by Tim Pratt
“What now?” Rodrick said. “There are four people in there. How are we supposed to sneak up on four people unawares?”
“We could just barge in and make threats and steal the necklace, I suppose,” Eldra said. “They’re not armed, unless you count the whip, and it’s not meant to be a serious weapon. We can tie them up and flee the city. With luck, we could get a long way off before Andraste freed herself and raised the alarm. If she raises the alarm at all—she might prefer to be discreet about the whole affair.”
“That plan doesn’t work for me,” Rodrick said. “I still need to get Hrym.”
“It’s good you’re loyal to your friend, but our alternative is death.”
“I’m afraid she’s right,” the Specialist said.
A voice—probably Andraste’s—boomed, “You, fetch more wine! No, not him, does he look like he can walk anywhere? I’m talking to you!”
The moment she said “wine” the Specialist darted from the room without a word of explanation, and Eldra and Rodrick looked at each other and shrugged. They settled back into the shadows, sitting on the floor beneath a window, and watched a very attractive young man wearing a small amount of military gear—some of which Rodrick thought was meant for warhorses, not humans—go padding barefoot down the corridor. They waited, listening to the noises drifting from the bedroom, Rodrick at least wondering what acts those sounds corresponded to. Eldra had been trained at the Conservatory, so she probably had an encyclopedic knowledge of such things. Not that he expected to ever find out firsthand, even if they lived. Alas.
Eventually the youth returned, carrying the jug of wine they’d seen in the kitchen, and a few minutes after that the Specialist returned and sat beside them. “It all depends on whether or not she shares the wine,” he muttered.
Aha, Rodrick thought. The man was a quick thinker.
The noises stopped, and there was the low murmur of chat and laughter. They moved closer to the door so they could hear better. After a few minutes a woman said, “She’s fallen asleep!”
“She did have a lot of wine already,” a male voice said.
“Does she usually do this, Janna? You’ve been here before.”
“She wears herself out, sure, but usually closer to dawn. Ah well. Anyone want to try the wine? I don’t think she’ll miss it.”
Some time later, when the only sounds to be heard were faint snores, they risked going into the hallway. Eldra looked through the gap in the bedchamber door, then pushed it open. “Come on, they’re all passed out.”
The rest of the house was austere, but only because all the opulence had been piled in the bedroom: it was all velvet and cushions and four-poster feather bed and crystal chandelier … plus a fair bit of rope and some furniture that had obviously been custom-built by very discreet leatherworkers and carpenters for reasons Rodrick could guess at, and did.
Andraste was sprawled on the bed dressed in a version of a crusader’s uniform that would most assuredly not have passed a military inspection, and the youths were attired even more outlandishly. Various implements were scattered on the floor, some familiar, some merely intriguing. Rodrick couldn’t help but take in the view, and Eldra looked around knowingly, but the Specialist was all business. He tilted Andraste’s head, making her snore more loudly, and removed the necklace from around her neck.
Eldra gasped and bent over, and a moment later Rodrick experienced a burning sensation, deep in his chest. No no no. They’d misjudged it, bungled it, the Specialist had misunderstood the passage he’d read or the person who’d written it hadn’t known what they were talking about, they’d set off the gems, they were all going to die in this ridiculous room—
Rodrick coughed as something stuck in his throat, and then spat out a gleaming red gem that landed on the bedclothes and bounced.
Relief flooded him, like a cool wave washing through his body from the pit of his stomach up through the top of his head. He fell to his knees, looked at the gem, and then grinned at Eldra, who was smiling at him. They fell upon one another in an embrace, and suddenly she was kissing him, her mouth warm and wet and wonderful, and all the kisses before had obviously been pretense, because this was the real thing—
The Specialist cleared his throat, and Eldra pulled away from Rodrick. The old man knelt and picked up their gems—touching them fearlessly, which was more than Rodrick would have been able to do—and pressing them to a few of the half-dozen empty clasps on the necklace. The gems attached themselves firmly, and he put the necklace in his pocket.
