by John Marco
Lukien saw it easily. The great library was like a beacon, shining on its hill for all to see. Even in Norvor Lukien had heard stories of the place, but he had never seen it. It had been one of his greatest regrets about leaving the city, that and losing Cassandra. Now he stared at it, unblinking. Akeela’s great dreams of the past rushed at him.
“What a shame,” he whispered.
“What is?” Gilwyn queried.
Lukien didn’t answer. He couldn’t explain all that Akeela had dreamed, not even to a bright boy like Gilwyn. “We should get going,” he said. “I’m anxious to see Figgis.”
He snapped the reins and sent Tempest on his way again, driving the old horse toward the east side of the city. Around them, the old constructs of Koth rose up like bad memories, crowded with people and the familiar accent of city folk. Skirting along the perimeter of Koth was the quickest route to the library, and allowed Lukien a safe view of his former home. In the distance, he could see the ruins of Chancellery Square, now abandoned but for the barracks and headquarters Trager had built. It was garish and impressive, and it frightened Lukien to see all that his nemesis had accomplished. Trager was a general now, leader of the Royal Chargers and all the Liirian military. There were no more chancellors to question his orders. According to Gilwyn, not even Akeela contradicted him. He had gotten what he’d always wanted, and the thought curdled Lukien’s homecoming. Had Thorin been with him, Lukien knew that he, too, would be sickened by the sight of the demolished House of Dukes. But Thorin and Breck had left them earlier in the day, heading north toward Borath and the safety of Breck’s farm. If all went well, they would meet them there in a day or so with Cassandra.
“I think you should put Teku in your lap,” Lukien cautioned. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
“Don’t worry,” said Gilwyn. “No one knows me around here.”
“No? Even with that monkey with you?”
Gilwyn shook his head. “I don’t really get out of the library much.” He coaxed Teku down into his lap. “The only people I meet are scholars, and they don’t stick around or talk to me.”
“Now that is a shame,” said Lukien. He hadn’t talked much to Gilwyn himself the last few days and was starting to regret it. “A boy your age should get out and be with friends. Run and play.”
Gilwyn turned and frowned at him. Lukien felt his face flush.
“Sorry,” he offered. “I forgot.” Then he studied Gilwyn’s clubbed hand a moment more, adding, “But you seem to get along very well, even with your problems. And that shoe . . . did Figgis make it for you?”
“Yes,” said Gilwyn. “How did you know?”
“Who else would make such a thing? Your mentor is a genius, boy.”
Gilwyn nodded. “I know. I miss him. I hope he’s all right.”
“I just hope he has good news for us,” said Lukien. From their place in the street he could see only the tops of the buildings in Chancellery Square, so he didn’t know if Trager’s army was still on the parade ground. Perhaps they’d already left for Jador. Perhaps they were too late to warn the Jadori. He took solace in the coming darkness though, knowing that even if Trager were around, he wouldn’t recognize his old captain. “Tell me something, Gilwyn—is this where you saw the witch of Grimhold?”
“No, that was on the other side of the city,” said Gilwyn. “Koth has some bad areas now. I probably shouldn’t have gone.”
“But she saved you,” Lukien mused. “Curious.”
Gilwyn didn’t answer, for just then another wagon crossed them in the street, coming close enough to overhear. Lukien hurried Tempest past them, toward the waiting library. As the road gradually rose, the crowds thinned and the shops grew farther apart, until finally they were alone on an avenue of trees and wildflowers. A breeze stirred the leaves and the cowl of Lukien’s cloak. Up ahead loomed the library, its twin doors of dark wood shut tight. There were dozens of windows to the place, but only a few rooms in the main tower were lit, rooms that Lukien supposed belonged to Figgis. Yet even in dusk the library was not an eerie place. It was beautiful, full of clarity. Lukien wondered for a moment if he’d ever seen such a lovely structure, for even Lionkeep was marred by its status as a fortress. Not so the great library. There were no ramparts or battlements or dentate gates, only sweeping arches and clean limestone and a gracefully turned tower, all constructed to invite learning. It was just as Akeela had promised, just as he’d envisioned before his dementia.
“Where now?” Lukien asked. “Those doors?”
