∞∞∞
The library was tucked between a dormitory and a dark, enclosed greenhouse tall enough to house grand trees. Shadows of strange plants loomed against the clouded glass panes. Several parts of all three buildings overlapped each other, with upstairs walkways crossing between them, and exterior stairways getting tangled around one another. As Fox and Farran entered, Fox could feel an unnatural hush settle over them. It was like the rest of the city outside had simply gone mute. Everything was dark, polished wood and old parchment. He could hear the rustling of pages and the scratching of quills and ink.
Farran faded into the shadows as Fox wandered through rows and towers of seemingly endless shelves. They were stacked with more books than Fox had ever imagined existed. More books than he could read in a dozen lifetimes. Books with every color of leather binding, and books of all shapes and sizes. Scrolls of thick and ancient fabric, with intricate lettering in languages Fox didn’t understand.
The whole structure sprawled impossibly, up, down, and sideways. Staircases to other levels were tucked into corners, ladders led to small reading alcoves, or else reached to the highest parts of the shelves. There were long tables running between many bookcases, where students sat and scribbled away, or buried themselves in large tomes.
Fox simply let himself wander, led by nothing but curiosity and fascination. He ran his hands along the spines of leatherbound volumes and brushed his fingertips across the worn edges of parchment scrolls. Up and down stairs and into alcoves lit by nothing but a single candle, and through wide stretches of tables meant for study, lit by glowing orbs of crystal and magic light.
And then, he found the map room.
It was the highest room of the library. A room that intertwined seamlessly with the greenhouse next door. It was the perfect marriage of cloudy, grey-green glass panes, and dark knotted wood. At the heart of the room squatted a large, low table that was seemingly cut out of the living wood itself. Adhered to its surface was a large, elegantly drawn map of Mirius and its surrounding kingdoms.
It was a moment before Fox realized that he was not alone. A handful of young men and women, many around his own age, milled quietly about the room. Waiting for something. Fox hung back, though his fingertips fairly itched to touch the fine surface of the map. Instead, he buried his hands deep in his vest pockets and watched the others. Many of them were dressed in University robes, but they were all different. Some were solid brown, others had trim along the hem and collar. Still others had long, close-cut sleeves while some had no sleeves at all.
Fox supposed the different robes separated areas of study. He could smell earth and greenery on those with humble brown garments, and the sharp tang of steel and some unfamiliar magic from those with the sleeveless ones. One woman in particular seemed to simply drip with magic. And after Fox’s uncomfortable incident in the courtyard, he found himself drifting away from her, not wanting to draw any magical attention to himself.
But he watched her carefully nonetheless. She wore the same long, sleeveless vestment as the rest of those who smelled like her. It was dove grey, and she wore a slightly darker grey shirt underneath, with elegant fastenings about her wrists. And there was a deep blue trim that the other grey robes lacked. She held her head a little higher, and Fox noticed she had features cut like a hunting bird. Strong cheekbones; a prominent nose; and large, deep-set, unblinking eyes. She even wore feathers and small bones woven into her thick, dark blonde braids — tattered, rope-like braids, the likes of which Fox had never seen before. There was more magical power radiating from her than from everyone else in the room put together, so perhaps the trim was a symbol of rank.
Fox was so busy sizing her up that he didn’t notice the professor enter, until he clapped sharply and brought everyone to attention. He retreated automatically a few steps back into the stairwell, while the students stood a little straighter and drew closer to the table. This man was wearing robes of deep plum, high-collared and trimmed in bronze. He barely looked older than many of the students, but he carried himself with a certain authority, despite his boyish, clean-shaven face.
