Starwatch

by Ian Blackport

  White tufts fluttered atop a scalp festooned in moles as he regarded her. “Learner Aryll, do you by chance know this woman flagrantly disobeying our protocols?”

  “I do, Professor. Her benefactor donated his collection to Starwatch and the Headmaster asked me to escort her and a companion to index the gifts. She simply wanted to consult the directory.”

  “Be that as it may, Galen Chaereas is not here to administer the House of Wisdom himself and ensure proper procedures are followed. Unless you wish to be expelled from our library for what remains of the year, I suggest you recall those rules.”

  “I will, Professor. You don’t need to worry.”

  “That is not for you to promise. As you were, Learner.” Karys turned to leave but paused to glance over a robed shoulder. “And remember, a student can be held back for reasons other than mere academics. Consider that when you are next given a task of importance evidently beyond your capabilities.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  Aryll watched the decrepit weasel slink away and scowled. What an arsehole. She knew all the librarians, and each was likewise familiar with her, but Karys was the worst by far. Of course he had to be the one to discover her minor indiscretion. No other scenario would have been demeaning and embarrassing in such disproportionate measures to her flub.

  Blaer came to a rest beside her and pushed an errant brown strand away from one eye. “I’m not sure I like that man.”

  “You have no idea what an understatement that is.” Aryll rubbed her forehead and faced the other woman, noticing that sweat slicked her reddened face. “Please try to stay with me. The fact that you’re even allowed to be in here is a privilege that can be taken away by any galen who doesn’t like your look. And as you’ve already seen, they’re not all pleasant. Karys will be waiting for us both to screw up so he can pounce.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought maybe I’d be allowed to wander a little and explore. I’m eternally fascinated by your tower.”

  “I can appreciate the urge, but you’re not permitted to wander at all unless it’s at my side. You’ll need to limit your curiosity to what I allow. Okay?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. Then keep close to me until we finish.”

  A sullen Aryll returned to Fendrel with Blaer in tow. Aside from mildly berating two misbehaving novices the previous year, she had never rebuked anyone before. The feeling did not sit well with her, yet professors expected such maturity from their students. If Aryll wished to one day be recognized as a galen, she needed to accept the discomfort that came with harsh words.

  Fendrel waited atop a stool with one book resting on his knee. “Time to resume?”

  “Now that we’re all back together, yes.”

  Fendrel assisted in removing artifacts from the crates, placing each atop table surfaces with a gentle touch. Blaer seemed sufficiently chastised and Aryll decided to forget the entire matter. The evening would be more enjoyable without lingering animosity.

  Aryll spied pale gray statuary and cradled it in delicate hands, lifting a small bust from one crate. “Is this Theodora Justinianus Cinatus?”

  “You have a keen eye,” responded Fendrel. “If I recall correctly that bust dates to, uh…help me out here, Blaer.”

  “A.U.C. 937,” she answered. “Some six hundred years ago.”

  “Blaer was always better at recalling minor details in our master’s collection.”

  “It’s in marvelous condition,” remarked Aryll. “I didn’t think any statuary from the empress’ lifetime survived beyond these walls.”

  “Few, I regret to say. And all in the hands of private collectors to my knowledge. Or buried beneath the ground and forgotten. Our master hoped this might enrich the history of Starwatch, provided you don’t already have one of her.”

  “We do, but that doesn’t diminish its value. Empress Theodora was a tireless patron of artists and sculptors, despite continual warfare in the north during her reign.”

  “I was unaware. One might say the piece is rather symbolic then.”

  Aryll placed the bust atop a desk and touched one finger to a smoothed furrow. “One might.”

  “Do you ever stare in awe, lost amid the knowledge contained in this one chamber?”

  She turned to find him standing motionless, his head craned backward to gaze at surrounding shelves one level above. “Whenever I’m in here,” Aryll responded. “Everything humanity has learned since the dawn of civilization at my fingertips. The potential overwhelms me sometimes.”