“That’s the main way in,” Gilwyn replied. Tempest came to a dutiful stop at the doors, and Gilwyn and his monkey climbed out of the wagon with some effort as the boy favored his bad foot. Lukien watched but offered no help. Something told him Gilwyn preferred to do everything himself.
“I hope your master is expecting us,” he said as he got out of the wagon. Around him, the sounds of the city filled the emptiness like the buzzing of insects, but there was no sound from the library. He went to the door and tried to pull it open. “Locked,” he said, dismayed.
“I have a key,” said Gilwyn, which he produced after rummaging through his pockets.
“Why’s it locked?” asked Lukien. “I thought the library was opened to everyone.”
Gilwyn fit the key into its hole. “It is, usually. But it’s been closed since Akeela found out about Grimhold. I told you, he’s had Figgis working like a madman.”He turned the tumbler until it clicked. As he pushed open the door he said, “Try to be quiet. We don’t want to run into Della.”
“Della?”
“The housekeeper,” Gilwyn said. “Nice lady, but nosy.”
He pushed open the door, and Lukien instantly forgot his questions. The beauty of the main hall rushed at them, revealing a shimmering interior of torchlight and polished wood. A barrel-vaulted ceiling hung overhead, decorated with stout beams and iron chandeliers. Lukien looked down the tunnel of the hallway to the vast chamber beckoning beyond, a field full of bookcases stuffed with countless manuscripts. He followed Gilwyn over the threshold and into the hall, his breath catching at the awesome sight of so many books.
“Amazing . . .” Slowly he scanned the distant shelves. “I didn’t think there were this many books in the world!”
Gilwyn laughed and closed the door behind him. “That’s just some of them. There’s a whole other wing.”
“And you know them all?” asked Lukien incredulously. “I mean, you know where everything is?”
“Figgis has a catalog that keeps everything organized,” said Gilwyn. “But yes, I remember a lot of it. All the books are specially arranged, you see. Subject, dates, that sort of thing.”
Lukien was awestruck. He drifted toward the waiting books, but was suddenly startled by a figure rounding the corner.
“Oh!” cried the woman, putting her hand to her chest in fright. Her eyes darted between Lukien and Gilwyn, then suddenly relaxed. “Gilwyn! I thought I heard someone come in. Welcome home!”
“Thank you, Della,” said Gilwyn. He swallowed nervously. Lukien froze, trying not to seem conspicuous. The old woman looked at him, confused.
“I just got back,” Gilwyn continued. “The door was locked so I let myself in.”
Mistress Della stayed focused on Lukien as she asked, “Were you able to find the books Figgis wanted?”
“Oh, yes,” said Gilwyn easily. “No problem. They’re out in the wagon.”
“And you’ve brought a guest, I see.” The woman smiled, but Lukien couldn’t tell if it were welcoming or not. “Shouldn’t you make introductions, Gilwyn?”
“Yes, absolutely,” fumbled Gilwyn. “Mistress Della, this is Ryon.”
“From Marn?” the housekeeper asked.
“Marn?” replied Lukien.
The lady looked at Gilwyn. “You did go to Marn, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Marn,” said Lukien. “Yes, I’m from Marn. Well, around Marn. The outskirts, actually.”
Gilwyn hu
rried to change the subject. “Um, is Figgis around? I’d like to see him, show him the books we brought back.”
Mistress Della was still studying Lukien. “I must say, you don’t look like a scholar.”
“Ah, you must get all sorts here, dear lady,” said Lukien with a smile. “And I must admit I look atrocious from the road. Forgive my appearance.”
“Oh, yes, the road. Terrible.” Gilwyn took Lukien’s arm and led him away. “Mistress Della, is Figgis in his study?”
“He’s—” Mistress Della stopped herself with a smile. Ahead of them, Lukien saw another figure drift into the hallway.
An old man in wrinkled clothes stood there, staring in disbelief. Lukien knew at once it was Figgis. He looked older, grayer, and more withered than ever, but the eyes betrayed the old wisdom and the face was decidedly friendly. Lukien grinned, stepping toward him, but was immediately cut off by Gilwyn.
“Figgis, hello,” said the boy suddenly. “This is Ryon, the scholar I told you about.”
