At his querying look, I explained my thoughts.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But we do not have time to check the library for copies. Reading the books themselves might reveal why the collection was created, and why it has been kept secret. But I doubt we’ll finish that task before you have to leave.”
Sensing he had more to say but needed a quiet moment to winnow his thoughts, I kept silent.
At last he spoke again. “I understand your desire to have a copy of this book in the Roth’s library. But I fear the Pedagno’s collection has been kept concealed on good grounds, reasons I do not know.”
“You may be right,” I said. “There may be something within them that your predecessors thought too volatile to be known widely.” I kept my hands on the book, as if readying to snatch it up. “But this book...I have read it. In full. There is nothing dangerous. It is merely the history of Elbany. What right does Vere have to keep it from them?”
Misgiving still suffused his face. But he had come to Elbany. He had seen the Roth’s library, met the scribes I was training, heard the Roth’s plans. I waited, shame needling me for badgering him in his weakness, but not enough to make me stop. Vere owned the manuscript but the history it told belonged to us.
“Very well,” he sighed. “Perhaps it was only ours to safeguard until Elbany was ready to receive the knowledge it bears. Take it. But—” He held up a hand before I could speak. “You must promise to copy the book as it is, in Old Valenian.”
“But that will make it inaccessible to my scribes, unless I teach them the older language.” I felt my eyes rolling up as I considered that daunting prospect.
“That will keep its secret, if there is one.”
“But—”
“Enough.” His voice had an edge I had seldom heard during my time at Vere but learned to heed.
I bowed my head. “As you command, Pedagno.”
He snorted, unfooled by my roiled quiet. But grudging obedience is obedience nonetheless. He touched my hand. “Once it is copied...if you cannot return it to my hands, it might be best not to return it at all.”
My throat dried. It was more than I’d asked—and less than I hoped for. I turned my hand palm upward, clutching his. Not letting go, he turned his attention back to his book.
Chapter XII
I put the Elbish history into my bag beside the golden book. Since it had come to me, I carried my bag everywhere, with even greater anxiousness for its safety since my inexcusable furystorm and the damage I had done to it. In Vere, and perhaps in Ragonne, my room was undoubtedly searched in my absence. Magistre Ulton would have seized the splendid manuscript as readily as Philip if he learned of it. More. He would believe Vere had been the creator of the manuscript and as such, had claim to it that superseded all others. Indeed, I was not entirely certain that the Pedagno would not believe so, and thus had not shown him the book. I placed the bag back beneath my chair, thinking rather giddily I now had two unimaginably precious books in my possession, and resolved to step widely around puddles. And keep clear of hearths. And—
Suppressing a shiver of terror-laced glee, I set the next manuscript on the table before me. It proved tedious, containing nothing relevant to either Saradena or Magistre Ulton. Its chief virtue was being short. The next was interesting, at least in parts, although no more useful for my purposes. It contained a section about the Ottonian war. I slowed to read it, gaping at the description of Otto’s open-eyed cruelty in pursuit of his ambition. As a Brusterian, I thought nothing warlike could shock me, but I hadn’t known as much as this book did about Otto Tyrannus.
When Doctore Orsenius returned, there were two books left in the pile and I’d read six leaves of the third. As before, he knocked then entered unbidden. “It is time for our evening meal,” he said before the door was fully open. “Allow me to escort you to the comedor, Doctora Bann. Magistre Ulton will come presently to accompany the Pedagno.”
“It is late.” The Pedagno shared a glance of annoyance with me before rising, but his tone was even. “I had not noticed. I thank you for your engaging company, Doctora Bann.” His voice was formal, his words for his steward’s benefit. “And for allowing me to lay this question before you.” He gestured, encompassing the books. “It is an issue I have mulled for some time. I appreciated the chance to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
I knew he was laying a false scent for Magistre Ulton. “It was an honor, Pedagno. But the problem is complex. If my companion has not finished his copying of the charters, perhaps we could continue our conversation tomorrow?”
He looked at Doctore Orsenius. “Has Master Carlson completed his work?”
“He was able to examine several charters, but the Veruni agreement...” He swallowed. “Magistre Borland is looking for it.”
