by Simon Morden
Felix looked up at Büber, who towered over him as much as any giant would, and at Nikoleta, who slowly rose from her stoop. He backed onto his stool, held steady by the solicitous Allegretti, who leant over to whisper in the prince’s ear.
“Can we all hear your advice, Master Allegretti?” Büber’s words were sharper than he intended, but he suddenly saw the situation for what it was: the horror of the day had been enough for a lifetime, and honestly, he’d be glad to lie down and die just to make it end sooner – but not so that someone who had pretended friendship would profit from it.
The silence in the room was as deep as anyone would find in the library. Even the fire was momentarily quiet, lazy orange flames flickering in a parody of the inferno from earlier.
Allegretti slowly turned his head. He had a different look on his face than when he’d suggested that Gerhard, seemingly bent on destroying himself, was a lost cause, and the only way to salvage anything was to do what he suggested. Protect the boy, he’d said.
Now Büber knew why.
“Master Büber, a prince may take advice from those he trusts, if he wishes, and no man has a right to interrupt.”
“How about a woman, Master Allegretti? Do I have the right to talk?” There was an edge to Nikoleta’s voice that she’d not used before. The earls seemed transfixed by the tableau, and especially with the position of her hands.
“Do not threaten the prince,” said Allegretti, and that was all it took.
She hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t. But the earls Schenk and Ludl, von Traunstein and Hentschel, all reached for their swords. Which, in turn, made her raise her arms.
It now looked like they were defending themselves against her, and she was the powerful aggressor.
“Don’t,” said Büber. The fire was behind him, and he knew how much she loved playing with it.
“I didn’t. I wasn’t.” She looked Allegretti square in the eye. “Nothos,” she hissed.
“You are outlaws. Banished.” Allegretti’s two swords were abruptly in his fists. “Just say the word, my lord, and I will throw myself at the traitors.”
Felix was lost, as surely as his father had been. Büber watched as a tight, bright light coalesced in Nikoleta’s hand. He could carry on watching as she burnt the house down around them, or he could do something else.
“No more killing,” he grunted. “Not today.”
And he picked her up around the waist and carried her to the door to the parlour. He didn’t stop, despite the door being closed, just charged it with his shoulder and kept on going, past the farmer and his wife, holding a witch in the moment of casting a spell, outside into the yard.
“Put me down,” she said, struggling furiously. The light winked out, but he still didn’t let go.
“Braun’s horse is still saddled.” He could see its wet coat shining in the dark, and hear it shake its mane as it waited.
Nikoleta’s feet briefly touched the ground, and she dug her heels in against a crack in the slippery stone.
“We’re going back,” she said, but, as she wriggled free, he caught her wrist and held it tight enough to hurt.
“Who will you kill?” Büber demanded. “Allegretti?”
“Yes.”
“Schenk?”
“If I have to.”
“Von Traunstein?”
Her eyes burnt with the fire she so badly wanted to create. “All of them.”
“Felix won’t listen to you if you surround him with the dead.”
Her voice became plaintive. “I have to try.”
He picked her up and threw her onto the saddle. “The fuck you do.”
She tried to levitate off, but even sorcerers could be disorientated by the rush of grappling. Büber grabbed at the reins and got one foot in the stirrup before she righted herself astride the horse’s back.
Fire blossomed in her hand again and she held it at him.
Büber’s body froze, but not his tongue.
“Allegretti was right about one thing only: I need to protect you.”
“How dare you,” she said. “I can protect myself.”
“But not,” said Büber, “from yourself.”
He half expected that she would set him on fire and blow him apart, then go back for the Italian. He’d gambled everything – his life, the future of Carinthia – that she wouldn’t. He grabbed the pommel and pulled himself up behind her, feeling her body stiffen in shock as their bodies pressed hard against each other.
She’d have to hold on as best she could. He was no horseman, and it took all his skill to wheel the beast around and set it out into the night.
He had no idea where he was going to go.
25
Thaler woke up and found that a sheet of parchment had stuck itself to his face. With his own drool. He looked at the world sideways for a moment, at the lightening sky and the pink-coloured clouds. It was peaceful, calm. Orderly. The rain that had persisted into the night had been blown away northwards and in its wake there was warm air and gentle breezes. Spring. He liked the season best of all.
His head was cheek-down on a table positioned in the library’s entrance. He was there because yesterday something extraordinary had happened.
Thaler sat up with a start, gasping in air like he’d just run from the quayside up to the castle and back. The lights, the books, the … he peeled the rough parchment away and checked everything around him. He was whole – he patted his arms, his chest, his legs – and the ledger was still open in front of him. There was ink and spare paper, and a selection of pens. There was the heavy library seal and the stick of red sealing wax: the candle he’d used to melt it was no more than a white puddle.
He got to his feet, pushing the chair back against the wall. He seemed to be completely alone, and yet he knew he shouldn’t be. He, Frederik Thaler, had set guards to keep the books safe from looters, and arranged them in shifts so that no man would have to watch for the whole night – except for him. He’d stayed on duty, and now it was dawn.
Where was everyone? Had they faded away too, along with the magic?
