The boy’s eyes kept flicking to Jemeryl’s wrist. She judged that fear of sorcerers had scared him witless, and there was little point trying to reassure him.
She let the door swing shut and joined Tevi, who had cleared one of the tables. Jemeryl floated the globe above them. Its light glinted off the row of clean tankards hanging over the counter and cast shadows in the far corners.
She pulled back a chair and sat down. “I think breakfast is on the way.”
“You sound as if you have doubts.”
“I wouldn’t want to stake much on the abilities of our waiter for this morning.”
Despite Jemeryl’s misgivings, the door to the kitchen opened shortly, and the boy came out carrying a well-laden tray. With the general demeanour of a frightened rabbit, he sidled to their table and deposited a basket piled with rolls, bowls of honey and butter, an irregularly shaped lump of blue-veined cheese, two empty beakers, and a jug of warm milk. Then he turned and fled.
“What’s up with him?” Tevi asked, stifling a yawn.
“He’s frightened of me.”
Klara landed on the table. “It’s true that you don’t look your best in the morning, but that’s a bit excessive.”
Tevi laughed and poured the milk. “So what’s our plan of action?”
Jemeryl broke open a roll before answering and, after a critical appraisal of the cheese, rejected it in favour of honey. “I want to search the library. As I said last night, perhaps a reference to Lorimal was overlooked, and I could check if anyone’s shown an interest in your islands. I’ll also see if a record is kept of who takes ravens off-site. If not, it will be down to Vine’s memory to work out who could have sent the raven to Storenseg.”
Tevi had been less suspicious of the cheese and had squashed a wedge into one of the rolls. She swallowed before speaking. “Is there anything for me to do?”
“It’s a long shot, but we must remember we’re not sure the culprit is in Ekranos. One thing Iralin suggested is a rare component the spell requires, made from the nectar of the bucket orchid. The drug is narcotic and open to misuse, so it’s strictly monitored. If someone is working on Lorimal’s spell, they couldn’t openly withdraw it from the dispensary. I’d like to see if any has gone missing. Unfortunately, I don’t think we can trust Orrago’s books, and not just because she’s a suspect.” Jemeryl looked at Tevi. “Could you get access to the customs records? The nectar requires a special import licence, so it will be logged. If you can note how much has entered the school over the last three years, I’ll see if it can be accounted for.”
“The records are kept in an office not far from our guardroom. It shouldn’t be too hard to get a look at the books.”
“Great.”
“There’s one problem.”
“What?”
“I can’t read.”
Jemeryl caught her breath, surprised more by her own oversight than Tevi’s admission. “No, I suppose not. I guess a lot of people can’t.” Literacy was widespread in the Protectorate but far from universal. Maybe a third of the population could do little more than sign their own names. “It doesn’t matter. If you let Klara see the books, she can memorise them. I’ll retrieve the information when we meet.”
Jemeryl picked up Klara. For a few seconds, the two of them locked eyes. Then Jemeryl carefully returned the somewhat dazed bird to the tabletop.
“She knows what to do. Hold the page open in front of her; say the words, ‘Read, Klara’ and she’ll store the image.”
“Actually, I’ve just realised there’s another problem with Klara. I haven’t time to drop her off at the guild house.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll see she gets back.”
“People will wonder if she flies in on her own.”
“Tell them she’s a homing magpie.”
“Even mercenaries aren’t that gullible.”
“Then say a friend dropped her off. I can’t imagine anyone checking.”
Tevi licked the traces of honey from her fingers before pulling back the shutters of the nearest window. The roofs on the far side of the square stood out against the lightening sky. The stars were fading. She shrugged. “Oh, well. Maybe no one will notice. I’ve got to rush.”
A wave of cold air rippled into the room when Tevi pulled the door open. The town was emerging from darkness. A lone set of footsteps echoed from a nearby street. Somewhere, a shutter was flung back with a crash. Jemeryl stood at the doorway to claim one last kiss and then watched as Tevi strode across the square. She stayed until the mercenary disappeared into an alley, then she closed the door and looked around the tavern. Her eyes fixed on the remains of breakfast littering the table.