  “Is this what you love most about studying at Starwatch?”

  “It is. Problems tend to disappear when you can reach back into the mind of a chronicler who lived a millennium ago. I often wonder if they ever suspected their words would be read by someone like me so far beyond their lifetime.”

  “How could they not? I think a common trait for us all is the fear of being forgotten. We all strive to live on in some manner. For our ancient ancestors that desire manifested itself in the written word.” Fendrel lifted a hand and encompassed innumerable shelves with a broad sweep. “Every man and woman whose labors have survived in this tower will forever be remembered. Each achieved immortality with a quill. I believe they would swell with pride at the thought.”

  Aryll found herself smiling as she regarded the man once again. “That’s rather philosophical. Are you sure you’ve never spent time here before?”

  “I’ve merely had the chance to reflect on my own life and what I will leave behind. I cannot help but be envious of these long dead minds around me. In some ways they have bested even the gods.”

  “I like that thought. And I’m certain most writers would as well. You should consider scribing a book, if these are common musings for you. I’d sure you’d find an appreciative audience.”

  “Much as it would please me to do so, I haven’t the time. But what about yourself? Do you hope to one day share these shelves with famed minds?”

  Ignoring the impropriety of her dismissive response, Aryll left his inquiry unanswered and turned away. “Dang it. Where’d Blaer disappear?”

  “She possesses an insatiably inquisitive mind, that one.”

  “One that’s likely to get me booted from here as punishment. I don’t mean to offend you, but I’ve already made it clear I’m supposed to be watching you both at all times while you’re in here. Visitors are rarely granted permission to enter the House of Wisdom, even the ones bearing gifts. And I’ll come off as an idiot if any galen learns she slipped from my supervision twice.” Aryll settled a book latticed in scratches atop a small desk and rounded one stack overflowing with bound scrolls. “Blaer?”

  “I’m here.” She emerged into the pathway between shelves and tucked her head by way of apology. “I didn’t mean to cause you any stress. And I honestly thought you were still able to see me. I figured you weren’t in the mood to spend all night cooped up with us here, so I decided to help with sorting.”

  “Wait, you shelved a tome without me? Which one? Where?”

  “Journey Without Peer. I found space for it between Endrir the Elder’s Uncharted Notions and Vernal Slumber by Svana Helgadottir.”

  Aryll consulted her reference sheet and flicked green eyes toward Blaer. “That’s…strangely perfect.”

  “I can shelve more if you’d like.”

  “Wait a moment. How’d you understand our system? I didn’t even think you were within earshot when I explained it to Fendrel.”

  “You did? I wasn’t listening. I only happened to catch on after perusing several shelves and noting what I thought at first were discrepancies. The mistakes seemed too numerous to be unintentional, so I presumed the system was unorthodox and sought to understand it.”

  “I don’t even know what to say. I’m not sure if you realize how remarkable that is.” Aryll scratched her forehead and stole a glance toward Fendrel. “Are you certain he shouldn’t be the assistant?”

  Blaer offered him a teasing smirk. “I’ve wonde
red the same more than once.”

  *

  One faint click brought joy to Maylene, indicating a triumphant incursion. Gathering her tools, she climbed off aching knees and opened the door. She locked the entry behind herself and yanked the stifling robe off, tossing it to crumple atop a chair. Maylene padded into Chaereas’ study and summoned a heroic bout of willpower in order to refrain from touching any valuable curios. She only had eyes for a key collection dangling beyond his cluttered desk. One hand reached into her pocket as she halted at arm’s length from the wall.

  Jumbled squiggles adorned the parchment as though a convoluted dance. She furrowed her moist brow and glanced from Kimiko’s label to words perched above a row of seven keys, wondering how anyone made sense of letters. Finally one seemed to resemble the scrap in her hand, though she stood in maddening silence for several minutes until certain. The nonsensical markings above the key definitely matched the nonsensical markings she held. Victory at last.