“Pedar, glad to see you’re feeling better this week,” the man said, and a small boy with a wool cap on his head nodded. “Iness will help you catch up on what you’ve missed.” A taller, dark-skinned girl in a knee-length robe of the same plum as the professor, smiled warmly at Pedar. “Now, as you can all see, I have asked Lady Virrix to come and assist with this week’s lesson.” As the bird woman stepped forward to take her place by the professor’s side, he continued, “Her own fellows from the Iron Order will know her — ” there was a nod to the rest of the grey-robes “ — but for the rest of you: Lady Virrix is one of our highest War Mages. We have been studying strategy and basic warfare, but she is here to help me show you how magic can turn the tide of battle. It can change everything you thought you knew about strategy.” And then, with another clap of his hands and an excited, jovial smile, the professor said, “Let’s begin, then!”
As Fox watched, Lady Virrix unrolled a thick scroll and spread it across the table, tacking it down at its corners with paperweights and miniature chests. It was another, more specific map, of a countryside Fox couldn’t see the names of from his position. Then, she upended one of the corner chests, spilling its contents out across the table. It was filled with small, elegantly carved figurines. “Divide yourselves into two parties, and prepare me a stand-off of your choosing.” The students scrambled to pick teams and scoop up the little things. Lady Virrix and the professor circled around as they worked, watching the young men and women set their toy soldiers into place across the map.
Rows and rows of carved men were set across the map, in formations Fox didn’t understand. It was like a game that he wanted to know the rules for, and he edged a little closer, trying to see past the forest of elbows and arms as the students worked furiously.
“New students should introduce themselves, not merely lurk in the shadows like a specter,” said a stern, female voice behind Fox. He hadn’t heard Lady Virrix approach. Now, he turned slowly to meet her penetrating, hawk-like gaze.
“I was just looking around,” he began, but Lady Virrix cut him off.
“Stand up straight,” she said. “Don’t cower like a little boy.”
Fox wasn’t sure if he was responding to her order or her insult, but either way he straightened himself and held his chin high. “Straight enough?” he asked before he could help himself.
The professor laughed. “Leave him, Virrix. He’s just lost.”
“Then he should stay that way,” retorted Lady Virrix. “Classes are for University students only. Not children who have strayed too far from their mothers.”
“I just wanted to see the maps,” said Fox defensively.
Virrix scoffed, and waved a hand dismissively, sweeping away and back to the table. “Come back on your own time, then. We have real work to be getting along with.” She began inspecting the students’ work, and the professor approached Fox with a warm smile.
“The Iron Order are not known for their charisma,” he said apologetically. “But it might be best if you came back apart from our student’s time.”
“What if,” said Fox quietly, “what if I wanted to learn?”
The professor sized him up, his smile fading somewhat, replaced with contemplation and genuine interest. Finally he said, “There’s a man who teaches a scattering of classes here. He’s an all-around scholar of sorts, and an odd little duck. But he’s been known to tutor students, and occasionally poorer city folk, on his own time. You might talk to him.”
“Where would I find him?” asked Fox eagerly.
“When he’s not in classes, he usually keeps company at the Goblin’s Crown gambling house. Ask for Bartrum Bookmonger.”
∞∞∞
“I thought you said he was in Athilior,” said Darby. They were supping at a second story table at the Drunken Goose, tucked between a curling staircase and the railing of an internal balcony. They cou
ld see the common room below, filled to bursting with excitable patrons, all crowded in to watch the legendary Shavid perform. And Radda’s troupe was not disappointing. They’d converted several tables into a makeshift stage, and were acting out a bawdy common tale about a barmaid who accidentally had an affair with a prince.
“Father said he was,” said Fox. He took another bite of his supper, careful not to bump elbows with Neil. At his side, the older boy was a flurry of quill and ink. He was busy scribbling away at scraps of parchment, adding notations and commentary to the pages he’d copied down while he was in the library. He’d been at it all evening, ever since they had returned to the inn. Finally, as he reached the end of a page, Darby reached across the table and snatched the quill from his hand.
“You’re done,” the dwarf said sternly. “Go down there and rub elbows with actual people for awhile.”
Neil glared across the table, but they all knew better than to cross Darby Whistler. Especially once the dwarf had started in on the ale. After a brief staring match, Neil stood with a resigned grumble and stomped downstairs, into the crowd.