Ah. They’d never discussed who’d get to keep the dangerous artifact. Then again, what good was it to Rodrick? He didn’t want to sell it to anyone, because they would be inclined to use the horrible thing. The Specialist would probably just keep it as an object of study, at least. He probably had the wit to conquer the world, but he lacked the interest.
The Specialist took out the fake necklace they’d commissioned, carefully plucked out false gems until the new necklace matched the old, and carefully clasped the fake around Andraste’s neck. He surveyed his work, gave them a nod, and strolled out of the room.
Rodrick picked up a particular item from the floor and showed it to Eldra, raising one eyebrow. “Do you have any idea what this is for?” he whispered.
“I mastered it fifty years ago, my boy,” she said. “Maybe I’ll teach you someday. Come on. Let’s leave before the sleeping potion wears off.”
* * *
They sat on a low stone wall by the harbor, watching the lights of distant ships twinkle on the water.
“What happens to the necklace now?” Eldra said.
The Specialist said, “I’d like to keep it.”
“And I’d like a large quantity of money,” Eldra said.
“Oh?” the Specialist said. “You’d prefer to sell it, then?”
They sat silently, and if the other two of them were anything like Rodrick, they were considering the nature of the necklace, and the sort of people who might buy it.
“All right, fair enough. But what are you going to do with it?” Eldra said.
“Study it, for a bit,” the Specialist said. “See if there’s a way to destroy it. If not, I’ll drop all the gems in the middle of Lake Encarthan, and the necklace itself in the Obari Ocean. I don’t like the idea of this thing continuing to exist.”
“Huh,” Rodrick said. “You never struck me as the type to believe there are forces humankind shouldn’t meddle with.”
“I wasn’t, until someone used one of those forces to meddle with me. I usually don’t take things personally. For the necklace, I will make an exception.”
“Fair enough,” Eldra said. She gazed at the harbor.
“It’s been very educational, working with you,” the Specialist said. “Why, just the things I saw in the general’s bedchamber were immensely instructive.”
Eldra snorted. “We’ve opened up a whole new avenue for your researches, I’m sure.” She stretched her arms into the air and rolled her head around on her shoulders. “I feel almost free. This is where we part company, I suppose? Where are you headed next?”
The Specialist sighed. “I had business in Vellumis … but my last attempt to do that business led to my capture by the Bastion, so I’m afraid I’ll have to give it up. If Prinn discovers we’re still alive, he might perceive us as a threat, and act accordingly. I think it’s time to move on and leave Vellumis behind. I may make my way to Kyonin. I don’t know much about elves. They’re interesting…”
“There are things you don’t know much about?” Eldra said. “I’m astonished. I had a reason for visiting Vellumis, too, but like you, it didn’t work out for me. I could take passage to Druma. There’s always money to be made there, if you’re savvy. What about you, Rodrick?”
Rodrick scowled. “What? I can’t go anywhere. Hrym is still in the Bastion.”
The Specialist shuddered. “A totenmaske with the resources of the Bastion at his disposal, and a sword like that…”
“Hrym would never help Prinn. He’d freeze him to death first.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. As far as Hrym knows, Temple is still in charge. If someone who looks just like Temple says, ‘Do as I say, or Rodrick will die,’ Hrym might obey.” Eldra shook her head. “That sword is very fond of you.” She patted his hand. “I hope you get him back, Rodrick, but I wish you wouldn’t try. You’ll almost certainly die in the effort.”
Rodrick had a scant bit of gold, and his wits, but he didn’t have a lot of other resources. His chances of recovering Hrym were much better with these two on his team, and the three of them had already proven their ability to work well together. “Listen, both of you, there’s a monster in that fortress. He wiped away Temple’s mouth and stole her life. He’s an abomination. What if he gets alone in a room with the Watcher-Lord and steals his identity? Prinn could bring down Lastwall entirely, release the orc hordes on the rest of the Inner Sea, break the seals on the Whispering Tyrant’s prison. What then?” Appealing to their better natures was a risky move, since they were just as selfish as Rodrick himself, but he’d been stirred once or twice in the past by fate-of-the-world situations, if only because the destruction of the world would make life in general a lot less pleasant overall.
