by Tom Lloyd
‘Gennay, talk to me.’
‘I am.’
Emin bit back a frustrated reply. ‘No you’re not, not really. Karanei’s news upset you, didn’t it?’
‘Of course not. The library is not haunted by anything but my fancy; that’s good news.’
‘Is that it? Is that the problem—’
‘Emin, enough!’ Gennay snapped. ‘Stop interrogating me, this is my business, not yours! Whatever the problems in this library they are mine to resolve and do not require the hand of some overly inquisitive fool who fancies himself as an adventurer.’
‘Hey now, there’s no call to lose your temper.’
‘Isn’t there? Look,’ she said, pointing to the piles of paper on her desk. ‘All this needs to be done and more will have appeared by the end of the week. You may have no cares in the Land, free to play whatever role you decide, but I don’t have the luxury.
‘I doubt you’ve bothered to think much about my future, but I assure you others have. Grandmother has more than one scheme on the go to marry me off before midsummer’s day. I’m a nobleman’s daughter, useful only to provide children to some brainless young fool of good breeding, who’ll most likely get drunk one day and find himself spitted on the end of my brother’s sword for some slight or idiocy.’
Emin took a step back. Gennay was an even-tempered woman and rarely flew into a rage, but once there she was not one to be talked down easily.
‘Well, turning on me won’t help a jot, I’m only here to try and help.’
‘How exactly?’ Gennay asked, slapping the desktop with her palm. ‘Aside from wasting my time with your reprobate acquaintances, what have you done to help beyond sending my clerks home so another day’s work is lost and the date for the library’s opening a day closer?’
‘Gennay, a man died here yesterday,’ Emin said. ‘You cannot expect his friends and colleagues to march to their desks the following day.’
Gennay took a breath and looked down. ‘I know,’ she admitted, ‘but nor can I afford to fail in this. Sarras was my friend too, but he knew how important this was to me – as it was to him. It’s my only defence against an arranged marriage and he knew it – why do you think he worked so hard? It wasn’t for the wage I paid him, nor just out of natural diligence.’
Emin hesitated. ‘Are you saying …?’
‘Oh of course not! Don’t be such a bloody child, not everything comes down to sex! He was my friend. Do you understand the concept? He didn’t want anything from me except the chance to prove he could do a good job, but we were friends and he wanted to help me succeed.’
She rose and prodded Emin in the chest, anger inflamed once more. ‘You’ve never really understood friendship, as contemptuous as you are of all those less intelligent than you, but one day you’ll have to learn people have a worth that cannot be measured by intellect or strength.’
She stepped back, suddenly deflated and Emin saw her shoulders sag as she continued in a quieter voice. ‘You’re my brother and I love you, but your tendency to see folk as tools to be used, or problems to be tackled, will be your undoing – mark my words. Now, please Emin, go away. I need to be alone.’
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Nothing he could say would help matters. Gennay just needed her own space to grieve in whatever way she could.
‘As you wish, but I don’t want you to be alone here today.’
‘Emin, I will be fine,’ Gennay said, shaking her head. ‘You heard your friend, there’s no ghost haunting these halls. I … I would prefer to be alone. Please?’
He nodded, unhappy but unwilling to press the matter. ‘I’ll return this evening to look in on you.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Gennay said. ‘You can tell Pirn to come as usual, but I don’t need my brother babysitting me.’
Emin bit his tongue and acceded. As he left, Gennay didn’t look up, but just when he closed the main door behind him Emin heard a small sound emanate from the mezzanine where his sister sat. Unable to tell whether it was the barest of sobs or a sigh of relief, Emin stood at the door for a dozen heartbeats caught in indecision.
Eventually he turned and headed back across the courtyard to the street beyond. The morning felt warmer than previous days, the wind off the ocean having lessened, but still the young man pulled his coat tight about him as he walked. Out in the street he looked around at every person in view.
None seemed to pay him any mind, everyone busy about their day when the short winter days curtailed so much, but just as he was about to move off he noticed a shape that could have been a man in the shadow of a building. He squinted but could make out nothing at that distance. The house was the best part of a hundred yards down the street and it was hard to be sure, but the longer he looked the more he sensed it was more than just his imagination.
‘Unless my sister’s malaise is catching,’ Emin muttered as he started out towards the building.
Well before he reached it a carriage trundled down the street and obscured his view. It was mere seconds before he could see his destination again and nothing appeared to have changed, but something told Emin his prey was gone. He walked without haste, crossing the street after the carriage had passed, but once he reached the overhang where a water butt stood the area was certainly empty.
Emin went as far past the water butt as he could without trespassing, to a small wooden gate a few yards behind. Pushing up onto his toes Emin could just about see over the gate, but there was only a child in the yard beyond, playing with a long length of rope until she saw him and stopped to stare back.
Satisfied no one had gone that way Emin returned to the water butt, feeling rather foolish now.
‘Clearly it is catching,’ he muttered as he stood at the water butt, ‘but this would be a good vantage point. Far enough to remain unobtrusive, but with a direct line of sight to the courtyard gate.’
