The Traitor and the Chalice

by Jane Fletcher

  “Wouldn’t Orrago notice someone taking it and putting it back?”

  “Doubtful, and even if she saw, she wouldn’t remember long enough to tell anyone, and they wouldn’t pay much attention if she did.”

  “Why would someone need to keep looking at the manuscript?”

  “A good question. It’s a short work. Whoever it was could have made a copy.”

  “So there must be something special about the original.”

  Jemeryl shifted away slightly so that she could meet Tevi’s eyes with an expression of frustration. “Obviously, but I haven’t a clue what. I’ve read the entire report six times. and there’s not a word that offers the merest hint.”

  “Perhaps the words weren’t the important bit. What else was in the original?”

  “An assortment of stains.”

  “You can’t learn anything from them?”

  “Lorimal didn’t own a proper table mat.”

  Tevi smiled and pulled Jemeryl back into a tight embrace. “That wasn’t what I meant. You don’t need writing to leave a message, like the tracks of an animal. You can tell where it came from, what it was, where it went.”

  The feeling of Jemeryl going rigid in her arms alerted Tevi that some new idea had struck.

  “Oh, of course.” Jemeryl mouthed the words into Tevi’s neck.

  After a minute had passed in silence, Tevi said wryly, “I suppose you will explain eventually.”

  “Sorry. I was thinking it through.”

  “And...?”

  Jemeryl pulled free of Tevi’s arms and raised herself on an elbow. Her manner became noticeably more businesslike. “It’s to do with finding the chalice. Remember, the elders of the day couldn’t locate it after Lorimal’s death.”

  “The stains help?”

  “They could. When a person or an object makes a mark, such as a footprint, they leave a resonance in the astral domain.”

  “A resonance? Like an echo?”

  “A bit, though it’s more like a thread linking the maker to the mark. In most cases, the bond isn’t strong and fades quickly. However, crystalline silver leaves a permanent resonance, which is why it can be used for recording. Lorimal had used the last two pages of the manuscript as a mat. There were several circular marks, which I bet were made when she put her chalice down.”

  “You could follow the thread to the chalice?”

  “Not quite that simple. It’d be exhausting, given the distance between here and Storenseg. A sorcerer couldn’t track for more than a few minutes without getting a splitting headache. The elemental forces of the ocean would make it like chasing a spider thread in a gale. The search must have taken months, possibly years.”

  “Which is why they had to keep going back to the manuscript.”

  “Quite.”

  Jemeryl shifted round and sat up. The sheet rumpled around her waist. Tevi rubbed a hand down her back and over the swell of her hips, but Jemeryl’s expression remained detached. Clearly she was too busy mulling over the evidence to be interested in anything else.

  Tevi grinned and also sat up. A change of location and something to eat and drink would not be such a bad idea. “Shall we get dressed and go down to the tables?”

  Jemeryl nodded. “Fine.” She slipped out of the bed. While reaching for her clothes, she continued hypothesising. “Our traitor hid the manuscript where they could get to it easily, yet somewhere that wouldn’t raise suspicion if it was discovered. It would be assumed that the book had accidentally slipped behind the bookcase. Orrago’s dementia provided a cover. No one would blame her or inquire too closely. Except...”

  “What?”

  “Orrago must be involved. She was the one who borrowed the manuscript from the library in the first place.”

  “Could someone have forced her?”

  “I don’t think so. Even in her present state, she still has full awareness of the upper dimensions, and six years ago, when the manuscript went missing, she had only been retired as principal for a few months. Presumably, she was far more lucid back then. And I can’t see her being involved in a conspiracy. Certainly not now. Her rambling would have given the game away.”

  Tevi was having trouble finding her clothes. She had obviously discarded them with more abandon than she had realised, although tidiness had not been high in her priorities at the time. One of her socks was lying on the table, but there was no sign of the other. She was wondering if she should give up and go barefooted, when she saw it draped over the door handle.