The Specialist stroked his mustache. “Prinn may be an abomination … but he’s an abomination who did us a favor, in a way. We escaped our indentured servitude much earlier than I’d anticipated. As for the rest of it, I wouldn’t worry. Totenmaskes aren’t the world-conquering sort. It’s not as if Prinn is a lich, or one of those vile undead sorcerers with a body composed of a swarm of writhing insects. Prinn is probably most interested in food, torture, and sex—not conquest.”
Rodrick turned to Eldra, who looked at him with fondness and concern, but nothing like agreement. “Rodrick, really. If you had Hrym on your hip right now, you wouldn’t be asking us to fight Prinn. You don’t care about killing him any more than we do. Oh, if I were in front of him with a sword and had the opportunity to strike, I’d take it, just as I’d kill a venomous snake or stomp on a scorpion, because such a creature might hurt me later. But I don’t go out of my way to hunt scorpions. You care about rescuing Hrym, and that’s admirable, but it’s not realistic.” She put her hand on his knee. “I’ve grown rather fond of you, you know. We could go to Druma together.”
He picked up her hand and put it back on her own knee. “I can’t leave Hrym. We’re … we’re family.”
Eldra shrugged. “Oh well. I tried. Good luck.” She stood up, and the Specialist rose too.
“Wait!” Rodrick said desperately. “I don’t think I can get Hrym back alone. What would it take to make you help me?”
“To go back into the Bastion, and face a totenmaske?” The Specialist shook his head. “Nothing you can provide, I’m afraid. As much as I enjoyed talking to Hrym, it would be best if you consider him lost, Rodrick. Move on with your life.”
“No, listen, we don’t have to face down Prinn. You’re right, it’s true, I don’t really care if he rots out Lastwall or not. If we can avoid Prinn entirely, so much the better. How much to help me sneak into the Bastion and retrieve Hrym? He’s probably still in that cursed sheath, hanging from the back of a chair in Temple’s office, or down in our quarters, or tucked away in the armory. Surely the price for a simple theft is within my power?”
The Specialist hmmed. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t see how.”
Eldra nodded. “Sorry, darling. I’m sure you have the talents necessary to lay your hands on some gold, but I do, too, and can do so without getting within miles of Prinn.” She turned away.
“Wait.” Inspiration struck Rodrick, as it so often did when times were desperate. “You both came to Vellumis with missions in mind, didn’t you? Missions that failed. How about this: I’ll help you fulfill your goals, and in return, you’ll help me fulfill mine.”
“Mmm. You don’t even know what those goals are,” the Specialist said.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s not a job in the world I can’t plan. Temple was a fool to put Merihim in charge—I’m a mastermind. You saw how smoothly I pulled off the theft of the necklace.”
“It was the Specialist who thought to race ahead and put the sleeping potion in the wine,” Eldra pointed out.
“Yes, of course, I’m not disparaging his talents, or yours, but the original plan to switch the jewelry and escape undetected was mine, wasn’t it? The Specialist knows everything, but he’s not a planner, and I have nothing but respect for your abilities, too, Eldra, but this is what I do: make plans and execute them. Let me do it for you.”
“If you can get me what I came for … then I’ll help you retrieve Hrym,” Eldra said.
“Hmm,” the Specialist said. “I suppose another few days in the city won’t hurt, if we’re discreet. I agree.”
“You won’t regret this.” Rodrick stifled a yawn. It had been a long day and a longer night. They’d have to find a place to hole up and sleep soon. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll figure out how to get it.”
“I want to steal a book,” the Specialist said.
“I want to steal a ring,” Eldra said.
“That should be easy enough,” Rodrick said, inaccurately.
