by Pearl North
“Shh,” Haly told the letter under her breath, hurrying toward the door. She knew a great deal more about goings-on in the Libyrinth than she or anyone else would like.
“Until now, you have refused to send an expedition in search of the vault on the grounds that its precise location is unclear. I am privileged to say that I can now satisfy your concerns on that account. My recent discovery of a mention of the vault in the personal journals of Othalia of Ayor has allowed me to pinpoint the location exactly. In fact, I have prepared a map, which I will be delighted to display to you at your earliest convenience,” the letter said on the stairway.
“In closing, allow me to say once more that I would be honored to lead the expedition to the site in order to secure The Book of the Night for the greater glory of the Libyrinth and the furtherance of our sacred calling.”
The Book of the Night! Haly nearly tripped and fell down the stairs. So that was why Selene had been so tireless in her efforts to locate the vault.
As she rounded the final curve of the staircase, Haly nearly ran into Arche, Frise, and Breal, who stood under the archway in close conversation. They were all clerks and all a year older than her. Arche drew herself up as Haly came to an abrupt halt in front of her. Frise and Breal, who were in the bloom of first love, moved to one side and leaned upon each other, waiting to see what she would do.
Arche was Griome’s clerk, and as such, she ruled over the other clerks, rewarding those she liked with the prestige of her friendship, and heaping scorn upon the rest. Like her master, she was a pureblood Thesian, with dark skin and tightly curled hair. She looked down her classical Thesian nose at Haly and said, “What’s your hurry, Hallucination? Does your little cook friend need your help in the kitchen?” Frise and Breal exchanged sly, knowing smiles.
Haly didn’t have many friends among the clerks. Not being able to talk about what the books told her somehow made it hard to talk about anything else. She was always examining her words before she spoke them, afraid she was about to give something away. The whole process made her shy and withdrawn among her peers. But it was Clauda, a servant and not a proper companion for a Libyrarian-born child, who had always and without hesitation believed in Haly’s ability to hear the books, and though they never spoke of it anymore, Clauda’s belief somehow made Haly feel free to say whatever might be on her mind.
“We’ll all be helping in the kitchen this afternoon,” Haly noted. The three clerks frowned at her. Griome’s insistence that the clerks serve the Eradicants at the feast was a sore spot. Haly wondered if they’d heard about the fall of Thesia yet. If not, she wasn’t going to tell them. “I have a letter for your master,” she said, holding out the folded parchment in hopes that Arche would take it off her hands.
But she only sneered at her and said, “Take it to him yourself.”
Without another word, Haly hurried past them and up the steps of the fourth tower. The letter Selene had given her wouldn’t shut up. It kept repeating itself, and if it kept this up she was going to start thinking about what it said. She hated that. Things always got so complicated, and she worried. Except this time excitement made her hands tremble. No book was more sought after—by Libyrarian, Thesian, Ilysian, or Eradicant—than The Book of the Night. The tome held the secrets of the Ancients, all of their machines and miracles, and most importantly, the method for making the Eggs that powered them.
Rare and prized above all else, one Egg could light and heat the Libyrinth for generations—no more palm-glow, no more pneumonia in the wintertime. And no more Eradicants. Whoever possessed a Maker of Eggs would rule over the others. And now she understood Selene’s sense of urgency. According to her findings, the vault was located on the border of—
“Shh,” she said again, this time to herself, and then took up humming in her head a little ditty Clauda had taught her: One makes two, three makes four, we’ll come knocking on your door, with a six-pack Cadillac, give that god a phone, this cold hand is—
Thesia.
Grunting in exasperation, Haly slammed her hands against the door of Griome’s chamber with somewhat more force than was necessary. It swung open wildly, crashing into the wall behind it.
Griome looked up from his table, squinting at her from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Lines etched his sagging jowls with bitterness, and a fringe of sparse white hair stuck out around the edges of his bald brown head. Haly bowed hastily and approached him with the letter outstretched in her hand. “Libyrarian Selene sent me with this,” she said.