“I’m sure he will find it soon,” the Pedagno said with apparent disinterest. My estimation of his dissembling skills ticked up a notch further. “Since it seems you must remain in Vere for another day at least, Doctora Bann, I will welcome your company again tomorrow.”
“As you say, Pedagno,” I said.
“Now,” his attention went back to the manuscripts, “I will return these books to their homes.”
Doctore Orsenius jumped as if a mouse had nipped his ankle. “Let me help, Pedagno.”
I saw the Pedagno restrain a sigh. “Thank you, but you know I may not.” He began to stack the books. “Go with Doctore Orsenius to supper, Doctora Bann. I will await your return in the morning.”
***
Doctore Orsenius insisted on eating supper and the next morning’s breakfast with Hal and me, with the result we had no opportunity for even a whispered conversation. An exchange of terse head shakes sufficed. He hadn’t found anything either.
The Pedagno had another set of the secret books out by the time I arrived. His breakfast tray, its contents untouched, sat on the low table near the hearth. He was at the work table, bending over a manuscript.
“No time to waste,” he said once the door closed behind Doctore Orsenius. “Magistre Borland will surely ‘find’ the charter today. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Breakfast first.” I took my handkerchief from my belt pouch and handed it to him.
He moved his chair away from the table before opening it. “Should I worry what you’re planning for me? You’re clearly fattening me up for something.” Finishing, he dusted crumbs from his hands and clothes before moving back. “No Founder’s Feast ever tasted so good.”
***
We had read for only an hour or so before Magistre Orsenius returned.
I saw the Pedagno brace himself as the steward entered. “Has something happened?”
Master Orsenius’ gaze, filled with unmasked curiosity, went to me. “The boat from Boltar has come. It brought a letter...for the Doctora.”
“Give it to her, then,” the Pedagno said implacably. But when he turned his head away, he raised a questioning eyebrow at me.
I took the scroll, not entirely surprised to see the seal of Kolon.
At the Pedagno’s gesture, Magistre Orsenius left with badly-concealed disappointment.
I held the letter but made no move to open it. ‘Do you not wonder why I wanted to offer for you, and why I renew the offer now?’ ‘I confess the question has been in my thoughts’.
“Maudlin?” The Pedagno touched my arm. “Is this likely to be ill news?”
I shook my head.
“Then...?” he went on invitingly. “But do not answer if you don’t wish.”
“It’s...courtship, I suppose.” I scowled at his upshot brows. “That surprises you?” Then I sighed. “It should. It surprises me.”
He took the letter long enough to see the seal. “Orlo of Kolon. I hear nothing but good of him. Better than of Philip, truth be told.”
“That’s part of the problem.” I turned the letter in my hands. “Philip fears him. Too much, Mistress Baynor thinks.”
He nodded. “I know who Mistress Baynor is.”
“Then you know her shrewdness.”
He wrapped one of my hands in his. His palms were dry, scratchy. An old man’s hands. “You fear for him. And fear letting yourself become...attached to him.”
“I suppose so.” I fingered the seal with my free hand.
“There’s more.” He squeezed my hand. “Is there not?”
“I—” I could not possibly tell him about life with Francis.
I should have known better, to think I could keep any sort of secret from him. Whatever was on my face told enough.
“Hear me.” He shook my hand gently until I met his gaze. “Not all men are Francis of Ferrant.”
“I have found many to be so.”
“But not all,” he said.
“But enough.”
He smiled sadly. “I expect that is true.” His grip tightened. “But this man. What cause for concern has he given?”
“None,” I said. “He has been charming. Charming beyond any reasonable expectation. He badgered his clerk to teach him to read and write, that he might woo in letters.”
“I knew that already.” He glanced at the parchment roll. “That is not Doctore Osgar’s script.”
“Francis was charming. Before we wed.” I’d loved him, loved him after we married, despite all, until the moment he set me aside. Possibly even afterward, sometimes. I had wrapped outrage around the fragments of my shattered soul. Otherwise, it had seemed, the whirl and shock would have scattered them beyond reach. I had hated them all—Francis, my father, my brothers, the scholars of Vere—when, perhaps, only Francis had truly wronged me. As wrath ebbed, I was left with fear, cold and small, echoing in the void.