Darby watched him go, taking a swig of his drink, then said thoughtfully, “This Bartum character, you said he’s taught you before?”
“Back in Thicca Valley,” said Fox. “But he left with the caravan, and Father said they parted ways not long after. He got a teaching post at the university there, in Athilior.”
Darby gave an impressed grunt. “That’s no dented coin, Athilor’s the seat of the High King! What would have driven him from such a cozy, plush job and all the way out here?”
Fox shrugged. He hadn’t heard from Bartrum since the flamboyant, jovial merchant’s departure. But he would have liked to. It had been Bartrum and his magical, traveling library that had helped Fox discover the nature of his own Blessing. “I’ll have to ask him once I track him down.” And then, carefully, Fox added, “He might even be able to find me something about the mapweavers in one of his books.”
Darby didn’t answer right away. He seemed to know Fox was baiting him, and took a deliberately long time finishing the last swig of his drink. Fox returned to his meal as the Shavid ended their story to tumultuous applause. With Radda’s promise that the company had more in store for later, the performers scattered throughout the tavern, to eat and drink before they continued.
It was only once Fox had scraped his own plate clean that Darby stood with a groaning stretch and said, lazily, “I think I’ll come meet this Bartrum character after all. I wouldn’t want to see him getting your hopes up.”
“Right,” said Fox, getting to his own feet. “It’s my hopes you’re worried about.”
He started to leave, but Darby grabbed his arm. “It’s your tone I’m worried about right now, Foxglove.”
“It’s earned,” said Fox dryly. “My own mentor is trying to prevent me from being taught.”
“I am trying to save you from being trapped!” Darby spoke with such intensity that Fox instinctively pulled back, and the dwarf released his arm. The two stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Darby said gruffly, “Let’s get going. The Goblin’s Crown isn’t in this district of the city, it’ll take us a bit of a hike to get there.”
∞∞∞
Even at night, the city of Calibas was alive with color. Lanterns of all shapes and hues were strung beneath the bridges overhead, casting pools of multi-colored light on the streets and buildings. Many storefronts were closed and dark, but plenty more remained active, their windows flickering with candlelight, or their open doors spilling a warm glow out onto the flagstones.
Brothels and bathhouses and gambling dens were particularly bright at this hour. They shone like beacons to the late-night wanderers and adventurous souls, welcoming and tempting. Fox could hear murmuring of parties and balls taking place all throughout the city tonight, and revelers in their finest gowns and jewels filled the air with their laughter. They, too, lent their own color to the night, from the richness of their garments to the light reflected in their jewelry. And everywhere, hints of the same green, liquid magic that lit the Drunken Goose snaked quietly through the city. Fox caught glimpses of it running between paving stones, or etched into stone pillars and the mortar between bricks.
Darby led them deeper into the city, expertly navigating through twisting alleys and down stone stairways to what he called the Nightshade District. It was no surprise to Fox that the dwarf already knew where the gambling house was, so he followed unconcernedly, simply enjoying discovering new realms of this strange city. The Nightshade District was one level below the main street, and it felt grittier. Darker. The green magic grew in wild tendrils here, and from it sprouted white, dimly glowing flowers. They curled up buildings like ivy, and stretched between rooftops and windows like jungle vines.
If any part of the city had a Black Market, hidden from the eye of the law, Fox was sure this was it. The air felt heavy with secret magic, and tasted of coin and ale and sweat. The rich partygoers still ventured down here, but it was clear they were after less savory entertainments. They were quieter, and more direct as they traveled the streets. Not like up-city, where they sang and shouted to each other from their carriages. Here, down-city, most wagons would not fit, and Fox didn’t see a single horse. Instead, stray cats and packs of wild dogs lurked in the shadows. Every so often, Darby would fish into his pockets and toss out a scrap of meat to one of the animals, and they would descend on it in an instant before slinking back into the darkness.