With agonizing slowness, Griome wiped the ink from his quill with a black-streaked cloth, and set it down on the table. He reached out and took the letter from her.
Haly nearly sighed with relief. They didn’t understand how much these little errands of theirs cost her. She swung around again and headed for the door.
“Did I give you leave?”
She stopped short. Still facing the door, she hung her head. “No, sir. I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Begging is of little use, and stop hanging your head like a whipped mule, girl. Turn around!”
Haly did so. Griome glowered at her over his desk. “A fine excuse for a clerk you are. Dashing off without a by-your-leave.” He opened Selene’s letter and read it quickly. His face betrayed little, but when he finished, there was a note of barely suppressed excitement in his voice as he said, “Tell your mistress I will be happy to meet with her tomorrow, as soon as the Eradicants depart. Now, I happen to have another errand for you, if you’re not too busy.”
She wouldn’t point out that his own clerk loitered downstairs with nothing to do. “Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Griome grumbled but berated her no further. He dipped his quill in his pot of ink, and began to write. “Dearest Nephew.” The words, their ink still wet, sounded raw with emotion, a level of anxiety and affection that Griome would never permit himself to show. Haly felt her cheeks go red and she stared out the window behind Griome, trying not to hear his words, but it was no use. “Do not despair,” the letter went on. “Even now, in your darkest hour, there is hope. A new development has arisen. One of my Libyrarians has uncovered the location of The Book of the Night. It may be the Eradicants can be persuaded to spare you in exchange for such information. Take heart; all that can be done is being done. Your affectionate uncle, Griome, Head Libyrarian.”
Shock and dread filled Haly. How could Griome do such a thing?
He scattered powdered bone upon the ink to dry it, folded the letter, and sealed it with black wax. He handed it to Haly, saying, “Take this to the envoy from Thesia, and be quick about it. He is in the stable yard, preparing to depart.”
She didn’t dare meet Griome’s eyes as she took the letter from him. Her hand shook, but he didn’t notice. Should she destroy this letter, or deliver it as she was told? It didn’t matter. Griome would go forward with his plan regardless.
Haly hurried to the dim, cavernous stable. The overwhelming smell of hay and dung coated the back of her throat. Sunlight from the large archway at the end of the double row of stalls lit the dusty air with millions of tiny particles of brilliance. She ran out into the yard, past the goat shed and the chicken coop, to where the Thesian envoy, resplendent in his green and black livery, prodded his horse toward the gate with his heel. The boar of Thesia fluttered on the banner above his head.
“Wait,” cried Haly, waving the letter in her hand. When she handed it over to him he glanced at the seal. He gave her a curt nod and was off, Griome’s desperate words fading as he went.
It’s bad enough they come here and burn our books, but we have to cook for them, too,” Clauda growled as Haly approached her. She stood with Jan and Bessa at the work-table that ran the length of the steamy, clattering kitchen. “All our best stores, too.” Clauda nodded at the steaming pot of asparagus soup in front of her.
Beside her, ten-year-old Jan shrugged his shoulders and arranged bowls on a tray. “What can we do?”
Clauda spat
into the soup pot. “Not much,” she said, stirring vigorously.
Haly leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I have to talk to you, right now.” By the time she’d returned from the stable yard, Selene and the other Libyrarians were in Griome’s quarters with the Eradicants, working out the details of next year’s quota. They’d be there until the feast began. There was no opportunity to warn her mistress of Griome’s plan.
Clauda looked up at her, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “But the feast will start soon.”
“I know.”
Clauda’s eyes widened further. She knew Haly wouldn’t risk getting in trouble unless it was something really important. She turned to Jan. “We’re going to need more flour. I’ll fetch it.”
“So do you think Griome will steal Selene’s map?” Clauda asked when Haly finished. They were in the storeroom, surrounded by sacks of flour and barrels of preserved goat meat.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’ll have Arche do it. Maybe he already has. But I still can’t believe Griome would really give the location of The Book of the Night to the Eradicants.”
