by Mel Odom
Fog hid most of the Vault of All Known Knowledge from view at the moment. Perhaps at midday it would burn off, but even on the best days the Great Library wasn’t very visible. The buildings were constructed to blend into the Knucklebones Mountains behind them, flowing along the natural lines above the Ogre’s Fingers. The distance was also great enough that only a keen eye without a spyglass could pick the buildings out.
“First Level Librarian Juhg,” a happy voice exclaimed.
Surprised at such a greeting, Juhg halted his steps and turned in the direction of the voice.
A plump dweller dressed in the white-fringed light gray robe that was the official color of a Third Level Librarian stood beside a lamppost. He carried a basket under one arm.
“Don’t you know me?” The plump dweller let a car rattle past, then crossed the street.
Juhg thought he did recognize the other Librarian, but he wasn’t certain. Camaraderie in the Vault was somewhat limited, and he’d never truly gone out of his way to meet other people. Having grown up on Greydawn Moors as they had, few of them really felt comfortable talking to Juhg.
Then the name clicked into Juhg’s mind. “Third Level Librarian Thelf.”
“Yes.” Thelf was partially out of breath from his run across the street. His face was florid and pink from spending so many days in the subterranean haunts where nearly every Third Level Librarian spent years sorting the crates, boxes, and chests of books that had been heaped into the caves during the first arrivals. “I only just heard you’d returned.”
“Yes. I was on my way to the Library to see the Grandmagister.”
“Then your journey will be a short one, and it won’t be up to the Library.”
“The Grandmagister is in town?”
Thelf nodded. “Yes. He came to the Customs House for a bit of business and decided to stay to break his fast.”
Juhg’s stomach churned. In a way, it would be good to get the book off his hands and where it would no longer be his responsibility, but seeing the Grandmagister also meant having to admit to all the deaths for which he was at least partially to blame.
“Where can I find him?”
Thelf pointed down the street. “At Carason’s Eatery.”
“You’re certain he’s there still?”
“I only saw him but moments ago, First Level Librarian.”
“Then I’ll thank you for your assistance and be on my way.” Juhg changed directions and headed down the street. He kept his steps hurried, aware of the attention he got.
Word had already spread ahead of him. He knew that from the looks and the whispered words and the faces clustered together at the windows of the shops.
Carason’s Eatery was one of the Grandmagister’s favorite places to dine when in Greydawn Moors and away from the spectacular kitchen in the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Juhg had eaten with the Grandmagister there a number of times, generally on the outset of a new voyage to the mainland or a return home from such a trip.
The dining establishment was a small building with a commonplace atmosphere. Whitewashed stone walls made the business a permanent fixture, but it hadn’t always been Carason’s Eatery. The human who owned and operated the eatery was from the mainland, a companion gathered on one of the Grandmagister’s adventures with his friends Brant and Cobner and the Friends’ Circle of Thieves, which they had become known as. Of course, that was before Brant had become Baron Brant of Sweetgrass Valley after taking his hereditary lands back from the goblinkin in a vicious war where the Grandmagister had played a significant part.
Carason had been a wanderer and a sometime fighting man of average skill, but a wonderful chef. And he’d enjoyed the attentions of Dyeran, a female wizard who Craugh had trained for a time. Dyeran was from Greydawn Moors, and she often lived there when she wasn’t exploring the mainland for wizardly pursuits and chasing forgotten knowledge.
Latticework windows allowed brief glimpses inside the eatery at the tables filled with patrons, but Juhg knew that Grandmagister Lamplighter as a habit held a table in the back. The eatery’s door stood open, and Carason—as well as his most consistent patrons—said that the open door was the best advertisement that he could have for his business.
The smell of sweet-and-sour praline-melt, the tangy aroma of peppered chozt loaf, and the promise of lemon-sprinkled strawberry yams were like no other. On any other day, Juhg knew his appetite would have been an undeniable force.
