Evastany

by Charlotte E. English

  The words that fell from these people’s lips were close to my own, so close I could almost understand them. But they were not exactly like, and I recalled with some chagrin that I had heard such speech before.

  So there I was, trying to eat and accomplish a little espionage at the same time, and foiled by so rudimentary a problem which I ought to have anticipated. And for which I had no solution. There was only one way they could have recognised me, you see: if they realised I was the real Lady Glostrum, I do not think I would have been permitted to continue walking about with such insouciance, for the fact of my escape must have been obvious. Probably they were not even aware that Lady Glostrum herself was in the Library at all; they took me for whoever it was that had taken to pretending to be me, and treated me accordingly.

  This was handy, if they were going to talk to me of Secret Things which I otherwise would never have heard. But of course they expected me to speak their language.

  Nothing to do but brazen it out.

  ‘We have a new student,’ I said in my own tongue.

  This caused a little consternation, and some mild confusion as they tried to work out why I was speaking a Seven Realms language. It came down to what they would consider more likely: that whoever they thought I was had simply chosen to maintain the facade even in such company as this, or that some random woman from the Seven had somehow gained access to their Library and was now wandering around unsupervised. Moreover that such a person had possessed the gumption to stroll nonchalantly into their dining hall and rob it of several particularly fine dishes.

  The latter, of course, struck them as impossible.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said a youngish man seated across from me, with a roll of his (admittedly rather pretty) eyes. ‘We award you full credit for dedication.’

  ‘Who’s the new student?’ said someone else, a petite woman with short hair and a violently blue dress.

  ‘A sorcerer.’ I was feeling my way carefully here, wary of messing up. Best not to say too much.

  Some sceptical brows were raised. ‘Another one?’ said somebody.

  ‘The more, the merrier,’ I murmured.

  ‘What about that draykon?’

  I looked sharply at the speaker, a man who looked roughly of my own age. He had a grim face, most unwelcoming.

  Of course, I wanted to say what draykon?? and immediately demand a full explanation. Did they have a draykon here somewhere? Was he or she intended to be a student, or a teacher?

  If the former, a student of what?

  I could say none of this, of course, so I settled for a noncommittal shrug. If I hoped the gesture might provoke a more informative response, I was disappointed, for the grim-faced man shrugged too and returned to his food, apparently abandoning the subject.

  Hmm.

  I was beginning to receive some curious looks, perhaps due to my reticence. I had been laconic to the point of remark, after all, and for all I knew I was impersonating someone with a tendency towards loquacity.

  Time to go. The fact that I had finished my meal might also have influenced my decision, though that point I can neither confirm nor deny.

  ‘Back to it,’ I murmured, hoping to convey that I was busy and off to do a range of vitally important things.

  Nobody objected to my departure, to my relief, and I left the table feeling like I had got away with it. My heart might have been pounding a bit, but that point I can neither confirm nor deny either.

  I was halfway to the door when I realised one of them was coming after me.

  I was tempted to throw dignity to the winds and beat the hastiest of all possible retreats, but nothing could have been more foolish or more cowardly. So I forced myself to slow my steps, and allow my pursuer to catch up.

  It was the woman with the blue dress. She looked sideways at me, and then said in a low voice: ‘Gio is back.’

  ‘Oh?’ I said, in a neutral tone.

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘How long has he been back?’

  ‘I don’t know, but Myla saw him earlier. He’s running with Ylona’s lot.’

  Well, whoever she thought I was, it wasn’t Ylona. ‘Interesting,’ I said.

  ‘Mm.’ She walked along beside me in silence for a time, and we exited the dining parlour together. ‘He hasn’t been to see me,’ she said after a while.

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘That’s clear enough then, isn’t it?’ The woman sounded bitter, which intrigued me. I might have thought she was some kind of… connection of Gio’s, save that I had never seen any sign that he felt that kind of an interest in women. Why was she dismayed by his absence?

  She said nothing more, taking her leave of me a moment later. I walked on alone, deep in thought as I made my way back to my suite. It was time to place myself back where I was supposed to be; I had been long enough absent, and to stay away longer would be to unnecessarily increase the risks of trouble.

  I went past the classrooms on my way, and retrieved Tren. He and Faronni were getting on swimmingly, and I almost had to drag him away. He later explained this by assuring me that Faronni had given him masses of useful information, and who knows what else she might impart if given more time? I perfectly believed him of course, but I may have given him cause to imagine that I did not.

  It does not hurt to give one’s beloved reason to sweat a little, from time to time. It is unwise to allow them to become too comfortable, lest they begin to take one for granted.

