He dusted crumbs from his robe. Again cat-like, he went to his worktable. He returned as quietly, something small and dark in his hand.
“Come now.” The Pedagno placed the object on his knee. A wax tablet. A stylus was in his hand, and he wrote as he spoke. “Surely you do yourself an injustice, Master Hal. You seem a man apt for any task to which he put his hands.”
“Perhaps my prior work addled my mind,” Hal said, his tone light as the Pedagno’s had been. “Before the stables, I was assigned to aid King Philip’s clerk. You may remember him. Domon?” One fingertip circled on the polished arm of his chair. “Domon has been...unwell...for several years. It was my task to keep him out of trouble, as much as possible.”
“I recall him,” the Pedagno said, the stylus silently etching the surface of the wax. “By ‘unwell’ I gather you mean he remains overly fond of wine?” His tone sounded as if he looked up, meeting Hal’s gaze in wry understanding, but in fact his attention remained on the tablet. “That one would be difficult to keep clear of calamity, I expect.” He passed the wax tablet to me. Why have you come? I looked. I told you. If we ever knew of Saradena, it is lost.
“You’re quite right,” Hal said as I wrote. Maybe I can help you.
“Oh?” the Pedagno said. He read my words, then smoothed the wax.
“Indeed. One time...” Hal spun a tale about Domon shaking his oversight only to become lost in Peran. In his drunken confusion he’d pounded at a door he thought was his favorite brothel but which was really the house of the best goldsmith in the city.
The Pedagno slid the tablet back. You must go. They killed Honre and are trying to kill me. My food tastes strange and makes me sick. I eat as little as I can.
I had expected something fearful but this atrocity threatened to drown me in its depth. Such treachery, within the very walls of Vere. Unthinkable. But he would not believe so without good reason. Who? Why? I wrote.
Hal, his gaze shifting between us, following the tablet, began another account of Domon’s exploits.
Six months ago Honre found a book about Vere, older than any we had seen before, bound in a compilatio of dreadful ballads and assorted bestiaries.
When I looked up the Pedagno gestured for me to hand the tablet back. “I shouldn’t speak badly of a Vere-trained clerk, I suppose,” he said as Hal finished his story. “But I can’t say I’m surprised Domon found himself in trouble when he returned to Ragonne. He certainly made enough mischief here.”
“Vere must know, of course, Domon’s relationship to the Ragoni ruling family,” Hal said as the Pedagno passed me the tablet.
“Oh yes,” he said. “We would not have accepted him otherwise. We suspected he would be a nuisance. Once he proved our suspicion correct, he would not have been allowed to stay without the insistence of the Ragoni king.” He nodded towards me. “Doctora Bann’s case, while unusual, was not as unprecedented as some scholars wanted to argue.”
The rediscovered volume was in the same language as many of the Pedagno’s reserved books. Honre could read it. He suspected it had been taken from that collection and hidden deliberately.
“Hmmff,” I huffed as I returned the wax tablet, on which I’d written: If that were true, why hide it? Why not burn it? “For those scholars, as you well know, that I am a woman made the request wholly unlike any other, and unthinkable.”
“You must try not to be angry with them. It was a difficult path to ask them to tread.” That’s princess thinking. You know a scholar would never destroy a book, no matter how much he hated or feared what it said.
I returned the tablet and he hurriedly wrote again. The book told how Vere used to be. Our history is incomplete. Perhaps altered. Cynan Maccus founded Vere to preserve knowledge—but also to gather it. Scholars used to go throughout the Three Lands and record what they learned, not remain at Vere and copy.
“Which brings us back to my first question.” He looked hard at me as he reached for the tablet. “Why have you come? You know the scholars would never accept you as magistra¸ no matter that your maestro is now the Pedagno.”
I did not need his stare to know I should speak an incomplete truth, and I’d had time to consider what to say. “No, Pedagno, of course not. I would not dream of presuming to make such a request.” Not for more than a moment anyway. “I am returning to Elbany. King Philip asked me to travel by boat and bring the scholars a gift. It is not a much longer journey to sail to Vere, and then to Elbany, than it would have been to ride overland directly. Moreover, the king asked it of me, so naturally I agreed.”