“To save his family?” Clauda shrugged. “Put yourself in his place, what would you do?”
Haly didn’t know. When she was a very tiny baby, her own parents had ventured deep into the stacks and never returned. But Clauda’s mother, Hepsebah, was the Libyrinth hearthmistress, her father was the stablemaster, and her uncle was Sakal, the kitchenmaster. She had numerous siblings and cousins among the Libyrinth servants. She would know. “What are we going to do? If the Eradicants get The Book of the Night, they’ll destroy it.”
“Or worse, what if they don’t destroy it?” said Clauda. “What if they find someone to read it for them? Then we’ll really be up Calamity Mountain without a rope.”
The door to the storeroom opened. Sakal stood there, glowering at them. “There you two are. Shirking again! The Eradicants are waiting for their soup. You.” He grabbed Haly by the arm. “Just because you’re Libyrarian-born doesn’t mean you can do as you please. You’ll serve that soup, girl, along with the rest of your snot-nosed kind.” He dragged her from the storeroom and shoved her toward the row of clerks awaiting the serving trays that were being laden by the kitchen staff. Frise and Breal were there, smirking, but where was Arche?
“And you!” bellowed Sakal, rounding on Clauda. “Don’t think I won’t tell your mother and father about this!” Clauda yelped as the kitchenmaster cuffed the side of her head. “Help Jan with the salads!”
Haly took her laden tray out into the dining hall. Like a row of dark birds, the Eradicants sat at the senior table that ran the length of the room and stood on a raised platform. Griome, one of the few senior Libyrarians who was not displaced by the guests, bore their company with stony cheer.
The Eradicants had taken off their masks. As Haly served the soup, she glanced once or twice at their faces, surprised, as always, at how ordinary they looked. She always expected yellow eyes and sharp teeth. That was how they’d been described to her as a child, and that was how she still thought of them, even though she knew better. Hastily she placed the brimming bowls before them.
As she served the last Eradicant, a tall, lean man with a deeply lined face, Arche entered from the corridor with a folded piece of paper in her hand. She handed it to Griome. It looked like a letter, but it was no letter. Even before Haly glimpsed its tea stains, she knew what it was. The only words it spoke were the names of places: the Plain of Ayor, the Tumbles, the Pit of Glass. Selene’s map. Haly stood, frozen to the spot, watching in horror and helplessness as Griome glanced at it, then refolded it and handed it to the Eradicant at his right, a hawk-nosed man with closely set, piercing gray eyes.
Forcing herself to move, Haly turned, stepped off the platform, and walked swiftly back to the kitchen. She found Clauda licking all the salad plates before piling lettuce and watercress upon them. Haly gripped her friend’s shoulder with such force that Clauda gave a start of panic. “Sakal, I was just—Oh. Hi.” She took in Haly’s expression and frowned. “What is it?”
Haly leaned close and spoke quietly. “You know what we talked about just now? It’s happened.”
The Devouring Silence
It’s gone,” said Selene, after she and Haly had searched their chamber for her map, leaving no book, blanket, table, or chair unturned. “Whosoever neglects the Tales neglects salvation,” muttered Theselaides peevishly, from the corner where it lay amid a heap of papers and quills.
Selene ran one hand through her hair, slowly turning in place, gazing about the disheveled room as if the map might suddenly appear out of nowhere. At last she stopped and her hand fell to her side. The setting sun threw a broad bar of gold into the room, casting her face in shadow, but something of the sun remained in her eyes, burning. “Are you sure, are you absolutely positive that it was my map Griome gave to the Eradicants?”
Haly nodded. “I recognized the rings from your tea,” she said, silently adding, Please, don’t ask me more. Just let me help.
Selene bowed her head, righted the overturned chair, and set it in its place beside the hearth. She sank into it and stared at the glowing embers of the fire. The room grew dark as the sky outside turned purple with dusk. Selene looked at Haly, her face filled with self-recrimination. “I told Griome about the map in the letter you took to him.”