His eyes alighted on the water butt itself, an old wooden cask roughly lined with pitch. Its upturned lid was pushed askew and a leaf hovered precariously at the exposed gap. Emin plucked it away and was about to straighten the battered covering when he noticed a cross had been roughly scratched into the wood. He ran his fingers over the wood; the scratches were light but had been done by something stronger than a fingernail.
‘As someone might do if they were standing here, watching and waiting.’ Emin smiled and shook his head. ‘But perhaps that’s something of a stretch.’
He chuckled and flipped the lid over so it was the right way up, then straightened it so it sat snug on the butt. On the other side someone had scratched a circle in approximately the same position.
‘Now that’s curious.’
He ran his fingers over the mark. It hadn’t been made with any great care or skill, nor was it a single, unbroken circle. Instead it had been done in a number of curved strokes, overlapping and of varying lengths.
‘Which makes it even less likely to be anything significant,’ Emin pronounced at last. He raised the lid and flipped it over quickly. The two symbols did correspond to each other, but most likely it was just they naturally occupied the same place each time some bored labourer had played with his knife while he waited.
‘For pity’s sake, now I’m looking for a mystery in everything. A cross and a circle mean nothing by themselves. Even combined they’re just a rune without context so why am I wasting my time?’
Emin slapped the lid back into place and headed back into the street. Gennay clearly didn’t want him at the library, but his interest had been pricked and he wasn’t going to let go of the matter yet.
‘There are more possibilities to rule out now malign spirits have been,’ he mused.
He took the next turning off the street and started towards the old town district of the city, where many of the city’s mages lived in relative isolation from the chaos of everyday life. Perhaps one of them would be able to provide the answer.
After a frustrating day, Emin returned to the library ju
st after sunset, to find a pair of men in heavy coats loitering outside the door, arguing quietly. In the dark he didn’t recognise them immediately and when he called out it was with his hand on his sword handle.
‘Master Emin?’ one replied. It turned out to be Pirn, his father’s retainer, with Bewen the night watchman peering out from under his battered cap. ‘I’m glad you’re here sir, perhaps you can help.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Mistress Gennay won’t let us in, she’s locked herself inside.’
Emin scowled and pushed past them to thump heavily on the door. ‘Gennay, it’s me – open the door!’
‘Emin, go away – leave me alone.’
‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, when have I ever done that?’
There was no response. ‘What brought this about?’ he asked Pirn.
‘I don’t know,’ Pirn said. ‘When we got here she said she was staying for the night and refused to open the door.’
‘She didn’t open the door at all?’
Both men shook their head. ‘Couldn’t hear anyone with her, sir,’ Pirn continued, ‘but something’s not right, this ain’t like her.’
‘No, no it isn’t.’ Emin thumped again on the door. ‘Gennay, open the door, I’m not going away.’
‘And I’m not leaving the library tonight,’ she called from behind it. ‘Whether it’s my own fears or something else, I’ve had enough of jumping at shadows and dreaming of ghosts. I’ve barely slept in days and I’m going to stay here until I work this out.’
‘As you wish,’ Emin replied, ‘but to get rid of me you have to open the door and prove to me you’re alone in there.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Indulge me.’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Gennay said. At last she turned the key in the lock, giving the door an exasperated kick as it stuck briefly, then opening up and stepping aside for Emin to see in while still holding the door.
‘Satisfied yet?’
‘No.’ Emin walked into the library, pushing her arm out of the way without comment as he inspected the room. Pirn and Bewen took one look at Gennay’s expression and stayed where they were, but short of grabbing Emin by the ear there was nothing she could do to stop him.
‘You’ve fetched yourself some supper,’ he noted aloud as he paused over a small parcel of wrapped cloth on one of the desks. The door to the reading room where they’d discovered the altered book was propped open and a lamp burned steadily on the far wall within.
‘Are you facing your fears, or those of Sarras?’ Emin wondered as he stared into the room, but when he turned to Gennay for an answer she just stared determinedly back.
‘Finished your inspection?’ she said at last.
Realising his sister was indeed alone, Emin agreed that he was finished. His initial fear had been someone inside preventing her from unlocking the door, but since that was clearly not the case he didn’t have much way to interfere without sparking another argument.
‘I’ve finished. Pirn, Bewen, you can both go home for the night. I’ll watch over my sister.’
‘You’ll get out is what you’ll do, little brother!’ Gennay pointed out the door. ‘Go on; leave me as you said you would.’
Emin inclined his head. ‘I did say that, but I’ll not go far. There’s a pleasant enough tavern just down the street. I’ll spend the evening there and keep one eye on this place, I think.’
‘Well, I’ll be here until morning, by which time I suspect you’ll be dead-drunk and rolled into the street without your purse.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be able to take a room there, don’t you worry about me.’
‘Hah, so it’s a whorehouse too? What trials you endure, dear Emin, to see me safe through the night.’ She gestured again to the door. ‘Well, go on then, go and play with your clap-raddled sluts and leave me to my work.’
Emin did as he was told, sending Bewen back with a message for their mother. Pirn refused to leave, claiming an obligation to their father for her safety. Emin didn’t even bother arguing and instead invited the man to drink with him and share a few war stories at the nearest tavern – an upscale place where the occupant of the best table at the window was more than willing to give his place up to a richer man.
