roads into untamed wilderness, one traveler had taught the others how to navigate by the north star’s light. Though she disparaged the tale that inspired its name as maudlin sap, the knowledge may well have saved her life. “It’s named after a great hero of old. Alistair the Pious.”

  Their eager little eyes blossomed with excitement. “Thank you, Professor.”

  “Run along.” Maylene made gentle shooing motions with her hands. “I have work to do tonight.”

  The younglings scampered around a fountain and beyond sight. Wretched little monsters and her intolerable affection toward them. She sighed and continued across the manicured lawn toward Starwatch Tower. Several guards lingered along a branching fork in the path, and Maylene fought against her every instinct by not eyeing them. She faced forward and thereby obscured her unfamiliar features in case one happened to glance in this direction. To everyone watching she hoped to give the impression of a galen performing a crucial task and therefore eager to not be disturbed. Her normal recourse once discovered while trespassing was violence. Regrettably, stabbing or delivering head wounds were out of the question tonight.

  She wandered through an entryway into the tower and eyed small pockets of students relaxing amid artificial ponds and creeks. Maylene selected a route over and between the unnatural waterways that would grant her as much distance from others as possible. A narrow stairwell beckoned and she hurried within, resisting the urge to throttle someone. How many lost souls living in the streets struggled to find sustenance and often starved to death while Starwatch had the misguided wherewithal to construct fake pleasure canals? She would take an inordinate amount of joy in stealing from these wasteful bastards.

  Maylene climbed several floors via winding stone stairs and pathways, emerging on the fourth. Home to adepts in their final years of study, this level filled her with dread beyond all others. She traversed a hallway, halting once it spilled into one chamber and drifting voices brushed her ears. Maylene peeked past a bend and glimpsed four students occupying furniture arranged before one window. The staircase she needed was opposite the room, within her eyesight yet beyond reach. Dialogue drifted from their relaxed nook and flitted across an empty expanse to where she lurked.

  One male uttered a laugh. “Have you listened to nothing Professor Kadira has taught us?”

  “I’ve listened to it all,” answered another male who suffered from a grating, nasally voice. “But I’m certain she’s wrong.”

  “You think you know better than centuries of teaching?”

  “I think academics are sometimes unwilling to question tradition because the easier path is to accept its truths.”

  “I’m telling you, the parallel postulate can’t be proven using the other four postulates,” claimed a female. “Do you know how many thinkers have tried proving it?”

  “None for at least a century. Galens assume the previous findings are correct.”

  “Maybe because they are,” interjected a different student.

  “But you know better?” the female inquired.

  “I’m only suggesting. Doesn’t it seem as though we should be able to deduce it from the others?
Unlike the previous four, the fifth postulate isn’t self-evident. What if we tried verifying it with a proof of contradiction? I’ve read about Galen Proclus’ success using the method to define rational numbers.”

  “Numbers are one thing,” she claimed. “Axioms are altogether different.”

  The nasally one cleared his throat with a rough gargle. “What’s the harm in trying?”

  “You mean beyond wasting your time when you could spend it doing something useful?”

  “I defy you to name a better use for my time than furthering our understanding of a geometric postulate.”

  Maylene leaned back and rubbed her forehead. These galens spoke more nonsense than she had ever been subjected to in her life. Whatever the hell that conversation was about, it seemed to be attracting their full attention for some unfathomable reason. Pressing one shoulder against the wall, Maylene mouthed a prayer for their unstimulating discourse not to tire and strode forward.

  Students continued arguing the merits of some gibberish theory she started to suspect might relate to mathematics. Maylene did not know why anyone would ever need or want to understand arithmetic beyond how many silvers were in a gold coin. She drew closer to an awaiting entryway framed with decorated marble pillars and the steps beyond. Conversation ceased in midsentence and a tingle snaked up Maylene’s spine as she anticipated discovery.

  The arrogant twerp with clogged sinuses did not disappoint. “Professor!”