Haly barely stopped herself from saying, I know.
“Silence is the habit of the fearful,” said Theselaides.
Abruptly Selene stood up. She dredged a pair of saddlebags from beneath her bed and started packing.
“What are you doing?” asked Haly.
“I am going to attempt to reach the vault before the Eradicants,” said Selene, continuing to toss clothes and papers and books into the saddlebags. “There is something in it that they must not have. Something they desire more than all the heads of the Thesian ruling family together in a basket with a bow upon it. And Griome has all but given it to them.”
“The Book of the Night.” The words came unbidden from Haly’s lips. She fell silent, too late.
Selene turned to stare at her. “You know, then.”
Haly did not like to lie, but she knew the truth would not be believed. “I saw, in your notes one day. I didn’t mean to, but—”
Selene shook her head impatiently. “They must not possess it. Ilysies is no more than four days’ ride from the vault. Perhaps if I can reach my mother’s palace in time, it can be hidden.”
“I will go with you,” said Haly.
Selene shook her head again. “You have served me well. It is worse than ingratitude for me even to speak of this with you, much less ask—”
“You are not asking,” said Haly.
“When Peril joins Mystery, the Dog eats well,” said Theselaides.
They went down the tower stairs to the ground floor. The feast was still underway, so it was only a matter of nerves for a Libyrarian and her clerk to pass unnoticed through the hallway and into the stables.
As they neared the stalls where the horses were kept, Haly heard footsteps behind them. She tensed and shrank against a stall door, inching for the darkness, but the figure she saw hurrying toward them was not the tall, robed form of an Eradicant. It was Clauda, struggling under the weight of a basket tied to her back.
“What are you doing?” she whispered as Clauda reached her.
“What does it look like? You’re not leaving me behind. Bet you didn’t think to pack any food, did you?” She hitched her shoulders, making the basket wiggle. “This was supposed to be for the Eradicants’ trip back, but they can forage for bitter berries for all I care.”
“How did you know?” said Selene, the blade of her knife winking silver as she returned it to her belt.
“Who do you think slipped that note into your salad?” said Clauda.
Selene glared at Haly. “How much does she know?”
“I know enough,” said Clauda. “I know where we’re going and I know—”
&nb
sp; “Where do we go? Where do we go?” came a voice from the top of the stall door, and the tiny, grizzled form of Nod the imp leaped down and landed on top of Clauda’s basket, making her stagger.
Selene stared at Clauda and Nod in silent anger. “We don’t have time to argue about it,” she said. “Come on. If you know of this, it’s better you not stay here anyway.”
Dawn found them on the ragged plain, the cold wind whipping their cheeks with dust. The Libyrinth was nothing but a memory beyond the edge of the horizon, and for Haly the sky rang with the absence of its voices like a great blue bell struck by the rising sun.
Selene’s horse stopped to nibble at the leaves of a wind-bitten shrub and she prodded its flank with her heel. The beast dug its broad, split-toed hooves into the dirt and bellowed in protest. Haly and Clauda’s mounts joined it and the three horses set about steadfastly denuding the shrub with their mobile lips and yellow, slablike teeth.
“I guess we’ll take a break,” said Selene with a nervous glance at the horizon behind them. “But only a short one.”
Grasping the long, woolly locks of her horse’s pelt, Haly lowered herself to the ground and stretched, trying to ease the aching in her butt. Clauda rummaged in her basket and passed out salted rolls.
Haly bit hungrily into the roll. She stayed close to her mount, taking what comfort she could from its bulk. The vast horizon and flat landscape unnerved her. “How much farther is it?” she asked around a mouthful of roll.
“Another three days,” said Selene. “We’d better keep moving.”
When they remounted, Nod, who had been exploring a nearby rock, clambered up the shaggy pelt of Haly’s horse, which grunted in protest. As he topped the creature’s flank, his little hands grasped Haly’s cloak and then her hair.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she cried, trying to disengage him, and succeeding only in tangling him further in her hair. “Hey, get off. Ow!”