  Jemeryl continued talking. “I suppose Orrago might have borrowed the book and left it lying in the dispensary. Someone else saw it, realised its potential, and hid it in the nearest spot.” She paused, thinking. “But it’s not likely. Orrago’s main interest was always contagious diseases. This manuscript was about cancer. Why would she have borrowed it?”

  “There may have been nothing rational about it. Her wits were wandering. Perhaps she picked up the book at random.” Tevi finally located her britches, scrunched between her backpack and the wall.

  “It’s too big a coincidence that of all the books in the library, she took this one. And it was seen by someone who knew about Lorimal. I think someone deliberately went looking for the manuscript.”

  “So what options are there?”

  “Someone forged Orrago’s name in the register, knowing she wouldn’t be able to swear she hadn’t taken the manuscript.”

  “Can you check?”

  Tevi’s jerkin lay in the middle of the floor, but her shirt was lost—until she spotted one sleeve sticking out from under the bed. She was reaching down when she was startled by Jemeryl’s shout. “Yes, there is!”

  “Pardon?” Tevi was confused by the tone rather than the words.

  “Remember what I said about the resonance linking a mark to the thing that made it?”

  “You can trace the signature?”

  “Not quite. The resonance would have faded years ago, but all the writing in the library is caught in an information web. Since the loan register is in the library, the person’s identity will still be there. It’s probably deeply stratified, but it should be quite gettable. I’d just need a suitable astral filter to separate the name from aura synopsis.”

  “I think you’ve lost me.”

  “It’s hard to explain. But it should work.”

  Jemeryl was always less coherent when excited. Tevi smiled in resignation as she pulled her shirt over her head. “I’ll take your word on it.”

  “The only problem is reconstructing the signer’s name.”

  “Is it difficult?”

  “Not really. It’s just a bit tricky, and I haven’t tried anything like it since I was a junior apprentice. I’ll need to practice. Come here.”

  Jemeryl’s arms wrapped around Tevi’s waist and propelled her towards the table. She was still struggling to get her hands through her shirt sleeves when a pen was thrust in her face.

  “But I can’t write.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just make a mark. If I can remember the spell, I’ll be able to work out your name.”

  “You already know it.”

  “So I can tell if I’ve got it right.”

  It was logical. Tevi cautiously took the pen and rolled it experimentally in her fingers, trying to remember how Jemeryl had held the implement. A scrap torn from a larger sheet and a pot of ink also arrived. Klara had been woken by the activity and now landed on the table to watch. Tevi dipped the nib in the ink and made a bold cross on the blank side.

  “Will that do? I could add a couple of squiggles.”

  “That should be fine.”

  Jemeryl displaced Tevi from the chair and sat down with the paper. Her eyes bored into the tabletop while her fingers wove complex patterns in the air above her head.

  Tevi looked on, waiting for something spectacular to happen. She thought she could detect a sour-sweet smell and soft bass rumble, almost too low to be heard. In the end, the result was anticlimactic. Jemery
l’s expression become steadily more confused. Eventually, she swore softly and shoved the paper away.

  “Didn’t it work?” Tevi was disappointed at the failure of her first attempt at literacy.

  “Oh, something happened. But it wasn’t your name. All I got was ‘Strikes-like-lightning.’ What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, well...um, it’s...my real name. Tevi’s just a nickname, but I prefer it. I’ve never liked Strikes-like-lightning, but it’s traditional.”

  Klara strutted across the table, shaking her beak from side to side. “Isn’t it always the same? Just when you think you’re getting to know someone, you find out they’re not who you thought.”

  “Even on the islands, no one ever called me Strikes-like-lightning.”

  “Except your mother,” Jemeryl suggested.

  “I think she only did it the once. At my naming ceremony.”

  “I’ll call you it, if you want.”

  “Oh, please don’t.” Tevi could hear the horror in her own voice

  Jemeryl laughed. “Where does the name Tevi come from?”

  “It’s short for Tevirik. In my people’s stories, she’s blacksmith and armourer for Rangir, goddess of the sea.”