  Maylene slipped around a corner as though she had failed to hear his imploring voice and felt panic knot within her stomach. The staircase was too far to reach without sprinting and risking noise. Closed doorways lined the corridor, though Maylene had no idea whether any were locked and unable to accommodate her. Her frantic eyes glanced upward, noticing wooden columns climbing to rafters and carved buttresses. Impatient boots drew nearer from behind and Maylene scrambled for shadowed pillars, thrusting one foot against a column and the other upon a stone wall. She gritted her teeth and shimmied higher one painful step at a time, thankful she chose to wear leather shoes with traction rather than silent moccasins. Maylene’s reaching hands grasped a beam and she heaved until her dangling legs found purchase.

  Two students wandered into sight beneath and halted amid torchlight wearing puzzled expressions. Gods, did any galens have even a moment of peace in this bloody school? Maylene scrambled to wedge herself against one sloped rafter without scattering dust and grit dirtying the wood.

  The male who had first called for her attention ruffled a mop of unruly black hair. “Huh. Guess she didn’t hear me.”

  “Sure she did,” responded a female. “Probably didn’t want to answer another one of your endless questions. Wouldn’t have thought that possible, but you somehow managed.”

  “Funny,” he replied. “You see who it was?”

  “Nope. But I’d wager you’ll have ample opportunity to bother her at another time. You’ll have to wait at least another day for a galen to shut down your absurd postulate theory.”

  “Until it’s proven and galens sing my praises.”

  Maylene listened to asinine chitchat and receding footsteps until alone once more. She descended with care and landed in a crouch beneath one column’s shadow. Certain she had no company in this stretch, Maylene padded toward the steps and ascended without incident.

  Three additional floors passed in blissful solitude until she reached the eighth. Candlelight flickered in cracks beneath doorways, signifying chambers occupied by galens lost in research or reflection. She slipped through hallways with minimal noise, ever alert for an opening entry. Maylene caught flashes of one robed figure meandering an adjacent passage, though the person failed to notice her trespass.

  She breathed a gratifying sigh upon reaching the Headmaster’s private room and crouched, running one forefinger over the brass keyhole. Maylene felt thankful Kimiko delivered such a beneficial floor plan, along with Chaereas’ insistence he be given a secluded study nestled at one hallway’s end. His demand for isolation made her confident this intrusion would not be interrupted for the duration required.

  Cracking her knuckles, she lifted a torsion wrench in one hand, an offset diamond pick in the other, and set to work. A smile crept onto her lips, pleased to perform the first task tonight she was likely to enjoy.

  *

  Clanking mechanisms groaned and the floor shuddered to a halt. Aryll stepped past Blaer, unlatched a bolt and shoved the lift doors ajar. Endless shelves filled with all the world’s knowledge greeted her arrival.

  “What a marvelous contrivance,” Fendrel proclaimed. “You galens are an ingenious breed.”

  Aryll shrugged and helped drag crates beyond the lift to the tune of squeaking wooden wheels. “The principle is little different from a dumb waiter. Surely your master’s estate has one.”

  “Three, as it happens. But to place a cooled bottle of wine on one is a different experience altogether than riding in it. Imagine what fantastic conveyances we might have a century from now.” Fendrel tugged gloves from his hands and tucked the leather within a pocket. He stared upward at a lacquered balustrade ringing the higher level. “Is that the third floor library directly above us?”

  “Nope, still the second level.” She closed heavy lift doors and strolled closer. “I know it’s confusing, but each floor is actually two stories. You wouldn’t be wrong to say the House of Wisdom is really six floors rather than three.”

  “I suppose there’s a necessity for that many, given all the volumes stored here.” Fendrel reached into the crate and withdrew a thick book banded in gold leaf. “Shall we begin?”

  “Squabbles Old and New by Shiara Thirith,” Aryll remarked, running her finger over the cover in his hand. “I read this one a year ago. Fascinating, even if it was a little wordy.”

  “I take it you already have that tome. Shall I return it to my master?”