24
A FAMILY HEIRLOOM
“It’s called the Interdicted Library,” the Specialist said. He and Rodrick sat in the common room eating bowls of nutritious mush. They were sharing a room with one narrow bed, which meant Rodrick, who’d lost the coin toss, had spent the night on a hard stone floor. As a result, he was rather less cheery than the Specialist. “Interdicted means prohibited, or forbidden,” the Specialist went on.
“Yes, I know words,” Rodrick said. “That one, anyway.”
Eldra joined them, looking fresh and lovely, and one of the serving girls brought her a plate of fried eggs, the yolks golden and shimmering, along with toasted bread and a slab of ham glistening with delicious grease.
“How did you get that?” Rodrick said. “They didn’t even offer me that, at any price!”
“I make friends easily,” Eldra said. “What’s this about you knowing words? That sounds implausible.”
Rodrick reached for a piece of bread and she slapped his hand away with enough force to keep him from trying again, so Rodrick returned to his mush. “The Specialist was telling me about the book he wants to steal. Or, I guess, the place he wants to steal it from.”
The Specialist nodded. “It is a library, of sorts, though the librarians are heavily armed, and don’t read the books on the shelves. No one reads them, which is the worst thing that can happen to a book, really. It’s like unplayed music or uneaten food.”
“Or unspent gold.” Rodrick glanced at Eldra. “Or unkissed lips.”
“Quite.” The Specialist stirred his spoon around, looking down at the bowl of mush as if it were a scrying bowl showing him secrets. “When the Shining Crusade defeated the Whispering Tyrant, they found his collection of magical volumes. Being defenders of righteousness and honor … they burned them all.” He sighed. “I can understand why, of course. These were books bound in the skin of intelligent creatures, some of them still alive and suffering due to dark magic. Books that screamed when you opened them. Books with words that could climb inside your eyes and repeat themselves in your mind until you went mad, books with pages that drew blood, books with portals to the Abyss embedded in their footnotes. They were bad books. Still, they contained much knowledge, and wisdom, and much of value was lost. Of course, some books are so magical they can’t burn, or be torn to pieces, or be blotted out by ink. So potent that even throwing them into a pool of lava doesn’t do anything but warm them up. Those books cannot be eradicated, so they have to be hidden away, instead. Lastwall created a secret library, the Interdicted Library, to store those volumes—and, over time, the collection grew as the crusaders added any other rare, dangerous, heretical, or simply alarming volumes they came across. Now in addition to books of dark magic,
the library holds the private diaries of people who became gods—complete with unsavory secrets—and true histories of nations that reveal the recorded histories to be lies, and books written in the forgotten tongues of lost races. Basically, when any crusader finds a volume that’s too disturbing to leave alone and too dangerous or interesting or powerful to destroy, it goes into that library.” He paused. “I should clarify that when I say ‘library,’ I do not mean a single room full of books, or even one building. There is danger in putting too many magical volumes together, and so there are caches scattered throughout Lastwall, some hidden in plain sight, others buried deep in unknown places. Even an enterprising and ingenious thief could never hope to plunder even a fraction of them.”
“How do you know all this?” Rodrick asked.
“I met a beggar in Cheliax, a man with no eyes. We became friends, and he told me he’d been a librarian—which is to say a guard, really—in a Vellumis branch of the Interdicted Library. He was actually illiterate when he took the position, but all those long hours with the books made him curious, so he learned to read, and he did read, in stolen moments when the other guards weren’t looking, for a few months, until he was discovered.”
“They blinded him when they found out he’d been reading the books?” Rodrick was aghast. That seemed uncharacteristically vicious by Lastwall’s standards.
The Specialist shook his head. “No. He opened the wrong book one day, and the words he saw seared his eyes right out of his head. He was found on his back with smoke rising from his eye sockets. Somehow, he survived, and escaped the asylum where they put him after he wouldn’t stop gibbering, and eventually drifted to Cheliax. As far as I know he lives there still … and in rather better circumstances than he used to, given how much I paid him to tell me everything he knew about the library.”