“Hello?” he called, and his voice sounded weak.
A vaguely familiar face peered around the library doors. “Mr Thaler? You’re awake.”
“I am?” He put his hand to his chin, and felt stubble. “I am. Yes. I’m awake.”
Thaler tried to remember everything he’d done yesterday, but it still had the quality of a dream. Everything had been done with a purpose, and yet the situation was so extraordinary it hadn’t felt real. And now, with the first sunlight striking the western side of Library Square, he had to pinch himself to be convinced that it had all happened, just as he’d entered it in the ledger.
“Are all the books still safe?” he asked the usher.
“Yes, Mr Thaler. There’s been no trouble at all.”
“Good, good.” He pulled the ledger towards him and leant over it, examining each entry in turn.
Must thank Aaron Morgenstern, he thought, as he read about the lanterns. Do it this morning.
“Did the mayor ever send any militia?” he called out.
“No, Mr Thaler. Leastways, not so I noticed. Someone earlier in the night might have seen them.”
Must see the mayor, urgently. This morning, too.
“Was Under-librarian Thomm ever found?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
Thaler looked up from his book. “It’s Mr Ullmann, isn’t it? I sent you to Jews’ Alley yesterday.”
“Yes sir. Max Ullmann. There’s something you should probably know straight away, sir. The master librarian: he’s not in a good way. Might be something you want to see to first thing, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He’d have to do that this morning, too. So many things already. He emerged from behind the desk and stood with Ullmann and two black-robed librarians under the portico.
“Strange days, Mr Thaler,” said Ullmann, leaning on his improvised weaponry, a turned
and polished table-leg.
There was no one in the square, and the fountain was still.
“Yes. They are, aren’t they?” Thaler rasped his stubble and noticed the emptiness in his stomach. There had been breakfast, and lunch too, yesterday, but he’d been too busy for supper and had eventually fallen asleep where he’d sat. He wasn’t accustomed to missing meals, and he pressed his hand onto his ample belly to check whether it had shrunk.
“When do you think we’ll get the lights back on, Mr Thaler?”
The question stopped any thought of food. It was a question that the whole of Juvavum would be asking. “Well, now. Here’s the thing …” – but he was just talking to cover the fact that, if he was correct in his assumptions, the answer might well be never.
“Mr Thaler?” asked Ullmann.
“I don’t know. The Order are strangely silent. Perhaps someone should go and ask them.”
Ullmann’s laughter sounded out of place. “I wouldn’t like to be the man who tries that, sir. They’re quick to anger and slow to forgive, so I’m told.”
Thaler was inclined to agree, but then again: “I intend to see the mayor this morning, and I have a feeling this question’ll come up.” He scratched at his chin. Normally, he would have washed and shaved straight after rising. “I’m going to suggest that, in the absence of the prince, me and Master Mayor make a little trip up to the White Tower.”
The two librarians, who were leaning against a supporting column, registered as much surprise as Ullmann.
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Thaler, testily. “I expect it won’t just be us – the guilds and such like will probably want representation. Though how many of them will actually want to come with us is another matter entirely.” He patted at his pockets. “So much to do today, I don’t know where to start. It would help if Under-librarian Thomm would bother to show his face. Any word on Under-librarian Grozer?”
“Can’t say, sir. None that’s reached me.” Ullmann hefted his table-leg above his head with both hands and stretched. “Are you going to open the library today?”
Thaler tutted and sucked air through his teeth. “No – not that I have the final say in the matter – but there’s a lot of reshelving and tidying up to do. We should concentrate on that today, and try to reopen tomorrow.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll pass the message on.”
Thaler was taken aback, and realised he needed to make sure there were no misconceptions. “I’m not in charge, Mr Ullmann,” he said.
“Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing, Mr Thaler.” Ullmann nodded emphatically. “Don’t look so worried. The gods provide the right man for the right time.”
“I’d be more believing in the wisdom of the Aesir if none of this had happened in the first place, Mr Ullmann.” Again, Thaler experienced the nagging doubt that the gods, if they ever existed, weren’t the slightest bit concerned with who he was or what he did. But perhaps in this case, Ullmann was right. Magic didn’t just disappear; something must have caused it. “Still, this all very academic. If we don’t get the water back on today, I doubt the doughty burghers of Juvavum will be as accepting of their situation as you.”
“The water, sir?” Ullmann called after him as Thaler went back inside briefly for the ledger. And the seal. Can’t go leaving that lying around. “Now that is serious.”
“Yes, Mr Ullmann. It is, isn’t it?” He hefted the book under his arm and pocketed the seal. “Now, I will be sending every available librarian back here as soon as I can. When they arrive, go and get something to eat, and get plenty of rest. I shall commend you for your diligence to Mr Glockner, and if I may say for myself, very well done, Mr Ullmann. Very well done indeed. If anyone needs me, I shall be in the refectory; after that, I will visit the master librarian and Mr Grozer, followed by the Town Hall. Disturb me if it is important; otherwise, carry on as you see fit.”
He hurried away, the seal knocking against his leg as he walked. He passed the fountain, the surface of the water in the great stone bowl reflecting the sky in tremulous stasis.