Three steps led up to the veranda, where people waited on long wooden benches to enter or spent time after dining, wailing that they were too stuffed to move. Lanterns hung from the eaves, and the light blue glimmerworm juice was mixed with spices that made a delicious aroma all their own that further whetted the interest of passersby.
A young dweller maid met Juhg just inside the door. “Greetings, traveler,” she said. “I hope you brought a full appetite.”
She doesn’t recognize me, Juhg realized. He felt embarrassed. He’d been there dozens of times with the Grandmagister and even knew her name was Xhandree. Suddenly aware that he had the hood of his cloak up, Juhg pushed it back.
“Ah.” Xhandree’s face lit with a smile. “First Level Librarian Juhg.”
“Yes,” Juhg agreed, grateful for having seen a friendly face.
“I was not aware your ship had returned.”
“Only just,” Juhg said.
“Much earlier than she was expected.”
“Yes. There was some … trouble.” How do you call the loss of seventeen men trouble? Juhg felt ashamed of himself, yet he did not want to frighten the young maid.
Her face darkened with worry. “You are all right?”
“Yes. Thank you for asking.” Juhg stood on tiptoe and peered through the crowded room. If she didn’t know Windchaser had returned, there was a good chance he’d beaten the news to the Grandmagister.
“Grandmagister Wick is here,” Xhandree said. She had always referred to the Grandmagister in a familiar way. A number of people who liked the Grandmagister did, but Juhg had never felt so inclined. “Will you be joining him?”
“If he’ll have me,” Juhg assured her.
“Of course. Follow me.” Xhandree took a lighted scented candle from the shelf along the wall beside the door, then walked across the packed floor.
Tables and chairs filled every conceivable space, and even late as it was for the farmers and herdsmen, all of those tables and chairs were occupied. Humans, dwarves, elves, and dwellers all ate at Carason’s. Appetite knew no racial boundaries, and if it had, Carason’s bill of fare would have quieted it.
Grandmagister Lamplighter sat at the back table in the corner. He was diminutive even by dweller standards, nearly a handful of inches shorter than Juhg, and maintained a decidedly slender build for a dweller, much less for a Librarian. Most of those tended to look much like Third Level Librarian Thelf.
The Grandmagister’s red-gold hair also set him apart from most of the other dwellers in Greydawn Moors. He wore charcoal gray robes with black piping that clearly marked his station for all to see. Food heaped the plate in front of him, but his hands idled with the carving of a few quills that lay in a neat stack at one side.
Three books occupied a corner of the table. All of the books had cloth ribbon bookmarks. A neat, handmade journal with leather covers and the mark of the Grandmagister embossed upon it lay atop the books. The eatery was one of the Grandmagister’s favorite places for casual reading.
Dressed in homespun but wearing an apron, Carason sat across from the Grandmagister. Tall and heavyset and scarred from his days as a warrior, the human had gone gray over the years that Juhg had known him. Despite the winter in his hair and beard, though, many a rowdy sailor who’d come into his own on the seas and thought himself grown enough to run roughshod over the eatery because it was small and conservative had learned that Carason had hard-knuckled ways about him. No few of them had ended up thrown into the oyster shells that covered the street in front of the building.
“Grandmagister Wick,” Xhandree called as she neared the table. “Look whom I have brought to see you.”
The Grandmagister turned with a smile on his face, but that expression slipped a little. Confusion and a wistful look warred with the gentle smile. The Grandmagister hadn’t wanted to see Juhg leave the Library or the island, but was now immediately concerned that he was so quickly returned. “Juhg.”
Over the years, the Grandmagister had always called Juhg by his given name rather than his title in relaxed surroundings. That practice anywhere in Greydawn Moors had been somewhat unsettling to Juhg. Things were just done differently when they were aboardship or questing through the dangerous territories of the mainland.
“Grandmagister,” Juhg replied, inclining his head out of respect for the man and for the office. “I’m afraid I’ve arrived with a mixed bag of news.” He heard his voice break as emotion slammed into him. Visions of the dying sailors and of the funeral aboardship twisted through his mind and knotted his stomach.
