Evastany

by Charlotte E. English

  We were about to give up — expertly communicating this by way of meaningful looks alone — when there came, at last, a ring upon the doorbell.

  ‘Aha!’ said Archivere, and jumped up at once. ‘I cannot think who that can be! I rarely receive visitors, Lady Glostrum — I could not say I am a sociable man, exactly. I wonder who this could be! Do, pray, forgive me the interruption! I am sure it is nothing, and will be resolved in an instant. And then I shall promptly return.’

  He left, the latter part of this speech wafting back to me as he dashed for the front door.

  To my frustration, I could not hear what passed between him and whoever had arrived. I discerned only a low babble of voices, one of which was certainly Tren’s (though even his voice was somewhat modified in his persona as Archivere, is that not impressive?) I could tell nothing about the visitor, save that I thought the second voice was male, too.

  After a few minutes, Tren — or no, Archivere — returned.

  ‘What luck, what fortune!’ he was saying as he came in. ‘That you should happen to arrive just when her ladyship is with me! Thus we may easily kill two birds with one stone, no? Lady Glostrum, I believe you know this gentleman! He is here with an interesting proposition for us.’

  And there, walking into the little parlour behind Archivere, was Limbane.

  My instinctive reaction was to feel something like revulsion. Our least favourite sneak was sneaking again, and interfering; sticking his nose in where he was not wanted, following us around, pushing his way into our schemes! Did he not trust us to carry out his request without needing to keep a watch upon us? Terrible man.

  Then I recollected who I was dealing with. Lokants.

  ‘Why, Limbane,’ said I, with every sign of surprise but none of the wariness that I felt. ‘How long it has been.’

  ‘Lady Glostrum,’ said Limbane, with a degree of courtesy unusual for him. He even bowed to me. ‘I trust you are in good health?’

  That clinched it. Limbane has never been remotely interested in my continuing good health. ‘Oh, perfectly, thank you,’ I assured him, and we spent another minute or two exchanging the usual pleasantries.

  Then I enquired, naturally enough I do hope, about the reasons for his happening to show up at a tiny house in Orstwych, occupied by a fictional partial Lokant, just when I was visiting there myself.

  I phrased the question rather more naturally, of course, and contrived to keep my sarcasm to myself.

  ‘I came to meet my great-grand-nephew,’ Limbane said, with a pleased smile at Archivere.

  Uh huh. ‘How lovely!’ I exclaimed — and for all Tren’s conviction that I cannot act, I must say that I slipped into a charming, easily pleased, pleasantly unsuspicious version of myself which, I hope, was well suited to the occasion. ‘I had no idea that Mr. Dalsy was related to an old friend.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ murmured Archivere, and the tone was so dry, so wry, and so utterly Tren that I almost laughed. I shot him a warning look, and saw his lip twitch in response.

  He launched back into Archivere. ‘A great-and-some-other-greats-uncle! Goodness! What a pleasure, for I have long been without much family to speak of. It will be the greatest delight to make your acquaintance, sir. That is—’ and he paused, his expression turning from delighted to troubled in an instant. ‘I hope that you do intend to stay a little while? How sorry I shall be, to meet you only to wave you off again!’

  Good man! I puffed up with pride, for whoever was pretending to be Limbane immediately said: ‘No, no! I come with every intention of forging the closest of family links, I assure you.’

  He looked at me, and I waited. The choice of Limbane as camouflage could only be directed at me, of course; there could be no reason to imagine that an Archivere either knew or cared who Limbane was. That the scheme was designed to appeal to me, and to persuade me into something, I did not doubt. And how excellent.

  ‘Lady Glostrum and I are old friends,’ said apparently-Limbane with a smile. ‘And her new endeavour is of great interest to my Library.’

  ‘Oh?’ said I politely.

  ‘It pleases me greatly that you are giving training and purpose to such as my great-grand-nephew. It is of benefit to them as well as to your world. And who can say when it might not be of use even to our Libraries, to have such a base in the Seven Realms, a series of contacts who know us and understand us and have worked with us in the past? Who can offer us teams of our own people, with our own abilities, and an understanding of your world which we lack? It would be wise indeed for us to assist you, which is what I come to propose.’

