by Candy Rae
“I will ask Kathya. She will remember.”
“Ask everylind,” Tanalya instructed, “even the ltsctas.”
That last word joggled Redei’s memory.
“There was a ltscta, a human ltscta, in the last caravan. The caravan of Drellor. He asked a great many questions.”
“All ltsctas ask a great many questions. It is how they learn. Even though you ask, do not pay too much attention to the questions and answers of the very young Redei. This is a theft planned and done by those who carry more than a few seasons on their paws.”
“Yes My Gtrathlin,” said Redei,” but that one had a very old head on a young body. I will make enquiries about him too.”
* * * * *
When questioned Drinan and Kathya remembered many visitors who had visited during the previous seasons.
“Almost too many to count,” said Drinan to Redei. “There were the trade caravans for a start, but Kathya tells me she sensed nothing unusual in any of the traders but there was that man last summer, said he was a notary. Kathya suspected he might be one of these prospectors that are always roaming around. Haven’t seem that particular one since though and they usually pop in at least once a year. He might be a possibility. Actually it was me and Kathya who showed him around. I don’t recall him asking any questions. Seemed a decent enough chap if a little withdrawn.”
“Any person else?” asked Redei.
Drinan shook his head.
Kathya butted into the conversations and asked, “have you thought that perhaps the fire in the Holad and the bangs in the fires might be connected with the theft?”
“Firecrackers,” Drinan corrected, “but she may have a point. Both might have been started as diversions, to get our attention while the someone went into the cave to steal the box.”
“The guards did report that they had gone to investigate,” mused Redei, “but they weren’t away long.”
“Wouldn’t take long if the thief knew what he was looking for.”
“There were no tracks,” said Redei,” no human prints.”
“Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”
“Yes. None at all.”
“Then I don’t know then,” said Drinan, “it’s a mystery and no mistake.”
* * * * *
-16-
THE NORTH CARAVAN ROUTE
“Blast and double blast it,” Chad cursed in Zeb’s ear, “but this is going to delay us.”
“Master Drellor can’t help it if a horse goes lame,” Zeb answered, in a low murmur. “It won’t delay us long. He said we’d be able to set out again come morning. Anyways, what’s the hurry?”
“I’m feeling a mite edgy,” admitted Chad, “It’s all gone so well so far. No pursuit yet but the longer we are delayed the more chance there is.”
“Can’t do nothin’ about it,” was Zeb’s un-soothing comment. “As my grandmother allas said, what will be will be.”
“Such philosophy from one so young,” Chad retorted, “still, you may be right.”
“We’re still safer staying with Drellor,” said Zeb, “that hasn’t changed. If they’ve found out the box is gone they’re gonna be looking for someone riding fast away, not here. Anyways, I’m sure enjoying the trip, nice change from back home.”
Chad growled, still not quite reconciled to the enforced delay.
There was a moments silence then Zeb opened his mouth.
“Chad? What’s philosophy?”
Chad groaned. Zeb was the most curious person he had ever come across.
Why me? he asked himself.
* * * * *
-17-
THE UNIVERSITY– STEWARTON - ARGYLL
“I’ll see to the lights,” said the head librarian, a fussy little man Thalia would have recognised as he unlocked the door and led Artem inside.
Artem almost gagged. The room was as musty as sin; that indefinable smell that spoke of little use and lackadaisical and infrequent cleaning, coupled with the aroma of old paper and parchment. He managed to turn the gag into a cough.
“Not many come in here,” apologised the old man. He wasn’t coughing and Artem supposed that he was used to it.
“I can understand that,” said Artem, looking around. It was very dark.
“It doesn’t have any windows you see,” continued the librarian, “helps keep the collections in good condition. Some of them are very old. Now what exactly are you looking for Vadeln Artem, perhaps I can help?”
“I’m interested in any papers dating from the beginning of the seventh century,” replied Artem, “the decade of the Dglai Wars and perhaps to about twenty or so years after.”
“We’ll look in the book,” his guide informed him, “it’s the book which lists every item added to the collection, in the chronological order of when it arrived.”
He shuffled over to one of the shelves and took down a dusty volume. Placing his lamp to one side and opening it on the table he began turning the pages, peering over what Artem assumed were lists, page by page.
“Now let me see,” the old man muttered, “AL 598, too early.” He turned another few pages, still muttering to himself, “AL 605, right, here it is, next page.”
“I’m looking for any additions to the collection provided by a Professor Angus specifically,” said Artem.
“The brilliant mathematics professor, yes, yes,” the librarian’s head was bobbing up and down, “yes, yes indeed.”
“Is there anything?”
The old man turned the page and began to read, one bent forefinger rubbing along the lines of entries. At last his finger stopped moving.