  We returned to my suite, and hastily swapped notes. I told him about my adventures with the woman in blue, and he told me about the school. Faronni had given fairly minute descriptions of the two tutors, though I was not able to match them to anybody I had seen in the dining parlour. By her account, her course of study was rigorous and demanding; they were serious about training her up. Susa was the star of the class, quite the pet of both the teachers, and expected to be a great success.

  To my disappointment, however, nobody seemed to know what this “success” constituted. It had been strongly implied that they were intended to fulfil some ultimate purpose, but what that might be had been left unspecified. There were merely nebulous promises of “rewards” to be won by those who were sufficiently talented, motivated and generally brilliant.

  ‘We had better make sure you have a chance to milk her some more,’ I observed, when Tren had come to the end of his tale.

  He blinked, and I had to privately admit that my turn of phrase might have been unfortunate. ‘I would be delighted to milk her,’ he informed me, his eyes all a-twinkle.

  I narrowed mine at him. ‘Meanwhile,’ I said sternly, ‘this question of a draykon. Did you hear any mention of that?’

  ‘None whatsoever. According to Faronni, all of her fellow students are like her: partial Lokants from across the Seven, a mix of Daylanders and Darklanders by the sounds of it. All of them are either sorcerers or summoners as well, though few of them are especially talented at those arts — or perhaps they’re merely untrained. I don’t know. I thought it an interesting implication, that those with Lokant blood have typically done poorly at sorc or summoner school.’

  Interesting indeed. ‘I wonder if the two are poorly compatible, somehow.’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘And I wonder if these people realise that.’

  ‘Perhaps they do. I hear that Susa’s sorcerer skills are a bit beyond what was expected for the group. That’s partly why she’s the star.’

  ‘Mm. So they’re looking for the rare ones who are fairly adept with both sides of their heritage.’

  ‘Supposing any such exist. Yes.’

  ‘Of course they do. Am I not proof of it?’

  ‘Tren looked sheepish. ‘Incontrovertible proof.’

  I thought about all of that, but no obvious conclusions jumped to mind. ‘I need to see Gio,’ I said. ‘I wonder if he knows that he’s been rumbled.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it would surprise him.’

  ‘No, perhaps no
t. Intrigue, intrigue. Family politics! Dark rumours! Gossip! It is most exciting.’

  Tren made a grimacing face. ‘Too exciting. I am tired.’

  ‘Then go to sleep. Now that we know the girls are well, it falls to us to be docile and dutiful for a while, and do some waiting. They will come for us eventually. Best to be well-rested when that happens.’

  Tren agreed to this. Our leave-taking might have taken rather longer than was strictly necessary, but at length I had him safely deposited in his own room, and me in mine.

  Having already napped, I was lively enough to retrieve my journal from its customary spot and make all of the updates you are now enjoying. (You are enjoying them, are you not? Please say yes. I positively refuse to write a dry, staid account of my doings, over which people will yawn and fall asleep. If necessary I will start to embellish — include more improbable events, more colourful occurrences, more… pizzazz. Just say the word).

  I have now done. You are brought all up to date, and I have only to do some waiting. In keeping with my desire to entertain rather than bore you, I will not force you to wait with me. Away goes my journal, and I will write more only once something interesting and preferably exciting has happened.

  I, meanwhile, resign myself to all the dullness of some hours, or possibly days (…possibly even weeks? Oh goodness please say no…) spent waiting alone. Wish me luck.

  29 IV

  I now find myself with the same problem as Llandry, in that it becomes extremely difficult to keep track of time out in a Library like this. I have tried to organise my account chronologically, as she did; it is the only system that makes any sense. But how do you write by date, when it is impossible to know what day it is at home? I feel like a day or two has passed since my last update, so that is what I have written down.

  If I return to the Seven to find myself, ultimately, weeks off the actual date — which I imagine very likely — then I apologise in advance.

  Having smoothly excused myself from all possible reproach on that score, I shall move on.

  We had (as I have said) approximately two days of time with nothing to do. Tren and I amused ourselves by playing games — sometimes in person, sometimes by way of tapping upon our adjoining door with various parts of our anatomy.

  Don’t ask. It is amazing what one can find entertaining, if one is only bored enough.

  We speculated wildly as to what they were doing with all this time, though without drawing any useful conclusions. I will spare you the details. We were fed, which briefly alleviated our boredom but not by much. The food was not delivered by a person; instead, a kind of hatch-thing (forgive my imprecision — engineering is not my talent) opened in the floor and a little platform-thing rose into view, bearing plates and dishes and cups all full of good things. Once I had finished eating, it was all taken away again. Lovely. I couldn’t decide whether that meant these apartments were always used for captives — indeed, had been especially designed for the purpose — or whether this function had been originally intended for the convenience of more voluntary occupants. That question occupied many a dull hour, I can tell you.