  All of that sounded far too plausible to me. I had to work a little to keep my suspicions off my face. ‘We would welcome assistance, certainly,’ I conceded (and it was true). ‘We struggle to teach even so few students as we have thus far secured.’ (Which was also true).

  Limbane smiled. ‘Allow me to invite both of you to Estinor for an extended visit, then. I will get to know my nephew, and your ladyship and I may discuss the requirements of your organisation, and see about what we can do to help.’

  How lovely. How neat. Something for everyone, and so civilised an arrangement. I suffered a mild pang of regret that it was all a lie.

  I agreed, of course, and graciously. So did Archivere. I spent a little time surreptitiously watching this Limbane, hoping to detect some betraying sign that it was not he. I failed, of course. These people are irritatingly good.

  28 IV

  And away we went to Estinor. Supposedly.

  The problem here is as follows.

  Estinor is (apparently) the older of the two Libraries, and Sulayn Phay (Krays’s Library) was built afterwards. Krays appears to thrive upon success-by-emulation, so he promoted the functionality, practicality and general excellences of his rival Library by modelling it closely upon Limbane’s.

  The result is, the two Libraries are eerily similar. I know this because this is not the first time I have been out in these places; because I have heard it mentioned, amid much grouching, by Limbane before; and because of Llandry’s account, in which she describes being taken to “Estinor” by Gio, and only later discovering that she had actually been exploring Sulayn Phay.

  So, to Estinor we went… or was it? I am certain that this Limbane is not the real Limbane, and that his part is most likely being played by a librarian of Sulayn Phay. But that’s a guess. A sound one, I would like to think, with much to back it up, but a guess nonetheless. Our mystery Limbane could be one of Limbane’s own people, and we might be in Estinor after all.

  The only thing I can be certain of is that it’s not Limbane. This person does not seem to be aware that Limbane and I have spoken recently, and besides, the man claimed ancestry over a fictional character.

  So, “Limbane” took us to a Library which looked exactly like the Library I remember from my sojourn in Estinor before. He took us via translocation, of course. If you’ve never seen or heard of that, it consists of near-instantaneous travel by means of willing oneself out of one location and into another. It’s not as magical as it sounds. In order to do it, one must have a set destination fixed upon what they call the PsiMap (a sort of shared mental vision of the world, or worlds, by which means one may sense those transloc-points that others have set down and put them to use). When it comes to the Libraries, it’s also necessary to have official permission to travel into them. I gather they can do this by bloodlines, but if you aren’t a blooded relative of any of a given Library’s tribes (or even if you are), you’re given access by way of an implant.

  Yes, it’s literally implanted into your flesh. It contains whatever access codes they’re using at the moment, and it has to be updated from time to time to keep pace with the Library’s changes. I used to have one, which granted me unlimited access to Limbane’s Library for a time (you may be very sure that I milked it for every possible advantage). Limbane himself taught me how to translocate. I relinquished the implant in the end, wearied to death as I was with the w
hole sorry lot of them, and not expecting ever to need to come back to these cursed places.

  I’ve had occasion to regret that decision, here and there. I certainly do right now, for I have no way to tell which Library we’re in. I think it would be far too audacious (and risky) for anybody to pose as Limbane in his own Library, however, and I cannot see what would be the point, so for now I am going to assume that we are in Sulayn Phay.

  What we are doing here remains in question. It is necessary to assume that everything that has thus far been said is a lie. Sooner or later, someone will reveal to us what’s really going on.

  In the meantime, Tren and I have a pact to snoop as much as possible.

  Limbane showed us to rather handsome adjoining suites, in a part of the Library I have never been to before. They have those wonderful and alarming locks which operate by touch alone (we tested later. Tren cannot open mine and I cannot open his, so obviously they work. Somehow). There he left us, with instructions to rest (why? We haven’t done anything). He would return for us as soon as he could, he assured us, and then all the wonderful things would begin.