I took the books from my bag and gave them to him, taking the wax tablet in exchange. “I present these volumes to Vere, Pedagno, from Philip of Ragonne.”
Honre wanted to return Vere to Cynan Maccus’ design. The scholars did not.
“I will send my thanks to the king.” The Pedagno set the books on the table, taking back the tablet. “Vere extends its thanks to you as well. Shall I arrange for a boat to take you to Elbany?”
“I was hoping...” I hesitated, needing to sound plausibly humble but not too humble. “Since I am here, may I ask the favor of borrowing books to take back to Elbany, that my scribes might copy for the Roth’s library?”
He put the tablet into my hands. “That is a weighty request. Vere rarely allows a book to leave the library. Let alone our keep.” They were implacable but Honre persisted.
“Just a few. I will bring them back personally,” I argued, becoming engaged with my pretended purpose. It would be good. My scribes should be ready—and, if that rot-brain carpenter had finally done his work properly, the shelves too. The Roth’s library could truly begin.
“I did not deny your request.” There was dry amusement in his voice. “But it is a serious one. I need to consider. I will give you my answer in the morning.”
“I will await your pleasure, Pedagno.” I inclined my head.
“These Ragoni books,” the Pedagno said as he wrote. “Did they come from King Philip’s ‘library’? I have heard of his boasting that his collection outstrips anything his cousin of Elbany could hope to possess. I confess I questioned the veracity of the claim.”
He passed the tablet. They did not defy the Pedagno openly, but they stalled and schemed. Since only Honre could read the book, they claimed it was a forgery; that the Three Lands were too dangerous for travel; that all the important knowledge had been collected. But Honre knew they simply did not want to go. We had grown complacent.
“They did indeed.” I returned the tablet. “Philip’s boast is partially true.” I paused, readying myself to describe the Ragoni collection with as much detachment as I could muster, as if it did not matter that the second largest gathering of books in the known world was rotting. “He has a sizable number. Many are quite old. But more than a few are badly deteriorated, and the conditions in which they are kept do not improve their prospects.” Detachment shattered. “It’s shameful. It’s a disgrace. It’s—”
Hal waved a hand. I caught myself. The Pedagno, bent over the tablet and writing furiously, nonetheless saw our exchange. One corner of his mouth lifted, more knowing grimace than smile.
“I apologize,” I said. “The Pedagno has more pressing concerns than Philip of Ragonne’s neglect of his forebears’ books.”
“All news is welcome,” he hinted with a hard look at the tablet.
Very well. We were to keep discussing harmless subjects while he wrote. “Um...” I said.
“The Roth has not yet been provided with a son,” Hal said.
“A pity. What of the King of Logan?” The Pedagno passed the tablet. Honre said that as Pedagno he was charged with ensuring Vere followed the Founder’s precepts. Cynan Maccus had sent out scholars, and commanded Vere to continue the practice. Honre gave orders and would not listen to objections.
“No babe for him yet either,” Hal said.
“Ah, well. He’s but newly wed.” The Pedagno leaned to receive the tablet.
“Not so newly,”
Hal said. “The Lady Belenda wed the King of Logan when the Roth married Elsbeth of Garland, two years since.”
“I have an old man’s memory,” the Pedagno said. “Two years is recent.”
“If you heed rumors, both ladies have been pregnant for eighteen months now.”
The Pedagno laughed, less creakily than before. “It is always wise to remember that saying a thing does not make it so. Still,” he put the tablet in my hands, “it will be better when Logan and Elbany have a clear succession. Better still when the heir is not a child.”
“For Logan, certainly,” Hal said. “But in Elbany, the heir need not be the Roth’s son.” He began to explain more details of Elbish succession than I knew, who had lived in Elbany for a year with the heir-prospects of the recently married Roth on everyone’s lips. I stared before turning my attention to the Pedagno’s writing. Magistre Ulton was among those scheduled to go out first. Then Honre was hurt, and of course the Pedagno’s own clerk couldn’t possibly leave. It seemed like an accident. He fell and broke his arm. But I wonder.