  Maylene fished a rectangular locket from her jacket and unlatched the device. She withdrew a wax blank, warming the plate between her palms to make the substance more pliable. Praying she deciphered the lettering correctly, Maylene lifted a key and pressed one side into malleable wax. She delicately removed iron with a fingernail, reversed the key and placed its opposite face down.

  Satisfied with the impressions, Maylene closed the locket and opened a second brass case. She repeated the process until left with identical wax moldings of her chosen key. Skilled thieves routinely produced redundant impressions as a precaution in case one plate was ruined or made otherwise unusable over the course of escaping. Wax could be a fickle substance prone to cracking.

  Groaning floorboards echoed from the hallway, yanking Maylene around. She mouthed a silent prayer that the sound existed only in her anxious imagination, until shifting floors were replaced by weak voices. Horrified knots writhed in her stomach as she watched the doorknob turn. Frantic fingers rubbed wax residue from the key and slapped it onto an empty perch while cramming the locket down her trousers.

  She clutched the robe, flung her disguise from sight and scrambled for cover alongside it. Maylene squeezed into a narrow crevice between one bookshelf and the wall, stamping down on woollen fabric. Yellowed tomes clad in leather and reeking of decay littered each shelf, with scrolls wedged amid every gap. Unable to glimpse figures through stacked literature, she listened to clunking footfalls from perhaps two individuals. The entry creaked shut and shuffling feet stomped closer amid grumbles.

  “You claimed he was paid off.”

  “I thought the bastard was,” replied a throaty voice. “Raldir gave his word yesterday.”

  “We can no longer afford to rely on intermediaries after tonight. You’ll deliver the next message I wish sent personally.” Having spoken with an imperious command that did not allow for dissention, Maylene surmised the more lilting tone belonged to Chaereas.

  “You ended up getting what you wanted.”

  A hand slammed into his desk and Maylene heard something rattle onto the floor. “This was not supposed to be the way we acquired one.”

  “The skeevy bugger was likely to run straight to the Draugans after we left,” claimed the other man. He cleared his throat with a guttural hack. “You made him nervous.”

  “This whole episode is a debacle. His colleagues are certain to ask uncomfortable questions regarding his whereabouts.”

  “A botched theft or someone collecting debts from a hapless defaulter. The sorry tale writes itself. Even if there happen to be a few astute minds in that squalid hole none will think to point blame at Starwatch and the hallowed galens. You’ve done a fine job at being holy.”

  “Never again,” affirmed Chaereas. “Mark my words that this will not occur again.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so touchy. Fresh is always more desirable than stale, isn’t it? The man probably didn’t even have any friends to mourn him. No one with loved ones chooses to work in a cemetery.”

  “Bemoaning relations is not what troubles me.”

  “Ah, pesky morality,” responded the hoarse man. “Should’ve known that’d be imminent with a galen.”

  “Have you no remorse, no sense of shame?”

  “A man can’t help but ignore certain sentiments when he sells his sword. You should learn to do the same if you ever want to make a difference in this world. If you ever want to be remembered. I suggest you think hard on the reason why you started. A few evils and unscrupulous nights to change all we know. A man on the verge of success like yourself should be giddier at the prospect.”

  “Damn it all. Get out of my sight, Almar. And clean your blade before morning.”

  Fading footsteps echoed in the chamber until clinking bottles sounded. The other man withdrew a bolt from the door and paused at its threshold. “Aren’t planning to poke and prod tonight after all we went through?”

  The sullen reply came as little more than a whisper. “No.”

  “I suppose another day won’t make much difference. Don’t wait long enough for him to spoil though.”

  Liquid splashed into a glass while the entry groaned ajar and shut, leaving Maylene trapped with a crass galen. Chaereas ambled across his study and settled into a squeaking chair, uttering one longwinded sigh as though getting comfortable.

  Well shit.

  *

  Thorkell moseyed into the inn’s upstairs common room and sprawled onto a chair across from Cyriana. “What a splendid evening, friends.”