“Here it is, It says ‘PC’, I don’t know what that means, ‘WCCS Argyll’. Is this what you’re looking for?”
“It might be,” Artem replied, “I won’t know until I take a look at it. Can you find it for me?”
His guide looked affronted at the question, aggrieved and testy.
“I can find absolutely anything in this collection,” he boasted, “as long as I know where to look. It must be papers, it’s in drawer number sixteen.”
Picking up his lamp he went over to where Artem assumed drawer sixteen was. There was a click and Artem watched as a large shallow drawer opened.
“Hold the light closer,” the librarian ordered and Artem lifted his lamp high to illuminate the drawer’s contents. His guide began flicking through the items. He grunted when he reached the bottom of the pile and began again. His angry face gleamed up at the watching Artem.
“It’s not here,” he exploded, “this is intolerable, quite intolerable!”
“Could it have been placed in another drawer?”
A shake of an untidy grey haired head answered Artem’s question but he added, “too big. As you can see, drawer sixteen is twice the size of all the others. It’s the biggest we have. If it was put there in the first place it means that its pages were too large for any of the others. Someone has stolen it!”
“Any way you could find out who had looked in drawer sixteen recently?”
“Well,” the old man pondered, “no, but we do keep a record of every student, member of staff and visitor who comes in here.”
“I would like to see that.”
The old man closed the drawer and looked round the room, tut-tutting to himself. “I must send in some assistants to make sure it is indeed missing and it has definitely not been misplaced. I’ll have his or her vuz for garters if it has, we never fold old documents.”
“A bit of dusting might not come amiss either,” said Artem.
* * * * *
In the main office of the library the old man handed him the visitor’s book.
“Goes back thirty years,” he told him, “will that be enough?”
Artem nodded, looking round until he spied a vacant desk. “I’ll go sit over there and take a dekko.”
“Right. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. I’ll be around arranging a full search of the room. Why! There might be any number of it
ems gone and we never knew. Quite intolerable.”
And with that he bustled away, every inch the picture of an indignant cat.
* * * * *
Artem began with the most recent entries and worked back.
He saw that each visitor was required to enter his or her name, their occupation, their address and their reason for wishing to visit. One or two had even written down the actual document or documents they intended to examine.
: Any luck? : asked Larya, who was waiting for him in the foyer in front of a large number of admiring students and not a few members of staff.
: Not so far. All looks pretty innocent to me. Most of them are Professor This or Professor That or students doing research. I’m done with this year. Now for AL 807 :
It was as he was finishing AL 807 and preparing to go back to AL 806 when Artem thought he might have found what he was looking for.
An outsider’s name had been a rarity on the pages he had perused so far and here was a name of someone not connected to the university. He came from outside the country too. A visitor from the islands if what he was reading was to be believed, by name John Smith. The hairs on the back of Artem’s neck began to prickle.
Couldn’t he have found a more original alias? Wonder who he really was. Galliard too. Why would someone from Galliard wish to look up something in the collection? Can’t think of any reason. Personal research too, could be anything.
The reason? It covered a multitude of sins and Artem rather thought he had found the person who had purloined Professor Angus’s donation.
He did go back to AL 805 but found no other names which piqued his curiosity so much.
He closed the book, thanked the old librarian for his courtesy and help and after trying to ascertain who had been on desk duty that day, he had no luck there and no-one present remembered the island visitor. He left the building after securing the promise that if the papers turned up then a message would be sent to him.
Via Larya’s telepathic link, Artem reported his findings to the Susalai of the Avuzdel.
A message from the old man never arrived.
* * * * *
-18-
THE WESTERN COAST - THE NORTHERN CONTINENT
As they waited for the Holad to arrive, Thalia busied herself with her patient, growing increasingly worried about his vital signs, which were indeed weak.
Daniel Ross sat sunk in misery beside the fire. He wasn’t really aware of his surroundings.
At least we didn’t reach Dagan, he was thinking, international incident averted I think Father would say but what a way to do it.
Their sea-journey had been, in the beginning uneventful, as the ship sailed west through the Middle Sea. It was only when they had passed through the gap in the Trent Reef and sailed north up the Western Sea that the problems had begun. A squall had turned into a full blown storm, a storm so horrible in its intensity that Daniel had thought the end of the world had come. Cowering in the cabin he shared with Ian he had heard the mizzen mast go with a crack like thunder, felt the ship heel over, still plunging but with the mast acting like a devilish sea anchor. The two had heard shouts from the deck, the sound of feet (though faint) and the noises as the sailors had desperately tried to cut it free.
Then had come some more ominous creaking. Now, sitting on the beach and looking back, he couldn’t decide just when he had realised that the ship was going to founder. He just had. He had called to Ian, “we must get on deck.”