By the time a second jug of wine had arrived and they’d ordered the day’s stew, Pirn started to relax in the company of his master’s heir. They’d known each other for years, of course, but the strictures of society were a constant limitation.
‘What about the Bales campaign?’ Emin asked, pouring them both some more wine. It was weak stuff as they had a long night ahead of them, but slipping down very nicely in the warm corner they’d found.
‘Aye, went on that one too. More’ve the same really; Baron Heshen never thought tactics were worth the effort.’
‘I’m amazed you managed to survive any battle,’ Emin laughed, ‘with incompetents in charge at every step.’
Pirn nodded and scratched his whiskery cheeks reflectively. ‘Guess you tried not to think too hard about that, you take their coin, you do what they say. Anyone who suggests a nobleman couldn’t find his arse with both hands … well, most ain’t like yourself, Master Emin. We’d have been strung up quick as you like, so no one dared say such a thing.’
‘What a fucking waste – Heshen only cared about having his way with every virgin he could find, so I’ve heard. His father before him liked to fight and liked to conquer, but didn’t care much for much that didn’t involve killing, and our present lord …’ At Pirn’s expression Emin tailed off, but was unable to stop himself from grinning.
‘Now Master Emin, I know you like a joke but I’m a loyal man o’ Narkang.’
‘Calm yourself, Pirn, I’ve no complaints about the duke – indeed, the way he manages his court is masterly, you’ll see no defter a touch or tease in the best-reputed houses throughout the Land.’
Pirn frowned, but knew he couldn’t say any more. A soldier of Narkang and firm in his view of the Land, Pirn’s mood had soured at Emin’s description – even more so for the strains of truth it contained. The Duke of Narkang was a man adept at flirting between factions and keeping them all breathlessly guessing which way he’d go. With powerful neighbours on three sides, political acumen was a requirement for any ruler of the Freeport of Narkang. For more than one reason was Narkang described as a whore of a city.
‘No, what I find saddening is the lack of ambition from most rulers,’ Emin continued after a pause. ‘The years of gathering wealth and power, but not bothering to do something with it. I can’t see how I’d be quite so attached to an heir to devote my life to consolidating his position.’
‘You’re young – and unmarried – Master Emin. Things look different on the other side of a marriage bed.’
Emin shrugged. ‘I suppose, but why not leave something rather more lasting? I could name you a dozen rulers who fought for decades just to attain and keep power – but it’s not as if you can take it with you. The priests of Death are rather specific on that detail.’
‘Power’s no small thing, sir, an’ just keeping hold o’ it’s no small task. There’s always someone hungry for more. If I might speak frankly?’ Pirn said.
Emin nodded, one eye still on the dark environs of the library.
‘Well, it’s yer father’s household, but there’s not much restricted to his heir. If you’d grown dependent on the goodwill o’ others, you might see it different.’
Without warning, Emin sat bolt upright, one hand reaching for his sword as he stared out the window.
‘What is it?’
The young nobleman didn’t respond immediately, frozen on the point of rushing for the door. ‘Someone loitering by the library gate,’ he said eventually. ‘Not doing much, just waiting like a thief’s lookout.’
In the darkness it was hard to see any more than the fact there was someone there. That there was a man was all Emin could make out, one in a coat and hat as would be expected
on a cold winter’s night. There was precious little light in the street, but Emin had paid the gateman of the house opposite to keep a lamp burning at his door and it shone enough to pick out shapes and movement across the street.
The man kept still, not pacing or swinging his arms to keep warm – he just lounged against the side of the gate with his back to the courtyard wall. Emin blinked and in the same moment thought he caught sight of some small movement – some dark shape flitting around the corner to the shadowed gate itself – but whatever it was, the gate remained closed.
‘What happened?’ Pirn asked, seeing Emin blink hard, then frown and squint harder.
‘I don’t know,’ Emin said, ‘thought I saw movement, a second man but …’
Pirn eased himself around their table so he could look out too. The veteran’s face hardened and his hand went to the dagger on his belt. ‘Too close to be innocently standing out in the street at night.’
‘Unless he’s a decoy,’ Emin pointed out, ‘looking to draw out anyone keeping watch over the library.’
‘Master Emin, this ain’t the duke’s treasury.’
Emin grinned briefly. ‘A little too devious for my own good perhaps.’ He rose and dropped a few coins on their table beside the half-drunk wine. ‘Let’s go have a talk with our friend out there, see what he’s up to.’
The pair headed out into the chilly night and started down the opposite side of the street. Before they were out the door Emin was talking inconsequentially about some fictitious racehorse, knowing any conversation or lack thereof would carry over the crisp night air. It served no purpose however. Almost as soon as they had turned in his direction, the stranger started off from his post – not hurrying, but moving briskly away.
Emin gave Pirn a look. As one, they broke into a run and their quarry scampered around the corner of the adjoining building. In a heartbeat he was out of sight so Emin sprinted away from his companion and ran with all speed to the corner. When he got there the side-street was empty so he pelted on down it, keeping to the centre of the street to avoid anyone looming suddenly from the shadows.