“Well, then, let’s have a look at it.” Grandmagister Lamplighter left his seat and threw his arms around Juhg. “No matter what it is, lad, we’ll see it through, right enough. You’re not alone. Never have been as long as I’ve known you.” He released Juhg, patted him on the shoulder with only the kind of reassurance that the Grandmagister could give, and pointed to the seat Carason vacated.
“Right here, First Level Librarian.” Carason put both big hands on the chair and offered the seat. “I’ll have something to eat brought right out for you.”
“No,” Juhg said. “Really. I’m not hungry.”
“A dweller not hungry?” Carason shook his shaggy head in disbelief. “I’ve never heard the like. Next you’ll be telling me glimmerworms can fly. And wouldn’t we all be in trouble if that were so.” He went off, always a bundle of energy when he had a set course before him.
Juhg started to disagree, even though the food on the Grandmagister’s plate looked tempting.
“No,” Grandmagister Lamplighter advised in a quiet voice as he resumed his seat. “Do not turn down the generosity of a meal. You know Carason will not hear of it. You’d be better served shouting into the eye of a hurricane.”
Juhg sat in the chair and shivered. His traveling cloak was still damp from the sea spray, and sitting idle seemed to draw the chill through him. And, too, he knew that he hated having to tell the Grandmagister of all his considerable failings.
“What was it that brought Windchaser back?” the Grandmagister asked.
“This.” Juhg reached into his pouch and took out the red clothbound book.
Reverently, the Grandmagister took the tome. His quick, knowing fingers slid along the binding and the edges, learning what he could of the book’s manufacture and origins before ever opening it. Over the years, Juhg had seen the Grandmagister identify books from the binding, the texture and scent of the paper, and from the thickness of the lines of ink laid down on the pages. His skill as a Librarian was nothing short of phenomenal.
Finished with his cursory examination, the Grandmagister adjusted the candle on his side of the table, careful to keep the flame inches away from the pages. He opened the cover and peered at the pages. “And what is this?”
Ashamed, Juhg said, “Grandmagister, I don’t know. The language was beyond me.”
The Grandmagister flipped through the book. His face remained impassive. “Rest assured, Juhg, that I am no master of this writing either.”
Juhg released a pent-up breath.
Looking over the book, the Grandmagister asked, “Are you relieved?”
Immediately embarrassed, Juhg started to say no, then thought better of it. In all the years they’d spent together, he’d never lied to the Grandmagister and had felt that the Grandmagister would have known immediately if he ever did.
“Yes,” Juhg admitted. “The language defeated me at every turn. Some words, some phrases, even some of the handwriting seems familiar. But every time I tried to grasp it, the understanding darted away like minnows, just slipped right through my fingers.”
The Grandmagister leaned back in his chair and took out his pipe. He stuffed the pipe with pipeweed and lit up at the same time Carason set a large plate of food in front of Juhg.
“Eat up,” the Grandmagister advised. “I’d like to ponder these pages awhile longer.”
After thanking Carason, Juhg used the fingerbowl at the side of the plate to clean his hands, then eyed the choices before him. He was surprised at how famished he felt, in spite of everything in his head. Still, he could not find the will to put one morsel in his mouth for a moment. You don’t deserve a meal this grand, Juhg. You got those sailors killed. If you had simply gotten that book the first time you were aboard Blowfly– He pushed that thought away, desperately needing an answer to the questions he had.
“Grandmagister, forgive my intrusion.”
“Yes.” Grandmagister Lamplighter looked up.
Unable to figure out any other way to ask the question, Juhg blurted, “That isn’t a cookbook, is it?”
The Grandmagister hesitated for just a brief spell. Then he shook his head. “Without knowing for certain, I couldn’t say. But it is my feeling that this is not a cookbook of any sort. There are no—”
“No headings,” Juhg said, jumping in because he was unable to stop himself. “There are no subdivisions. There are no ingredient lists.” He finally stopped himself. “I apologize.”