There was plenty of time before she was due back at the school. Dawn starts were not the rule for sorcerers. However, she would rather avoid the other customers and inn staff. The creak of floorboards overhead announced that people were stirring. The sound sent her hurrying back to the room she had shared with Tevi.
She had intended to pack and be gone as soon as possible, but a pensive lethargy washed over her once she was alone in the room. She wandered about restlessly, half-heartedly picking things up. It seemed so quiet and very empty now that Tevi had gone.
A pair of tall windows led onto a narrow balcony overlooking the square. Jemeryl abandoned the packing and leant her shoulder against the glass, feeling it cold and hard through her clothing. She stood for a long time, staring across the roofs of Ekranos while the growing light picked out the School of Herbalism, perched high on the distant cliffs.
*
Tevi marched through the deserted town. The beat of her feet echoed between dark houses. At a fountain, she paused to splash ice-cold water over her face, watched by a pair of cats huddled in a baker’s doorway. Two sets of unblinking eyes followed her as she set off again.
Cold air pinched the wet skin on her face. Tevi pulled her jacket around her and buried her hands in the pockets. The freezing water had swept away the last traces of sleep.
Soon, she emerged onto the quay. Dawn was breaking, pink on the horizon. Tevi walked along the salt-encrusted flagstones. The light was brighter in the open. The sea was a flat grey plain. Already, the dark figures of sailors were climbing in the rigging of the moored ships, readying their craft for departure on the tide.
A group of her colleagues was assembling by the customs house. Tevi slipped into their ranks while attempting to hide a yawn behind her hand, but it did not pass unnoticed. A string of predictable comments flew in her direction. Tevi laughed, taking the ribald teasing in good part. The senior officer arrived seconds later to instil order. After a few last jibes, the mercenaries settled down to receive their orders for the day.
*
The sun was just past its zenith when Jemeryl entered the library, leaving the warmth outside for the cool interior. The sudden change in temperature made her shiver. She stood in the cavernous main hall and stared around. Bookshelves stretched away on all sides like the ranks of a sculptured army. The central hall rose through all three floors of the building. Jemeryl tipped her head back to view the windows high in the domed roof. Shafts of light streamed past the balconies marking the upper levels.
She strolled forward between the rows of books, manuscripts, and scrolls. The air felt chill. Jemeryl imagined that the building gained in popularity during the scorching Ekranos summer, but in late spring, the temperature outside was pleasant and the aisles were virtually deserted.
The bookshelves themselves were a jumble of styles and woods, some plain and functional, some intricately carved. An ornate end panel caught Jemeryl’s attention. Through the branches of a tree, a tribe of monkeys played with books, squabbling and chasing among the leaves. One ape squatting near the bottom was experimentally chewing pages. Predictably, someone’s name was scratched against the dim-witted animal. Jemeryl considered the scene. Was the carving supposed to show the abuse of the tree of knowledge, or had the carpenter’s intent been more whimsical?
The shelves held
dog-eared pamphlets, yellowing with age, although the protective spells of the library kept them intact. Jemeryl started to pull one out but stopped. She had not come for entertainment.
This was her first free afternoon since the meeting at the Inn of Singing Birds, four days before. She had been tempted to go down to Ekranos. However, Tevi was on duty until long after midnight. Catching a snatched meeting during a meal break was not worth drawing attention to themselves. Jemeryl pushed the pamphlet back into place and walked on. If she could not see Tevi, she could at least do something useful.
The library catalogue was in a small ground-floor room leading off the main hall. Jemeryl stood at the doorway. A shelf ran along one wall. On it, leather-bound index books were neatly arranged, each with a handwritten label. At the far end was a desk with a heavy wooden bench in front; both were pitted and stained with age, although their characters were incongruous. The bench was simple square-cut timber; the desk was decorative, with legs carved like an overweight griffin.