“Were he older,” Hal was saying, “lord Edwy’s son would be favored. But given his nephew’s age, it is rumored the Roth has named his cousin Edmund. I’ve also heard some lords lean instead towards lady Elsbeth’s brother Lionel, who is of course the son of Lord Garland, the most powerful lord in Elbany after the Roth...”
Hal continued but I heard only the buzz of his voice. Magistre Ulton. Perhaps the murkiness is beginning to clear.
Chapter V
Magistre Ulton. I recalled him vividly. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the long, sharp nose characteristic of his family, he looked every whit the warrior king so many men of his blood had been. He was the youngest half-brother of the sitting under-king of Verun. The island of Verun and its rulers were wealthy; almost half of our shipbuilding took place on their shores, and their farms had some of the best land in Bruster. The kings of Verun had ruled under the High King for longer than men could remember, but no one could say they had ever done so willingly. The Verune under-kings had always, more or less openly, held that Verten, not Reud, should be the city of the High King. To this end, they cultivated ties with Vere. Three generations ago, they gave the City of Scholars a generous gift towards the expansion of its fields, with the agreement that in each generation a member of the Verund royal family would come to Vere to be trained and serve as the Pedagno’s own clerk, a position of power and trust. Magistre Ulton had come to Vere under this arrangement.
As I handed the tablet back, Hal adeptly drew his discussion of Elbish succession politics to a close. “I weary the Pedagno with my long-windedness. Pardon me.”
“No pardon is needed,” said the Pedagno, his attention on the wax. “Do continue, if you have more to say.”
“If you like, Pedagno,” Hal said. “I find Elbish politics fascinating, with its workings so unlike the rest of the Three Lands. But the evening is wearing on, and I could not help but notice you have a lap harp. If it pleases, I can play for you before we take our leave. A guest-gift, if you like, albeit inadequate to your hospitality.”
The Pedagno grasped the point immediately. If Hal were playing the harp, we could ‘listen’ in silence while ‘talking’ in writing, much easier than juggling two different layers of conversation. His gaze weighed Hal again, longer this time. “I confess I would welcome music. I play, but not well, and have had little time of late to hone the skill. But be gentle with the harp,” he said, unfeigned disquiet in his voice. “It is held to have belonged to Cynan Maccus.”
Hal went to the harp. The Pedagno slipped into the chair he’d vacated, which was closer to mine and hence more convenient for passing the wax tablet. The Pedagno waved Hal to his own seat when he returned. Hal grimaced, objecting, but the Pedagno waved more emphatically. Hal sat, settling the harp carefully into his lap, and began to tune the strings. His evident skill in handling the instrument relaxed the Pedagno, who returned to writing, the stylus making no noise as it scored the wax.
Finishing his tuning, Hal paused, apparently choosing a song, then began to play, eyes almost closed as he bent to the harp. I noticed his bark-brown hair was longer than when I’d met him, beginning to curl onto his neck. I recognized the sweet, soft music of a Brusterian sea song, and the next instant, the depth of his skill. He rendered it as fair as my father’s own filun could have.
Pedagno Poll slipped the tablet back to me. Even after Honre was hurt, he refused to postpone sending out the first scholars, Magistre Ulton among them. Then Honre became ill. Not his arm. He was weak, and his stomach bothered him. The others supposed his fall must have injured more than his arm. But I became troubled.
Having nothing to say, I smoothed the wax and passed it back. Hal finished the song and began another. I recognized this one as well, the “Lament for Edwy.” I had heard it played, as the Roth had decreed, on his brother’s birthday. I thought of Pedagno Olwen, whose death Pedagno Poll believed to have been brought upon him unnaturally. I had not known Edwy but did not think he would mind sharing his music with Honre Olwen; like him, the Roth’s brother had been struck down before his time.
The tablet returned to my hands. I am from Eban. We have a plant, luton, that only grows on our island. Roasted, it is safe and rather tasty, somewhat like parsnips, but dried raw, powdered, and mixed with milk, it is poisonous. Honre’s illness looked like luton sickness.
I felt my forehead crinkle. I’d never heard of luton. Perhaps the Eband kept it secret, like the Ragoni ladies and their herbs. It would be a powerful weapon, and when did Brusterians let a weapon slip through their hands? I passed the wax back and waited while the Pedagno wielded the stylus. Hal’s music, rising to a crescendo of loss, filled the room, sorrow distilled into sound.