Ian had not been willing.
Daniel submersed himself in his memory of that night.
* * * * *
Ian’s face was white, stark white with fear and he was holding on to one of the bunk struts with white-knuckled hands. He whimpered, “no.”
“Don’t be a fool man,” Daniel yelled, opening Ian’s fingers with frantic haste. “She’s going down. Can’t you feel it? Do you want to go down with her? No? Then let’s go!”
The two of them struggled against the heaving and pitching but managed to get the cabin door open and lurch out into the companion-way. With each roll their bodies crashed into the bulkheads to one side then the other. By the time they reached the ladder leading to the deck it had got easier. The ship was filling with water and the rolls were correspondingly less frantic. They climbed the ladder and Daniel gazed round the spraying deck. It was deserted. He was not to know that the majority of the crew, including the Captain had already been swept overboard.
“My Uncle?” shouted Ian and made as if to go back below. Daniel held on to him tighter. He dragged Ian to the side. He noticed that the deck-rope-rails had gone.
He looked towards the bow. It was already submerged, the deck was slanting, precipitating the ship’s descent into the inky depths of the Western Sea.
The lower decks must already be underwater Daniel realised, probably the deck their cabin had been on as well. They’d got out just in time.
“She’s going,” he yelled. “Jump.”
When Ian didn’t, Daniel pushed him in then followed.
The water was freezing cold. Daniel gasped as his body plunged down and into it. He believed he was drowning, he was sure he was. He had no idea where Ian was. He swallowed a lot of water before bobbing to the surface, coughing and splashing with his arms to keep afloat. He was wondering about how long he could keep it up when his arm hit something hard, a wooden something. With desperation he grasped it. It was big enough for him to drag himself part out of the water and after several attempts which exhausted him, he managed.
He was cold. He was more than cold. He passed out.
When he woke it was light and the sun, he could feel it on his back. He realised too that he was not moving, except for his feet which were bobbing up and down.
Swell.
Consciousness was returning and with it came the realisation that he was alive. He opened an eye.
Sand. Beach. A small wriggling creature.
He dragged himself out of the water then lost consciousness again.
He woke.
Thirst! He was dying of the thirst. He had to find fresh water. Kneeling on the sand, head thumping, throat feeling as if it was clenched together, he spied some tracks, little prints and they were leading inland. He followed the tracks and discovered a tiny streamlet of fresh water.
The water saved his life. Thirst gone, his stomach growled. Daniel then made the acquaintance of the taste of raw shellfish and uncooked roots. They upset his stomach but at least kept his hunger at bay.
It was during one of his food gathering expeditions that he found Ian. He had been washed up on to the shore too.
Ian was alive, if barely and it was the fact that he had to stay to look after him that meant Daniel had had to remain where he was and wait for help instead of moving inland.
He had been pondering this dilemma, to stay or to go and try to get help when Thalia and Josei had appeared.
* * * * *
The Holad doctor set to work on Ian Markwood at once, although one of his team assessed Daniel’s injuries.
“Remarkable,” she said after her examination, “you seem to have escaped with just a few bruises, not even a finger broken!”
“I was lucky. Ian?”
“Your friend? Doctor says he’ll survive.”
Daniel breathed in and out, long and slow.
“Thank the gods,” he said then.
“I don’t think your gods had a lot to do with it, lady luck more like,” she replied, sitting back on her heels, “now, we’ve brought you some clothes and boots. Other supplies too, a sleep bag and blankets. Also shaving stuff and some soap. Not a sword, we’ve none to spare but I expect you’ll be able to borrow one from one of the Supply Stations. The coast is not the place to move about unarmed.”
“I would feel more comfortable with one at my side,” admitted Daniel, “did you bring a comb?”
She laughed, “you can have mine, I can soon get another. First I want you to go take a bath, here’s the soap and towel. When
you get back I’ll put ointment on your bruises then you can get dressed and have something hot and sustaining to eat.”
“My thanks.”
“Our duty and pleasure,” she said with a smile.
* * * * *
The Holad doctor complimented Thalia on her first aid.
“You did good young lady. Probably saved his life. He was in all likelihood almost gone when you and Josei got here. You didn’t move him, you kept him warm, gave him some water.”
“I did my best.”
“Well you did right and more than right. You can go now, leave him to us. We’ll be taking him back to the Station. Who is he again?”
“He’s some sort of southern noble, a Count Daniel said, Count Ian Markwood, yes, that’s it.”
“The other one?” enquired the doctor.
“He’s a noble too, Kellen-Heir Daniel Ross, I wasn’t paying much attention. Is there a problem?
“No, not at all, but I have to report strange and unusual happenings in this part of the world.”
* * * * *