  He withdrew, leaving Tren and I to discover with pleasing inevitability that our locks only respond to our touch from the outside, and therefore that, once inside our suites with the doors closed, we are unable to leave again. There aren’t even handles on the doors.

  It was a neat, efficient abduction, in which the willing victims were removed with the minimum of fuss, ushered into our prisons with a polite bow, and left to enjoy all the comforts of luxurious incarceration until needed.

  We were able to communicate, for there is an adjoining door in between our suites (locked of course) through which we could just about make ourselves heard. And so, we spoke.

  Tren: Love. While we have successfully carried our point, I cannot help feeling that we have not come out altogether ahead of our adversaries.

  Me: Much as I hate to admit it, you are perfectly right. Boxed and gift-wrapped! How lamentable!

  Tren: Embarrassing.

  Me: No! For we are where we need to be, even if our explorations are somewhat curtailed.

  Tren: Options eliminated, possibilities deleted —

  Me: Darling, I fear you have forgotten your role in this relationship. It is for me to be cynical, pessimistic and bleak. Your job is to be upbeat and hopeful.

  Tren: You were not being despairing enough. I had to do something.

  As amusing as this conversation was, it was largely nonsense. One does not expect to be kidnapped and then left to wander one’s prison at will, of course. The purpose of being abducted was to ensure our passage into the very heart of our enemy’s lair; that goal is accomplished! Huzzah!

  From here, it is our duty to play along for a while, until we learn enough to act. One does that by being biddable prisoners, not too troublesome and not too bright.

  But not too obedient. We have a plan, I am happy to inform you, and I expect said plan to come into effect very soon.

  I won’t say what it is right away, in case it should all go horribly wrong and end in dramatic failure. I would be far too embarrassed to write of it afterwards, for have I not admitted to more than enough mistakes already?

  Instead of laying out my optimistic (hah) expectations in this journal, I took a few moments to explore my suite. It consisted of a flatteringly large bedroom with a very good bathroom attached — a very good bathroom indeed. They do know how to do plumbing out here! I’ll say that for Lokants! I spent a little time searching, perhaps a trifle half-heartedly, for a means of escape. I didn’t expect to find one. My little apartment had two doors: the outer door and the one into Tren’s suite. Both were locked, neither responded to my touch, and neither had handles or even visible keyholes. There were no windows.

  That settled, I availed myself at once of the large bath tub, with its amply flowing hot water and delicious bubbly goodness. After that I went to bed, because why not? I had nothing else to do.

  I was woken some time later by the sound of the door opening. I sat up at once, heart pounding, unsure who to expect. Would it be my jailer or my rescuer?

  I beheld: the latter!

  ‘Gio!’ cried I. ‘My dear boy, I have never been more tempted to kiss you.’ In my defence, his presence there demonstrated the excellence of my secret plan (hah!), and he represented all the potential-for-investigation-and-future-escape that I could wish for. His arrival also confirmed which Library we were in, which was nice to know.

  His eyelids flickered. Two or three seconds of dead silence elapsed, during which I was free to imagine just how distasteful the prospect of my kisses might be to Gio (considerably, I have to conclude, given that he vastly prefers a sweet boy like Ori). ‘Hello,’ he said, when he recovered his power of speech.

  I got out of bed. Whoever had prepared my prison had thoughtfully laid out a selection of spare blankets and pillows for me, in case of need. I had brought a portmanteau along, containing my own clothes, and so I was attired in my own nightgown, buried under six or seven layers of warm things and propped upon several gorgeously squishy pillows. I did not especially like having to get out of bed under these circumstances, but the matter of escape was undeniably important.

  I also adjusted the lights. I am a Darklander, which means I am unused to bright lights under any circumstances. Tren and I had made sure to carry the necessary equipment with us, when we travelled out here: namely sets of dark glasses, adept at filtering out as much light as possible. When alone, though, it is still much more comfortable to leave them off, and keep the lights off too. I am used to seeing my way in darkness, I do not need chamber lights. But Gio does, so I donned my glasses once again.