“Would it be safer to reject his suit or consider it?” he said.
I shuddered. But I understood. I must have already understood. I’d not encouraged Orlo, but neither had I pushed him away.
I put the scroll into my belt pouch. “I’ll read it later.”
He smiled. “As it should be.”
Chapter XIII
The morning’s reading proceeded in silence disturbed only by the rustle as the Pedagno or I turned a page, the occasional soft murmuring as one of us sorted through a knotted passage of Old Valenian and the low noises of an engaged reader responding to a work. I fetched our noon-meal, which we ate more quickly and with less attention than the stew deserved, and we returned to the books. I noted with one part of my mind that the Pedagno’s skills with the older language were rapidly progressing. While it continued to require a great deal of effort for him to understand, the ancient words were nonetheless moving from being a barrier to the manuscript’s content to providing a bridge to it.
Not long after, our study was troubled by a hurried knock followed immediately by the door opening.
Doctore Orsenius, I knew before I looked up.
“By your leave, Pedagno,” the steward said in a rush. “I have come to offer whatever aid I may in keeping our guest company.”
The Pedagno’s eyes lifted slowly, conveying without speaking his displeasure at having his reading interrupted. One of Doctore Orsenius’ feet tapped nervously. Not turning to me, the Pedagno asked, “Do you find yourself in need of further entertainment, Doctora Bann?”
“‘In the company of books, one is never lonely,’” I said.
He smiled. The maxim was one of the first lessons novicios were set.
“The presence of the Pedagno is, of course, a privilege for any scholar,” I added.
“Of course,” he said dryly. “Your offer is gracious, Doctore Orsenius, but unnecessary. Doctora Bann is well occupied with our books and tolerates my presence as required to see them.”
“Pedagno,” I protested, knowing full well he was teasing me.
“Pedagno,” said the steward at the same moment. He hesitated, glancing at me. I waved for him to proceed. “As steward, I wish to provide hospitable service to our guests.”
“Indeed,” said the Pedagno, glancing at the tray on the low table. Doctore Orsenius colored, surely remembering how he had objected to bringing meals for me. “Your desire is commendable.”
I wrestled a snort of disbelief into a grunt. What was commendable was the Pedagno’s ability to say such things and sound sincere. I could not have.
“But, as you see, your services are unnecessary.”
“Pedagno...Magistre Ulton...” Doctore Orsenius wriggled like a puppy. “Magistre Ulton thought it best if I remain here this afternoon, to be near-hand if needed.”
“Magistre Ulton is thoughtful,” the Pedagno said.
Of his own interests, I thought. Doctore Orsenius is set to spy, of course. In person, rather than listening upstairs, to see what we do as well as hear what we say.
“Very well,” the Pedagno said. “You may stay. But do not disturb our study.”
***
The Pedagno pointedly did not offer that Doctore Orsenius could move the harp and use that chair, so he stepped out, returning with another chair so quickly it must have been waiting in the passage. He settled himself in it, near enough to the table to watch but not so near as to be a distraction. The Pedagno and I returned to our reading.
I finished one manuscript and moved on to another. Opening the cover I recognized its type at once. An herbal, a book describing plants and their medicinal uses. It was an especially fine example, with drawings beside the descriptions so one might recognize each plant.
A scraping, shuffling noise that had been scouring my concentration for several moments finally shattered it. I looked up. Doctore Orsenius’ feet stilled. But I’d barely read another leaf before the sound began again. This time, it was the Pedagno who turned to stare sternly, and the young scholar duly remained quiet longer. But inevitably, the noise began again.
I hunched over the herb book, knowing I must not reprimand him. Indeed, that I’d forgotten myself enough to glare could be understood as an insult if he chose. The Pedagno would have to decide whether, and when, to chastise his steward.
Finally he turned again. “Doctore Orsenius,” he said grimly. “I instructed you not disturb our study.”