  “They named you after her?”

  “At second hand. It’s the crabs that got named after her. Because of the armour.”

  “Crabs?”

  “We call them tevies. I got the name when I was three...at my first sword lesson. I was knocked to my knees. I had one hand on the ground, and I was waving the wooden sword above my head with the other. Blaze just stepped back, crossed her arms and said, ‘I don’t know if anyone will mistake you for a warrior, but you can do a great impression of a tevi.’ Before then, I think people used to call me Flash—because of the lightning—but Tevi was what stuck.”

  “It’s all right, my love.” Jemeryl’s teasing tone was replaced with gentle affection. “I think Tevi suits you. And it’s just as well you hadn’t mentioned it before. It proved my spell worked. All I have to do now is break into the library.”

  “You’re going to break in?” Tevi said in alarm.

  “I don’t want anyone around. Otherwise, I’ll attract attention if I start casting spells in the main hall.”

  “Isn’t it risky?”

  “Less risky than my other option of breaking into Bramell’s rooms to get the manuscript and then tracing the resonance myself to find out who’s got the chalice now.”

  Tevi was not comforted. “I worry about you.”

  Jemeryl stood and wrapped her arms around Tevi, hugging her tightly. “Don’t.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  Tevi rested her head against Jemeryl’s and closed her eyes.

  Jemeryl broke the silence. “Come on. I’m thirsty. Are you ready? Let’s go and get something to drink.”

  “Um...I can’t find my boots.”

  With Jemeryl and Klara’s help, the boots were found. Once seated outside, by mutual consent they let the subject drop. Jemeryl returned to the confrontation with Bramell. “I know he didn’t mean to do me a favour, but I’m pleased he’s moved me into Levannue’s section. Wards and charms are much more my sort of thing, and Levannue’s the leading authority in the Protectorate.”

  “What are charms and wards?”

  “Combinations of things to attract or repel people and animals.”

  “And you find that interesting?”

  “Oh, it’s fascinating. For example, you’ve probably heard that rowan keeps sorcerers away.”

  “Yes, but isn’t it just a superstition? I mean, rowan is harmless.”

  “Not if you can perceive it on a psychic plane. It’s horrendous stuff.” Jemeryl squirmed. “It’s hard to describe, but if rowan’s aura was a smell, it’d be rotten eggs, and if it was a sound, it’d be a tin fork scraped on glass. And the overall effect is worse than either.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. It won’t force a sorcerer to go away. I could put up with it, if I had to.”

  “But you’d rather not?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Someone told me that people in the Barrodens make door lintels out of rowan. Are they trying to stop sorcerers visiting?”

  “More likely for ghouls. If anything, they like rowan even less than we do. But it won’t work with werewolves. For some perverse reason, they seem to like the stuff. Nobody knows why. That’s what makes the whole area of wards and charms so much more interesting than healing colds.”

  “Perhaps not to ordinary folk.”

  “No point being healthy if you’ve got a ghoul sitting beside you.”

  Chapter Eight—A Visit to the Library

  The lock on the library side entrance yielded to a simple spell. The door opened with a squeal that caused Jemeryl to stop and glance over her shoulder. Behind her, the school buildings huddled in darkness. The moon had long since set, and the twitter of insects was muted in the chill before dawn. Nothing moved. No lights or voices pierced the night. Jemeryl gave a nod of satisfaction and slipped through the doorway.

  Once inside the building, she risked a light globe. The walls of a long room sprang up around her—a store for furniture needing repair, by the look of it. Jemeryl hurried through a series of rooms. Wild shadows leapt around her, jumping between the bookshelves. Darkness receded ahead, to flow back and swallow the aisles she left.

  The cavernous central hall felt menacing in its dark silence—or would have, had Jemeryl wanted to waste time indulging her imagination. She had located the relevant loan entry on the previous day. It took her only a few seconds to find the correct expired ledger and carry it to a desk. At first, the writing danced in front of her eyes, taunting her, until Orrago’s signature slipped into focus.