After selecting an index, Jemeryl slid between table and bench, and winced as she cracked her knee against the desk. Its style was definitely ornate rather than practical. She sat, rubbing the bruise with one hand while flipping open the book with the other.
To the eyes of the ungifted, each page was simply a list of library contents, with notes on location, usable by anyone who could read. But to a sorcerer, it marked the end of an incantation web, where the essence of the library was mapped into normal space.
It was an impressive feat of magic. Once done, it required only minimal maintenance. The core spells were old, the achievement of bygone librarians, but there were fresh patches, neat and efficient, by the new chief librarian. Jemeryl examined Moragar’s handiwork, trying to gauge the abilities of her third main suspect.
He’s wasted as a herbalist. No wonder he opted to work in the library. Jemeryl smiled wryly at herself. She was sure Moragar would be flattered by her commendation.
At the back of the desk, a well-chewed quill lay beside an inkwell. Jemeryl found a scrap of paper and began noting down references. While she worked, an older witch wandered in and began flicking through another index. The rustle of paper competed with the scratching of Jemeryl’s pen to disturb the heavy silence of the library.
*
The following four hours did not produce anything apart from one dead end after another. Whoever had deleted evidence of Lorimal’s banned work had done a thorough job. Even her prior knowledge did not help Jemeryl discover anything prohibited. It was hard enough just to spot the holes where information had been withdrawn.
The afternoon was drawing to a close. Jemeryl wandered into the last section she intended to investigate that day, a long, thin room on the second floor. The walls on both sides were lined with rows of handwritten manuscripts, representing generations of sorcerers pursuing their own arcane interests.
According to the index, there was one junior thesis by Lorimal herself: “The prevention of cancerous growths and associated tumours.” It predated her illegal work by several years and was undoubtedly harmless. The item was too obvious to have been overlooked before. Jemeryl’s main reason for seeking out the handwritten thesis was a desire to touch something Lorimal had owned—a link with the woman.
The manuscripts were arranged, unhelpfully, by year rather than author or subject. Fortunately, Jemeryl could follow the web of the index, flowing down the room and along the shelves—to a blank.
She stopped short, staring at the spot where the manuscript should be. A second, meticulous search, taking in the shelves above and below, confirmed that it had not been misfiled.
Jemeryl tried to curb her excitement. There were legitimate reasons why the manuscript might be missing. First, she should make sure that the report had not simply been borrowed. Jemeryl pressed her hands against her face, trying to smooth her features into an expression of studious academic contemplation, and returned to the central hall.
If Lorimal’s manuscript had been stolen, it would point to the traitor, whereas if the manuscript had been taken for lawful purposes, the borrower would have openly declared it. The place to start was the register of library withdrawals, on the lectern by the main door.
The thick book lay open on a page half-covered in assorted handwriting. Sorcerers were allowed to sign out books, although apprentices needed authorisation. It took seconds to check that none of the entries on the first page related to Lorimal’s report, and then Jemeryl began working her way back.
Page after page turned. Jemeryl’s finger traced up the column of titles. By the time she was two-thirds of the way back through the register, the issue dates were a year old, and there were no longer any blank spaces in the column for date of return.
Jemeryl flipped to the preceding page. Her attention was totally given to her search, blocking out all else, until a voice made her jump.
“Can I help you?”
Jemeryl turned around to find herself face to face with the chief librarian. “Er...I was after a book, but um...someone seems to have borrowed it.”
“Which book was it? Perhaps I can remember.” Moragar raised a hand to his forehead as if hoping to push the memory into place.
Seen at close quarters, Moragar was both younger and shorter than expected, a squat, energetic man of about thirty. He possessed a bouncy enthusiasm seeming out of place in the solemn library. He also had a strong Walderim accent that caught Jemeryl’s ear even as she tried to extricate herself.
“Oh, it’s not important. I can probably find another book that will do.”