He slowed his feet did not fully still himself. “Pedagno, I am sorry.” He sounded as if he truly were. “We are not allowed to bring books from the library, as you know.”
I listened without turning, feeling more sympathetic. His disturbance was the result of boredom rather than an intentional irritant. I’d wondered if he were behaving badly because Magistre Ulton bid him not merely to observe but to obstruct.
“Ah,” the Pedagno said, his tone less comminatory. He too had apparently considered whether Doctore Orsenius was being deliberately disruptive.
Hearing the difference, Doctore Orsenius’ eyes scanned the table hopefully. “Pedagno,” he hesitated, “may I read one?”
The Pedagno shook his head. “You would not be able. They are so ancient their language is no longer open to us.”
His mouth twisted, as if he did not believe the Pedagno but did not dare say so.
“Come,” the Pedagno said to my surprise. As well as Doctore Orsenius’, from his wide-eyed response. He eagerly stepped closer as the Pedagno circled his fingers in invitation.
“See?” the Pedagno said, after Doctore Orsenius had stared for long moments at the Old Valenian, mouth circling in his astonishment.
“It is a difficult language,” the Pedagno said as Doctore Orsenius returned to his chair. “A Pedagno trains his successor. Even so, the old books are slow reading.”
I felt Doctore Orsenius’ glower like a rock between my shoulders.
“Doctora Bann was not taught to read it here,” the Pedagno said. “She worked it out on her own, while pursuing a charge given by the Roth of Elbany—Doctora Bann,” he interrupted himself, “are you permitted to say what that task is?”
“No,” I said shortly. Why was he telling him so much? I tried to quash my concern. The Pedagno surely knew what he was about.
Doctore Orsenius nodded thoughtfully, his face dark,
and then I understood. Another scent to confuse Magistre Ulton. This time, entirely true. What was my task? How had I taught myself the ancient language? Questions to worry the Clerk.
The steward cast his gaze around the room. “You have no books in modern Valenian or Brusterian, Pedagno?” He sounded so much like a bored child I nearly laughed. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
The Pedagno considered. “There are letters to copy.”
Copying letters, those not so secret as to require the Pedagno alone to handle, was novicios’ work, but Doctore Orsenius readily agreed. He helped the Pedagno fetch the letters, as well as parchment, ink, quill, and pen-knife, and seated himself at the table with us. Busied, he was able to sit without fidgeting, and I closed my eyes for a moment in the balm of quiet. That he now shared our workspace was an annoyance, but one worth enduring to be rid of his noise. The sounds of his quill upon the parchment and of the Pedagno’s fingers gliding across a leaf troubled the silence not at all. They were, if anything, a comfort, the music of study and thought.
The book of herbs did indeed prove distressing to search as quickly as I had to. I pushed myself to go faster, as I was unlikely to find anything connected to Saradena or Magistre Ulton in such a source. Even in a rapid perusal, the book was delightful. The descriptions were precise and detailed, the drawings exquisite. I found myself watching for entries for the herbs Mistress Baynor gave Oliver, wondering if the Valenian ladies’ secrets were secret from Vere. But what I found was of more immediate interest:
Luton is a fascinating, versatile plant, but it can be very dangerous. Found only on the Brusterian island of Eban, luton roots are safe to eat if prepared correctly. Turnip-like in appearance, the full-grown root can be boiled or roasted, and is similar in taste to the turnip, although blander. Dried and powdered, however, uncooked luton root becomes potent, and potentially lethal. Mixed with oil, it makes a powerful medicine, which, rubbed on the skin, dulls pain. Only a small amount is necessary for this purpose, and indeed too heavy-handed an application may deaden the area more and longer than is desirable. This mixture should never be eaten as it can sicken and even kill. It is unlikely anyone would want to, or do so accidentally, due to its bitter taste. Much more dangerous, however, is the combination of powdered luton root and milk. The milk masks the bitterness, allowing the mixture to be ingested. In minute quantities, milked luton can relieve inward pain, but it should only be used with the greatest care. Even a drop too much can sicken the patient rather than relieve him, and a clumsily large dose can prove deadly.
Homegoing (The Tall Ships of Saradena Book 1) Page 32