  All other thoughts were swept aside as Jemeryl concentrated on her spell, weaving the lines of knowledge and time with the essence of paper and ink. The projections of her fingers plucked the nets of the higher dimensions. Before her eyes, the image of a name formed, the name she least expected: Orrago.

  Confusion and frustration swept away Jemeryl’s previous excitement. She sat scowling at the page, shoulders slumped. Her only remaining option involved breaking into Bramell’s office. But would it be any more successful? She scraped her chair back, heedless of the loud screech, and reached out to shut the register, treating the page to one last resentful glare.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” A voice rang out.

  Jemeryl froze at the sound of footsteps. Moragar strode into the light. He stopped at her shoulder and looked down at the register. For a while, neither moved. Then he stepped around the desk, pulled out a second chair, and threw himself down. Moragar’s eyes drilled into her. Finally, he leaned forward.

  “I should take you straight to Bramell, but I doubt he’ll be much help. So I’m going to give you the chance to explain it to me first. I want you to tell me about Lorimal.”

  “I was just curious about the manuscript I found, sir.”

  “I think not.” Moragar tapped the entry beside Orrago’s signature. “Any other book, and I might just have believed you. But not this one.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Jemeryl’s mouth was dry.

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Perhaps you might have more to say if I tell you why I’m interested.”

  It sounded like a challenge. Moragar’s expression was of constrained anger. Although, Jemeryl thought, not aimed directly at her. She nodded cautiously.

  “It’s not something I’ve discussed with anyone, but I think you might have some answers.”

  “I’m not...” Jemeryl’s voice trailed away, uncertain.

  “It goes back to Druse and his death. He called for me when he was very ill, bedridden, but I could tell something else was wrong. There’s a restricted section of the library. You need Bramell’s permission to enter. I’m sure you can guess what sort of books are kept there. Druse had detected someo
ne taking advantage of the chaos to break in. The chief librarian has a watch ward on the room, but it was set on the assumption that Druse could investigate the second the alarm was triggered. Incidentally, that’s how I knew you were here. There are wards on all doors. You should have been more careful.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jemeryl felt foolish.

  “Druse was too ill to go himself, so he sent me to find out what had been taken. It was just one book: a history of a sorcerer called Lorimal. Druse thought the person would try to sneak it back. He gave me a more sensitive ward, one that would let him detect the culprit’s identity. As you can imagine, what with plague rampant, I didn’t give it much attention. I assumed one of the apprentices was playing childish games. Very stupid, but hardly a priority at the time. I set the watch ward and thought no more of it. Then, two days later, Druse died. When I checked, the book was back in place. And ever since then, I’ve been wondering. Perhaps Druse confronted whoever it was, to let them explain, and perhaps his death wasn’t due to the plague.”

  “You think he was murdered?”

  “He wasn’t old or infirm, yet he was the only one to die.” Moragar looked steadily at Jemeryl. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “Of course...it would be appalling, if it were true.”

  “Yet you have no trouble accepting the idea,” Moragar said pointedly. “Bramell did. He dismissed my suspicions. He said Druse was very ill and imagined things. However, he took the book out of the library.” Moragar tapped the register. “Then I remembered this lost manuscript had been written by Lorimal. It seemed too much coincidence. Two missing books linked to the same person. So I tried finding out more about her. I was astonished. There’s hardly a word in the whole library, just neat little patches where things have been removed. Now you come here from Lyremouth and start digging up information about her.” Moragar fixed Jemeryl with a piercing stare. “I want to know what’s going on. I want to know who Lorimal was. But most of all, I want to know if someone murdered Druse.”

  Moragar had said his bit. He sat back, waiting. Jemeryl stared at the tabletop, considering her options. Everything Moragar had said could be a lie—a ploy to make her reveal her hand. Equally, he might be innocent. Either way, she had to tell him something, else Bramell would be called in, with disastrous complications.