Jemeryl’s words were dismissed with an upheld hand. Moragar stepped to the lectern and looked at the open page. He shook his head vigorously. “Nothing is outstanding from that far back. Have you looked in the permanent loan record?” Without waiting for a reply, Moragar marched to a shelf and pulled down another volume. “What’s the name of the author?”
“Please, there’s no need to trouble yourself, sir.” If Moragar was guilty, she dare not alert his suspicions by showing interest in Lorimal.
“It’s no bother, and there’s no need to call me ‘sir.’ I’m not old enough to carry it off.” Moragar smiled in a friendly fashion and leafed through the book. He looked up, waiting.
Further evasion could only make things worse. In her most nonchalant tone, Jemeryl said, “It was a manuscript by a sorcerer called Lorimal.”
“Well, that’s not in here.” Moragar slammed the book shut and rammed it onto its shelf. The anger left Jemeryl off balance, but the librarian calmed just as quickly and patted her arm. “Don’t worry; it’s not you I’m annoyed at. I hate it when books go missing, especially originals. But we have a copy. Come on; follow me.”
Moragar bounded away down an aisle, leaving Jemeryl trailing in his wake, dazed by the librarian’s lightning mood shifts. He halted by a bookcase at the back of the hall. A thick volume removed itself from the top shelf and gently drifted down to land in Jemeryl’s hands.
“There’s a transcript in there. I think it’s Chapter Three.”
“Thank you.”
Jemeryl stared at the green leather binding while her suspicion grew. Why was Moragar so familiar with Lorimal’s work? Carefully shifting her expression to one of innocence, Jemeryl raised her eyes and smiled. “I’m impressed. Do you know the location of every article in the library?”
“Hardly. But that one is etched on my memory. Orrago borrowed it years ago, although she can’t remember. Poor thing. Druse was furious. He was chief librarian at the time. He didn’t make much fuss. He didn’t want to upset Orrago. She’d only just resigned, but he had me turn the entire school upside down looking for it. Strictly speaking, the manuscript isn’t lost. I was able to dowse it to the dispensary. But you could lose half the library in there. I should delete it from the catalogue, but I keep hoping it will turn up.”
Moragar led the way back to the withdrawal register, where Jemeryl entered her name and the book’s title.
“T
hank you again.”
“Oh, don’t mention it.” Moragar’s voice was casual to the point of being dismissive.
Something about the tone jarred. As Jemeryl left the building, an instinct prompted her to look back. Moragar was still by the register, staring at her intently. His forehead was knotted, and a hand was pressed firmly against his lips. When he saw her looking, Moragar turned around sharply and disappeared into the depths of the library. Jemeryl knew there was something important that the librarian was not saying.
*
Rapid footsteps clattered on the veranda overhead as Jemeryl reached the juniors’ quarters. Rather than pass on the narrow stairway, she waited at the bottom. Feet came into view around the corner, followed by legs and a body belonging to her study partner.
Vine grinned and took the last two steps with a hop. “Have you been in the library?”
“Yes. But you don’t get points for soothsaying, since I’m holding a book.”
“I wasn’t expecting any. Merely demonstrating my uncanny powers of observation. Anything exciting happening?”
“In the library? Do you mean apart from the massed barbarian drummers and the usual wild orgy in the index room?”
“How inconsiderate. All that banging when you’re trying to read. The drumming can be distracting as well.”
Matching Vine’s cheerful smile, Jemeryl leaned against the wall and let out a deep sigh. “Actually, it’s been incredibly tedious. I’ve spent all afternoon searching for some information that’s not there.”
“Did you ask Moragar? He’s usually helpful.”
“We had a brief meeting.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Like you say, he was helpful and friendly. For a senior. He seems young, though.”
Vine nodded. “He is. It wasn’t expected he would be promoted so soon, but Druse died unexpectedly three years back. He was the previous librarian. We had plague in Ekranos, you know. Someone came for treatment and passed it on to most of the school.”
The Traitor and the Chalice Page 5