The Romans had installed them, and they hadn’t possessed the magic that up until yesterday the Germans had had at their command. So there was already a way of getting water through the city’s pipework; he just had to find out how they’d done it, and copy that. How difficult could it be? The caesars had first taken the settlement fifteen hundred years ago, and Juvavum still had sections of the ramparts that dated back that far.
Thaler stopped in his tracks. He may not even have to copy the Romans. The original system might still be beneath his feet, lying dormant like some slumbering beast. What an extraordinary thought, having to rely on something so old.
He set off again, his quick steps devouring the distance between the library and the refectory. He began to smell the kitchens, steam wafting out of the high open windows. Some things, at least, were normal.
There were doors. Big doors with iron rings, and smaller ones closed with thumb latches, but he arrived in the refectory soon enough.
The room was long and thin: the ceiling went all the way to the painted roof, and high-set arched windows let slanting light stream in, illuminating the long table that stretched the entire length of the floor.
There were lights hanging from the roof beams, but, as in the library, they were extinguished, cold and grey.
Half a dozen librarians were already seated and eating, clustered at the far end nearest the kitchen. They seemed in good spirits, despite – or perhaps because of – their experiences. Normally, breakfast was taken in library-silence, with each man attempting to find an island of peace before the day’s work. This morning was different in every way.
Thaler closed the door behind him, and walked down to join his fellows. Who rose as they saw him approach.
Embarrassed, he waved them back to their plates. “Quite enough of that, I think,” he flustered. He placed the ledger next to him and helped himself to a mug of short beer from the jug.
“Is the library safe, Mr Thaler?” one of them asked.
“Yes, perfectly safe. I’ve left it in the very good care of Mr Ullmann for the moment.” Thaler helped himself to a still-warm bread roll and dug his thumbs in to split it open. “Ah. Compliments to the bakers. I am in need, gentlemen, so no questions for the moment.”
He dipped his bread in his beer, and savoured the yeasty, malty flavour. He cut some slices of sausage, and ate those one after another, then went back for more bread, and more beer.
The others were watching him. “Eat, eat!” he encouraged. “We must keep our strength up. There’s work to be done.”
So they kept going, even if they’d already finished, and after cramming enough in to fill the void in his stomach, Thaler slowed down enough to pass on his news.
“Well, my fellow librarians,” he began. While he had been feeding, other librarians had drifted in, and now he was bordered on both sides by attentive faces. “What has been happening to the north is beyond our control, but what happens here is not: so, when my lord returns, he will find us in our library, working as we have always worked. Now, we are at a disadvantage in that our usual means of illumination is currently unavailable to us: we have what we have, thanks to the beneficence of Jews’ Alley, but we must be very careful with our lights. We all know what happened to Alexandria, and that will not happen here.
“We have much to do. We have shelves to right and books to place on them. We have debris to clear and furniture to replace. When, gods willing, the master librarian returns to the library, he will find us as he has always found us: serving the prince as best we can, conserving and repairing our older manuscripts, copying and collecting and collating. It will be business as usual, and rightly so. Just because our fortunes change is no excuse. Our standards, already of the highest ethic, will not fall one iota.”
He beamed around at them, hooking his greasy, crumb-covered thumbs around the edges of his robe. “I aim to have the library back to normal tomorrow morning,
at the first watch, even if I have to work all night. Who else will stand now and say that he is an honest labourer, and that, while there is a job to be done, he will not rest? Who will join me in this great endeavour?”
They stood as one, and Thaler dabbed the corners of his eyes.
“Come then. To the library.”
26
Outside, having started their day in darkness, the citizens of Juvavum were making up for their tardiness by turning out all at once. Despite the problems, they seemed determined – perhaps a little too determined – to carry on regardless.
Thaler found himself pressed to the walls of narrow Coin Alley on a number of occasions, all without so much as an excuse me or a beg your pardon. Relieved he’d made it as far as Wheat Alley without incident, he looked at the crowds there and decided to cut through to the open spaces of the quayside – with the barges tied up, there’d be room enough to walk sensibly.
It was almost true, and at least he found out where all the militia had got to. They were guarding all the barges and all the warehouses, from the city wall up to the very far end of Rudolf’s Quay. And, conveniently, the Town Hall was directly opposite the main bridge, right on the waterfront.
He strode past the knots of spear-armed men, feeling increasingly indignant. Surely some of them could have been spared to guard other locations in the town? Like the library?
To cap it all, he was stopped as he was about to ease his way into the Town Hall itself. A spear-haft blocked his way, and a voice monotone with repetition said: “You can’t go in.”
Thaler bristled. “This is library business, man.” He put up his free hand to push the spear aside, and checked himself just in time. Instead, he brandished his book, and the guard took a step back.
“The mayor said no one was to be allowed through …” said the guard, moustache twitching.
“Except on official matters,” Thaler finished for the man. “It doesn’t get much more official than this. I have the Great Seal of the Library in my pocket and I’m more than willing to stamp an imprint on your forehead to prove the point. Now, is Messinger in, or should I look elsewhere?”