  “No need, we like having duplicates. We even transcribe our own with some. Over the course of their studies, each adept is expected to copy no less than two books to expand the library and for selling to collectors. It teaches patience, too. You can imagine the time needed to produce a facsimile of an entire book by hand.”

  “I’d prefer only to imagine it. And if one makes a regrettable mistake while copying?”

  “Like I said, patience.”

  “I think I might destroy several in a rage.” Fendrel leaned close to one shelf and rubbed his beard with a hand. “Why is Ierullo Baskarsis next to Menin Trallandor? Shouldn’t Baskarsis share shelf space with Basket, Baskman or some other similar sounding name?”

  “Author is the fourth factor, subservient to date, subject matter and geographic origin in that order. Baskarsis and Trallandor both wrote their texts in the Year of Silent Tolls. Ariella Estrith penned two books, Pathways Unchanging and Words Unspoken, Regrets Unvoiced. But they’re separated by about five shelves rather than stacked beside one another, since she composed them twenty years apart in different Prydinian provinces. If Ariella chose varied genres, her books wouldn’t even be on the same level.”

  “I’m abruptly having difficulties wrapping my head around this.”

  “It might seem overly complex at first glance,” Aryll admitted, “but it’s actually a rather intuitive system. I can locate anything within minutes if I know all its details. The system is also helpful if you’re missing any features. Let’s say you have a book’s name or the date it was written, though not the author. If we filed by that method alone you’d be lost in here for an eternity. But with certain other details you can at least narrow your search down to particular shelves. Daunting still perhaps, but not hopeless.”

  “Why not inquire with a librarian?”

  “Students are expected to be somewhat competent on their own. Librarians can’t help us all. Especially when some overeager ones come here looking to retrieve ten books.”

  “I don’t mean to cause offense, but isn’t that the reason why librarians exist?”

  “Each
librarian is a galen in their own right. Beyond sorting books they have research to do, lectures to give, treatises to compose. Not much spare time to guide every person by the hand.”

  “I suppose not.” Fendrel eyed shelves twice his height curving around the tower and continuing on another level above. “Though I’m not certain I could ever understand each component of your elaborate filing system without their help.”

  “It takes some students years to make sense of it. Older ones are often encouraged to help the youngest ones. I didn’t feel comfortable finding resources on my own until about third year.”

  “Fortunate then that my path did not lead me here as a child.”

  “You’d have figured it out I’m sure.” Aryll felt a hollow knot budding in her stomach and could not discern why. She swiveled in a circle until the culprit dawned on her.

  “Is something the matter?” Fendrel inquired.

  “Blaer. Did you see her wander off?”

  “I’m afraid I did not. Was she not supposed to?”

  “I’m responsible for you two while in here. If she damages an artifact then it’s my neck on the chopping block.”

  “I’m sure she’ll reappear soon enough. Should we continue in the interim?”

  “Not until we find her. You don’t understand the trouble I’ll be in if she’s seen unescorted.”

  “As you wish,” he replied, peering down one row. “I think I remember her eyeing this stretch.”

  Aryll rounded a shelf and glanced to either direction. The Zyreni woman hunched over a librarian’s desk housing the directory for each floor. A nauseating wave faded and she drew a calming breath through her constricted throat. “There she is.”

  “Ah, no need to fret.”

  “Crap,” Aryll muttered, glimpsing a frail figure shuffling in Blaer’s direction. “There might be.”

  “What is it?”

  “Death himself is lurching toward her.”

  “Wait, what—”

  “Galen Karys!” she called, ignoring Fendrel and leaving him to stutter alone. Aryll scurried to reach the antique librarian before he sought to strangle Blaer or undertake some other ludicrous and unseemly response. Shriveled and damn near decaying on the outside, his vicious mind remained regrettably unyielding. He had reduced more than one timid student to tears during their first foray into the library, and Aryll counted among that number. She spent all the intervening years waiting for his mind to become addled and reduce him to the intellectual capacity of a blubbering infant. The wait had grown interminable.