“I have,” the Grandmagister admitted with a rueful look, “upon occasion risked my life to recover cookbooks. Even books on beauty care. At the time I didn’t know what they were, nor would it have mattered if I had. A book is a book, Juhg, and as such is a treasure unique unto itself. As well as a danger that must be controlled. That was one of the very first things I taught you.”
“I know. But I’ve got something I must tell you, Grandmagister. Seventeen sailors—men known to me as friends or at least acquaintances—perished while taking that book from the hands of goblins.”
“Goblins?” The Grandmagister’s brow furrowed in consternation.
“And a wizard.”
“Perhaps you had better tell me more of this book’s discovery.”
Before Juhg could speak, the door to the eatery burst open and a group of angry sailors pushed into the building. They looked around for just a moment, then one of the sailors Juhg recognized from Windchaser leveled an arm at him and pointed.
“There he is!” the sailor declared. “There’s the Librarian what led us to our dooms!”
Like a pack of wolves, the sailors crossed the room, baring iron fangs, from knives to swords, and bore down on Juhg.
11
Craugh
Fear slid greasily through Juhg’s stomach and chilled his heart as he watched the mob coming straight for him. Many of the sailors had been drinking. He knew that from their flushed faces.
When not working on the ships, sailors tended to gather in taverns and drink too much. The harbor patrol at Greydawn Moors didn’t put up with much rabble-rousing if situations got out of hand, but those situations seldom did. Sometimes fights broke out, but those were quickly stopped and disbanded.
On extremely rare occasions, sailors and townsfolk subjected Librarians to vile invective, but they had a long history of not approving of the Vault of All Known Knowledge or the Librarians’ work there.
But never had Juhg heard of a lynch mob forming to come after a Librarian. Still, his past instincts served him well because he immediately chose to flee. He stood.
Before he could flee, the Grandmagister’s hand hit him in the middle of the chest and toppled him back into the chair. “Stay seated, First Level Librarian Juhg. I’ll handle this.”
“But Grandmagister—”
“No.” The Grandmagister’s voice barked authority.
Watching Grandmagister Lamplighter as he squared himself in front of the mob that had shoved through the seated customers, Juhg could not believe that the Gran
dmagister had ever been as timid as he claimed he once was. Perhaps he was not a physical force or a threat to the sailors quickly approaching them, but he stood firm and proud. He wore the authority of his office well.
Curses and imprecations followed in the wake of the sailors, but none of the farmers or herdsmen or townsfolk who had come for a quiet meal lifted a hand to help. No one went running for the harbor guard.
Juhg sat helplessly. Carason’s had no back way out. There was only one entrance. Except for the stairs that led to the upstairs floor where Carason kept his personal quarters and warehoused supplies. Juhg knew he could flee through the windows and across the r1ooftops of the buildings. He had done that before.
But where would I go then?
Across the rooftops, even quick as he was, he was certain he would only be a target for an archer or a harpooner. No, the group of drunken sailors had come to draw blood and no one could stop them.
“You men will stop,” Grandmagister Lamplighter declared.
In spite of the sheer inebriated state the men were in and the anger that fueled them, the sailors halted.
“Get out of our way, Grandmagister,” a beefy human sailor ordered. “We’ll be after havin’ that one hung from a yardarm, we will, an’ ye too if ye vex us.”
“You won’t hang anyone, Ganthor Hemp,” the Grandmagister replied.
Carason came from the bar at one side of the eatery. He carried a longsword and scabbard in one hand. Without a word, he stood at the Grandmagister’s side. His meaning and intent were clear.
“That—that—Librarian of yours,” Ganthor thundered, his beard trembling and spittle flying in his rage, “got honest an’ proper sailin’ men killed chasin’ after a trap he done laid for ’em!”
“A trap?” Grandmagister Lamplighter’s rage was apparent in his flashing eyes.
Juhg was impressed. Even after all their adventures together seeking out books from hidden places along the mainland, he’d seldom seen the Grandmagister so set on following a course of action.