Figgis didn’t miss a beat. “Greetings, Ryon,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Lukien gave his old companion a secret smile. “Me too.”
“Uh, Mistress Della, do you think you could make us some tea?” Figgis asked. “It’s been a long ride from Marn and I’m sure Gilwyn and Ryon are tired.”
“Of course,” said the housekeeper. “Welcome to our home, Ryon. We’ll try to make you as comfortable as we can. Will you be staying long?”
“No, I shouldn’t think so,” said Lukien. “But thank you, Mistress Della. You’re very kind.”
“Go and make that tea now, please,” said Figgis, shooing her away. He directed Lukien toward another hall. “We can talk in my study, Ryon. Gilwyn, why don’t you come with us?”
“I’ll have the tea ready straight away,” said Mistress Della, then disappeared down an opposite corridor.
Figgis led the way silently toward his study, not looking back or saying a word until he was sure the housekeeper was out of sight. Then he paused, leaned against a wall, and let loose a giant smile.
“It’s you,” he sighed. “I can’t believe it!”
“Nor can I, old friend,” said Lukien, thrusting out a hand. “It’s good to see you, Figgis.”
Figgis took his hand and shook it vigorously. “You look so different, I hardly recognized you! And that eyepatch . . . a disguise?”
“Alas, I wish it were. It’s the real thing I’m afraid.”
The old man’s exuberance dimmed a little. “I’m sorry. It must have been very hard for you. Breck’s wife came and gave me a letter from him. It said you were in Norvor.”
“That’s right,” said Lukien. “Not the most gentle place in the world, I’m afraid.”
Figgis turned to Gilwyn and gave him a hug. “Norvor!
When I heard where you’d gone I was beside myself!” He released his embrace and gave the boy a worried inspection. “Are you all right? You weren’t hurt or anything?”
“I’m fine, Figgis,” said Gilwyn. “We found Lukien and came back as quickly as we could. Breck came back with us. He’s waiting for us back at his farm with Baron Glass.”
“Who?”
“Baron Glass,” said Lukien seriously. “Figgis, he was with me in Norvor.”
“Baron Glass? But he’s dead!”
“No, Figgis, he’s not,” said Gilwyn. “I met him. He was with Lukien in Norvor, fighting with Jazana Carr.”
“Jazana . . .” Figgis shook his head and sighed. “You’d better tell me all about it. But not here. I don’t want Della to overhear. Come.”
Knowing the way to Figgis’ study Gilwyn went first, apparently giving Lukien and Figgis space to get reacquainted. Lukien wasted no time in asking about Cassandra.
“I have to know, Figgis—is Cassandra all right?”
“Near as I can tell, yes. But wait; I’ll tell you all about it in the study.”
The study, Lukien quickly learned, was a small room made even more cramped by the stacks of books and manuscripts littering the desk and floor. There were two chairs, one for the desk, the other piled with books. Figgis removed these and set them aside in one of the few bare spaces on the floor, then bade Lukien to sit. Gilwyn propped himself comfortably on the edge of the desk. Along the walls, dusty shelves bowed with the weight of fat books. Figgis lowered himself down in his own chair. The leather groaned as he fell into it.
“Tell me about Glass,” he said at once. “He’s still alive, you say?”
“Alive and well.” Lukien quickly explained how he had saved Glass from the Isle of Woe, and how they had been in Jazana Carr’s employ ever since. The tale fascinated Figgis.
“Amazing. And Jazana Carr—she treated you well?”
“Well enough,” said Lukien. He didn’t want to tell too much about the warlady, because somehow it felt like betrayal. “I fought her battles for her and Thorin made her strategies.”
“Thorin?”
“Baron Glass. He was close with Jazana Carr. We both were.” Lukien paused, noticing Gilwyn’s uneasiness. He decided to skip the part about Thorin and Jazana being lovers, and about the warlady’s plans for Liiria. “Glass returned with me because he owes me a debt,” Lukien added. “He didn’t have to but I’m grateful for it. I’m going to need all the help I can get. Now, tell me about Cassandra.”
Before Figgis could answer, Mistress Della pushed open the door. In her hands was a tray of steaming tea and cups.