Soon, the district opened up into a wide courtyard, but even there it was more shadow than light. Fox looked up, and found a stone ceiling, overgrown with the glowing magical vines and their strange flowers. Fox felt sure this was built under other buildings from the up-city, and he stared at it for a moment, wondering how the whole thing didn’t collapse. But he wasn’t allowed time to dwell, as Darby whistled for him, pulling Fox’s attention forward once more. There, across the courtyard, was the most opulent building he had seen in all of the Nightshade District.
It was tall enough to fill the whole space between ground and stone, and covered with the same tendrils as the rest of the buildings. But it was cleaner, and glowing from within. Two gigantic lanterns, big enough that Fox could sit in them comfortably, stood outside the front door. They were round and red, like small suns, and hanging from poles like shepherds’ hooks, driven deep into the ground. Windows were scattered seemingly randomly across the facade, each one glowing with a different colored light. As Fox looked closer, he realized the glass itself was dyed and stained. Elegantly carved shutters framed each one, like strange wings, and several curved chimneys jutted out at odd places. A thin layer of smoke drifted upwards from them, catching at the stone ceiling and creating a hazy fog around the glowing flowers.
Fox had expected something of a large pub when he went inside. But he found very quickly that he was terribly mistaken. Public houses and taverns might house card games, and Thiccans at the Five Sides had been known to pass the time in Deep Winter with friendly dice games and wagers. But those were places for food and drink, where gambling was a happy side-effect. This was a place for only the games, where food or drink might be purchased, but almost as an afterthought. There were tables for dice and separate tables for cards. There were strange bone tiles that Darby called “dominos,” and a dozen other pieces that Fox had never seen before.
And everything was garishly lavish. Fine tablecloths draped over many of the tables, and others were finished in expertly tanned leather. Large chandeliers hung overhead, dripping with gems and precious stones. The stairs were polished marble, and gauzy fabric covered the walls like spectral wallpaper. Even the employees seemed to have some kind of uniform. Fox could see a certain unity in the garments of the servants circulating around the tables. and the imposing guards that stood watch strategically throughout the room.
Finally, Darby seemed to find who he was looking for. A beautiful, voluptuous serving girl, wearing a dress that revealed quite a l
ot of breast, and even more leg. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she leaned down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Fox averted his eyes as the woman’s ample bosom practically fell out of her bodice. When he looked back, she had righted herself again, and she and Darby were exchanging words he couldn’t hear. Finally, the woman nodded towards the leftmost set of stairs and, with a saucy wink at Fox, went back about her business.
“Put your tongue back in,” said Darby, Fox following him once more. “There’s thousands more like her, and you’ll get robbed blind if you get distracted by every one of them.” As if on cue, Fox suddenly felt a tug at one of his pockets. Instinctively, he reached down and grabbed the wrist of the offender, but before he could turn in time to see their face, they had slipped out of his grasp and vanished. Darby chuckled knowingly. “Welcome to the Goblin’s Crown.”
Upstairs was more of the same, although Fox noticed several private parlors recessed into the walls. Some had curtains drawn across their entrances for a more secluded atmosphere. Others were wide open, and Fox could see smaller parties of players sitting inside, often settled in well-cushioned chairs, smoking long pipes.
There was an explosion of laughter from one of the back parlors. A familiar voice twittered through the air, saying exuberantly, “That’s three hundred you owe me, my good man!” His accent was thick and overly-proper, and unmistakable. As they came right upon the farthest parlor, drawing back the gauzy curtain that separated it from the rest of the room, there he was.
Bartum Bookmonger had not changed much. A flamboyant weed of a man, he dressed impeccably and kept his tight, sandy curls well-groomed. His neck scarf was loosened, and his vest left unlaced over his silk shirt, but every piece was still immaculately kept and cleaned. He was seated at a round, leather-topped card table, his gold-framed spectacles glinting in the lantern glow. He had a sizeable pile of coins in front of him, much to Fox’s surprise — the man had been famously terrible at every gambling game the people of Thicca Valley had tried to teach him. How had he gotten so good, and so quickly?
Inkspice (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 2) Page 7