  Gio shut the door behind himself. I don’t know how he got in, for there is no likelihood that he is supposed to have access to these rooms. But he’s a full Lokant, spawn of such devious and ruthless minds as Dwinal and Krays, and he used to live in this Library. None of us doubted that he could get into wherever we ended up, and our faith in him has been fully rewarded.

  He held out an unpromising-looking metallic thing. Inelegant language I know, but I have no idea what to call it and the word “thing” was coined for precisely this purpose. The thing was tiny, perhaps half an inch across, and… I do not even know how to describe it otherwise.

  ‘What is that?’ said I, my tone ripe with suspicion.

  ‘Your new implant,’ replied Gio.

  I shuddered. See, I was not especially aware of the process by which I was given an implant before, or the later procedure which removed it. I didn’t really want to know the details. I didn’t want to know what it looked like, how it worked, or where in me it went. The whole idea makes me feel rather sick, I don’t mind admitting, and I felt a wave of nausea upon beholding the implant in Gio’s hands.

  Wonderful,’ I said weakly.

  Gio smiled. It was a sweet smile, rather gentle, the kind that said he knew exactly how I felt and deeply sympathised with my distress. I revised my opinion of him a fraction.

  ‘Grit your teeth,’ said he.

  ‘What?’

  Gio grabbed my arm. I felt a jab of something sharp piercing my flesh, after which my whole arm went numb. When I saw the flash of a blade in Gio’s hand — the really horribly sharp scalpel type of blade — I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, gritted my teeth very hard indeed, and tried to sing happy songs in my head until he was finished.

  Sweet Gio, adoring of and adored by lovely Ori, friend of Llandry’s and of mine, whose heart could often surprise me with its depths of love. That Gio coldly carved a hole in my arm, stuffed the implant into it and sealed me back up again. Happily for me, swift and efficient healing is a Lokant art. They do not so much patch the body up again as persuade the body to patch itself up; it’s an ability related to general domination over the will of others. To my regret, it is something I have never managed to master, but Gio was excellent at it.

  ‘You can open your eyes,’ he said after a while, and though i
t may have felt like a century or two I am fairly sure it was only about twenty minutes later.

  I cracked one eye open, expecting to see a ruined arm with a horrific scar and pints of blood everywhere.

  I saw… my arm. The sleeve of my white nightgown was pushed up to my shoulder, and everything below it was as it should be. Pale, smooth skin, no marks, no scars, no blood.

  ‘How did you do that?!’ said I. And how can you?

  Gio gave me that crooked smile. I thought he looked grim, perhaps sad, but any fleeting glimpses of emotion soon vanished behind his usual composure. ‘I do what needs to be done,’ he said, which didn’t quite address the question I had asked, but did answer the question I’d wanted to ask. ‘Why don’t you test it? I should not linger.’

  I shut my eyes and, for the first time in several moons, I sought to access the PsiMap. It took me some effort to remember how, and for a while it was like trying to see through thick fog.

  But then! There it was. I saw the Library laid out in my mind’s eye, a system of plans in which each room was distinct. There were translocation points everywhere, including into Tren’s suite.

  I popped next door.

  ‘Hello, love,’ said he. He was lying on his bed, looking pretty comfortable, if a trifle morose. But he lit up at sight of me, and immediately came to embrace me.

  ‘Hello,’ I replied, though I did it more with kisses than words.

  ‘Nightgown,’ he noted, looking me up and down. ‘Were there pillows involved?’

  ‘Many.’

  ‘Blankets?’

  ‘Several.’

  He grinned. ‘That’s my girl.’

  He implied, of course, that my attire was not the most practical choice for our forthcoming sleuthing adventures. This was perfectly true, so I flashed back to my own suite with Tren in tow. Gio had already gone, which I observed with some regret; I had not thanked him, though he had gone to a great deal of trouble and probably placed himself in danger in order to provide us with the means to investigate.