The song descended into quiet sadness before the Pedagno handed me the tablet. Ulton used his power as the Pedagno’s own clerk to keep the rest of us from seeing him. Even me, his designated successor. He gave commands in the Pedagno’s name but allowed no one into his rooms, claiming the Pedagno needed to rest undisturbed. New orders countermanded Honre’s.
There was another music-filled pause as the Pedagno wrote. Hal finished Edwy’s dirge and started a new song. This one, I did not know. It sounded Ragoni. From its liveliness, I guessed it to be a dance tune.
Soon the wax, crammed with the Pedagno’s tidy script, came back to me. So the scholars were not sent out. But Honre did not mend. He worsened, and then he died. I don’t know if Ulton meant to kill him. Keeping him alive but unwell, and running Vere as he wished in his name would have made more sense. Now I am sick, and I know it’s luton. I’ve experienced it before. I know ways to mitigate its effects, but not enough. Everything I eat is tainted with it. Ulton is pressing me to name him my successor. Having killed one Pedagno, even if by accident, seems to have emboldened him. Resisting, I suspect, is all that’s keeping me alive. For now. Sooner or later, Ulton will decide he is strong enough to seize control of Vere without the formality of having been officially named the next Pedagno.
Proof? I scored the wax with a hand I could not keep from shaking. I had expected trouble but this was worse than I’d feared. Corruption and murder within Vere. Cynan Maccus meant the City of Scholars to be above the power struggles of the kingdoms, dedicated to learning. Sabidur gerva eng protege.
He shook his head, his inscribed response answering more fully. Not that I could take to the High King. Nor can I search for it, if there’s any to be found. As the Pedagno’s own clerk, Ulton is often with me. When he’s not, someone listens upstairs. If I leave my chambers, one of Ulton’s followers appears and accompanies me.
I held the tablet, considering before I wrote. As Pedagno, what do you want for Vere?
His response was quick and emphatic, the wax scored through to the wood beneath. To reform Vere as Honre wanted. To be the City of Scholars the Founder intended.
I had come to Vere to help him but also to pursue my task. You are going to find Saradena for me, the Roth
had said. I would. I had to. I had found scattered clues in Ragonne. The Pedagno’s books might give the next piece. But I could not leave until Vere had returned to being the Pedagno’s charge rather than his prison. What could be done? Many scholars supported Ulton. Others, like Magistre Unwin, did not but were too frightened to resist him openly. Without the scholars behind him, the Pedagno’s power was negligible. Vere was part of Bruster, subject to the High King, but he would not intervene without proof.
I will help, I wrote. I’m not sure what we can do, yet, but I will help.
The Pedagno smoothed the wax to write again. My thanks, Alumna, but make no promises until you know all. The letter you told me about, the Saradenian threat against Elbany, when you asked me to search Vere’s library—I found a copy amongst Honre’s papers. Addressed to Bruster.
Chapter VI
Bruster! Bruster under the Saradenian threat! Not bothering to smooth away his words, I scrawled below. Does the High King know?
The Pedagno shook his head.
Both my hands lifted in a gesture that said as clearly as if I’d spoken—or written: What? How could you be so foolish?
With one hand he pressed downward in a placating move, while with the other he reached for a fresh wax tablet since this one had been scraped to its limit. The remaining wax would need to be dug out, then fresh molten wax poured in, ready to be of service again once it cooled.
Still playing, Hal watched us. It must have been clear something had changed about our silent discussion although of course he’d have no way of knowing what. Uncannily, though, when he finished he began another Brusterian song, the tale of Ator—undaunted, triumphant, and possibly nonexistent. If you believed the story, Ator was a Brusterian High King said to have conquered all of the Three Lands, who would return to us at our greatest need.
We might yet learn if the legend were true.
Pedagno Poll passed me the tablet. I found the letter four days ago, in a pushed-aside pile of Honre’s papers. He did not believe it, I think. I’m not sure I would have, had I not learned of the others from you. Vere is the last land before the endless sea. Everyone knows that. If there were other lands beyond, surely we would know of them. Do not judge him too harshly, Alumna. His thoughts were filled with his plans for Vere.
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