  Eloran glanced up from reading a worn and creased book. “Did Zalla perform well?”

  “Admirably, it must be said. Though the deception frazzled her nerves and she elected to retire for the night. With her gone to sleep it naturally falls to me to regale you with tales of our flawless exploits. Our young escort was well meaning and far too trusting. Been coddled her whole life, I’d imagine. Rich aristocrats and all that. My friends, if only you could have heard the poetry that poured forth from yon handsome mouth to distract her from witnessing the fiendish little things Zalla did. I’d share the erudite philosophizing with you all, yet I find myself unable to remember half of what I said.” Thorkell exhaled a contented breath. “Not one thing went awry.”

  “Enough dissembling.” Cyriana withdrew her forearm from one windowsill, eyeing Thorkell’s pristine ensemble and groomed hair. “Where’s Maylene?”

  “Huh? Oh, her. The lass was a no show at our rendezvous. Fine, I suppose one element went awry. Still a remarkable effort though.”

  Cyriana surged closer and clutched a cravat in balled fists, tugging his frame partly off the chair and feeling her ire rise. “You self-centered dandy. Did you not think for even a moment she might be in danger?”

  “Hardly. You and I both know Maylene is immune to being snuffed out. The gods themselves couldn’t squash her if they so desired. She’ll be fine and will wend her way back into our worried arms before sunrise.”

  “You had better be right,” she snarled, whacking him down into the chair once more.

  “When am I not?” Thorkell adjusted his clothing and withdrew parchment from one pocket, turning his stare toward Eloran. “This is for you.”

  The other man accepted the envelope and ripped it open. “What a pompous twit. Look at these swirls and loops. Chaereas thinks highly of himself undoubtedly.”

  “That’s rich coming from you.”

  Eloran scowled at the false-facer. “This will take me some time to do.”

  “Can you copy it?” Cyriana inquired.

  “Don’t be absurd. Of course I can replicate his penmanship. Dare I say I can even improve on it.”

  “No improvements, you insufferable braggart,” she warned. “Just copy letter for letter and make it snappy.”

  “Snappy? Do you understand nothing about my profession?”

  “Figure of speech, is all. Try not to take everything so damned literally.” Cyriana reverted her attention back to Thorkell and let her voice lower to a hiss. �
�You don’t leave my sight. Because if Maylene hasn’t returned by sunrise, you and I will be having an unpleasant chitchat.”

  Chapter 12

  Streets ran red, suspicion and mistrust reigned over decency and faith, neighbors eyed one another with hostility. Force innocent souls to suffer the truth of human depravity and they too will come to embody its horrors in an effort to survive. Madness breeds likewise.

  Author Unknown, To Witness Our Final Days

  94 Black Ruin, Year of the Blazing Sky

  The officer folded her exemption documents and handed parchment to Maylene. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am.”

  “No trouble at all,” she replied, tucking the envelope into one pocket. “I’m pleased to see soldiers watching over these neighborhoods. You’re a comforting sight after nightfall.”

  “And with good reason. There are thieves and criminals stalking the streets and preying on unwary travelers at night.”

  “Goodness me. I’d hate to encounter one. What a fright that would give me.”

  “Best get yourself inside and stay there,” the soldier instructed.

  “I’m on my way home now. Thank you for the warning.”

  Maylene continued onward beyond shuttered stores and abandoned vendor stands. Dim moonlight struggled to pierce clouds veiling the sky, leaving infrequent lamps to serve as the lone light during her tedious stroll. No broughams or hansom cabs waited for potential patrons amid these avenues, forcing Maylene to trek on foot from Starwatch to their inn. A needless frustration uncommon in grander cities dotting the continent. Stagecoaches were available for the fatigued wanderer to hire at all hours of the night elsewhere. A prodigious population of tavern goers and inveterate gamblers who did not care for sleep birthed the trend. Maylene’s foul luck she found herself in one city where the practice did not apply. Peaceful, pleasant, boring Arroyo was beginning to erode her patience.