“Here you are,” she said cheerfully. “Gilwyn, I brought some of your favorite biscuits.” She looked around, frowning at the state of the room. “Look at this place! Why don’t you all come into the kitchen and eat properly?”
Figgis groaned and took the tray from her. “Really, this is fine. Thank you, Mistress Della.”
The housekeeper huffed. “Whatever you say. Gilwyn, you’re welcome to come into the kitchen when you’re done here. I’ll fix you something nice.” She smiled at Lukien. “Your friend, too.”
“What about me?” asked Figgis crossly.
“Drink your tea, old man,” said the housekeeper, then turned and left the room. The grin on her face told Lukien she enjoyed teasing Figgis.
“Well, Figgis?” he asked when the woman was gone. “What about Cassandra?”
“She’s well, or at least I think she is,” said Figgis. “It’s hard to tell. I haven’t heard anything from her since Gilwyn left to find you. I haven’t heard from anyone.”
“Not even Lady Jancis?” asked Gilwyn. He cleared some clutter from the desk so Figgis could lower the tray.
“No, not Jancis, not anyone,” said Figgis. “I think Akeela’s growing suspicious. And Trager’s been keeping a tight rein on things.”
“So they haven’t left for Jador yet?” asked Lukien hopefully.
“No, not yet, but soon.” Figgis looked grave as he sat back down in his chair. “Trager is planning to set out in two days.”
“Two days? You’re sure?”
Figgis nodded. “That’s what Akeela told me. He sent a messenger to the library yesterday, telling me to hurry up with my information because he’s leaving in two days, with or without my help.”
“He knows you’re stalling,” Gilwyn guessed. He took two biscuits from the tray, giving one to Teku and sampling the other himself.
“He knows my opposition,” agreed Figgis. “I haven’t been giving him any new details about Jador or Grimhold, mostly because I haven’t found any. But Akeela’s impatient and Trager’s army is all but ready to march.” He looked apologetically at Lukien. “I’m sorry, Lukien. I can’t stop him.”
“Then we haven’t much time,” said Lukien. “We have to get Cassandra out of Lionkeep as soon as we can. Tonight, if possible.”
Figgis grimaced. “It’s not going to be easy. There’s something I haven’t told you yet.”
“What?” asked Lukien.
“Gilwyn, this is hard for me to tell you,” said Figgis. He reached out and
gently touched the boy’s hand. “Warden Graig is dead.”
Gilwyn’s face collapsed. “Dead? No!”
“He slipped and fell on some wine,” said Figgis. “Broke his neck.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Gilwyn. “When did this happen?”
“A day or two after you left, at night.” Figgis shook his head, sighing. “Seems like a stupid way for a man to die.”
Gilwyn gave his mentor a comforting smile. “He was old, Figgis. Old bones break easy.”
“What a shame,” said Lukien, saddened by the news. In the days before his banishment, he’d been close with Graig. He’d even hoped, perhaps foolishly, to see the Head Warden again someday. “But Gilwyn’s right, Figgis. If you take a bad fall and your bones can’t take it, well. . . .”
“That’s not it,” said Figgis absently. “I know Graig was old. It just seems a bit odd, the way he died. I know he had some trouble getting around lately, but he wasn’t a clumsy man.”
“What are you saying?” asked Lukien. “You think something else happened to him?”
“Not just me,” said Figgis. “You know how the wardens hate Trager. Some of them think he had Graig killed.”
Gilwyn laughed at the idea. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” asked Figgis. “Lukien, you know how jealous Trager always has been. He hates anyone with access to Akeela. With Graig out of the way, he’d have one fewer person to contend with.”
The notion was dismaying. Lukien thought about it for a moment, knowing full well the atrocities Trager was capable of committing. But murder?
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe Graig really did slip and fall.”
“Maybe,” said Figgis. “But the wardens have been on guard since Graig died. They’re not letting anyone into Lionkeep without checking them completely first. There’s just no way to get a message to Cassandra.”
“There has to be a way,” Lukien insisted. “I’ve come too far to be deterred now.”
“You can’t just walk into Lionkeep and take her, Lukien,” said Figgis.
“No, but I wasn’t expecting to do that,” replied Lukien, losing patience. “I expected you to have some ideas when I got here! Haven’t you at least thought about it?”