  My torment was briefly lifted by the appearance of Gio. Under the circumstances I felt rather like kissing him again, but I wisely kept that fact to myself this time.

  I saluted him instead, from my comfortably recumbent posture upon the bed. ‘Hurrah, the cavalry!’

  Gio surveyed me. I called myself comfortably recumbent but it might be fairer to say hopelessly inert or dejectedly unmoving. ‘You look bored,’ said he.

  ‘Yes. So I hope you have brought some exciting news.’

  ‘Actually…’ he looked apologetic. ‘I was hoping you might have some.’

  I sighed deeply and flopped back into the blankets. ‘Ylona strikes me as an insufferably dull person. Does she do nothing of note or interest?’

  Gio shrugged. ‘I begin to think that her plan for winning the leadership largely consists of dishing enough dirt on my grandmother. She does not appear to have a great deal of competition, otherwise.’

  ‘It’s a time-honoured tradition, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. So. Any dirt to dish?’

  ‘Not much yet, but Gio…’ I sat up and regarded him with earnest concern. ‘What have you done with Ori?’

  ‘What have I done with him? He’s with me.’

  ‘Do people know what he is?’

  ‘A draykon, you mean? No, we’ve kept his identity quiet. As far as Ylona knows, he is a summoner from Glinnery and my lover and that’s it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I told him about the blue-garbed woman and her reference to a draykon.

  Gio’s eyes narrowed. ‘Short hair, fond of blue? That sounds like Lania. She’s a cousin, of sorts. I didn’t realise she was back.’

  ‘Threat or not?’

  ‘I don’t know. She has always behaved like grandmother can do no wrong, but then, so did I, once. One tends to know what’s good for one’s health.’ He frowned, and thought, and shook his head. ‘I am pretty sure it’s not Ori she’s talking about. He’s been careful to do nothing that would give him away, and I don’t think they have any way to sense a draykon soul the way the draykoni can amongst themselves.’

  ‘All right. Good.’

  ‘I haven’t heard of a draykon up here, but I’ll ask around. Ylona might be interested to hear about that, anyway.’

  He took his leave soon afterwards, looking cheered. It occurred to me that he had probably buttered up Ylona by promising her information about Dwinal — and subsequently allowed her to believe that he was collecting that information himself. It was much more comfortable for him to keep his distance from his grandmother, however, and use me as a source. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

  At length, they came for us. I was stretched out upon my bed at the time, comfortably clad in my nightgown, wearing all the blankets, and staring at the ceiling with (most likely) that expression that says: just kill me, I would enjoy it more. When the knock came upon my door, I almost died of fright. I shot out of bed, heart furiously a-pound, and ran for the door.

  Only to conclude, of course, that I couldn’t open it anyway. What was I doing? Why were they knocking?

  ‘Come in?’ I said, rather doubtfully.

  The door opened, and it was Limbane again. That surprised me. Considering my two-day incarceration, I had expected the masquerade would have been abandoned. Why bother, when we must realise ourselves to be captive? (At least in theory — I do not anticipate that they know of my implant, yet).

  ‘Lady Glostrum,’ he said, with a scrupulously polite inclination of his head.

  I merely eyed him, and did not reply.

  This show of rudeness did not faze him. He offered me his arm. ‘We are ready to begin discussions, with my apologies for the delay. If I may escort you?’

  ‘The delay?’ I repeated in high disgust. I was not disposed to let him off so easily. ‘Was it really necessary to leave me waiting for two days together, and with no means of egress from this room?’

  He hesitated, and I watched as his gaze travelled to the door and back to me. How would he explain the captivity?

  Apparently he wouldn’t try. ‘My apologies,’ he said again. ‘Arrangements took longer than I had anticipated.’

  I narrowed my eyes at that. Surely he could not imagine that I would be satisfied with such slippery language, such a total lack of explanation?

  ‘Will Mr. Dalsy be allowed out?’ I prompted. ‘What explanation do you have for his incarceration either?’

  I realised at once that I had erred, for if I had been locked in this room alone for two days, how could I know that Dalsy had been imprisoned likewise? ‘That connecting door is rather thin,’ I added smoothly. ‘We have striven to entertain each other, by such means as we have available.’

  ‘I apologise.’

  Really, that was it? He had nothing to offer but repeated apologies? I lost patience with the charade on the spot.

  ‘Permit me t
o make a guess,’ I said to him. ‘You are… Hyarn?’

  His eyes widened, and I had the satisfaction of observing that I had temporarily robbed him of the power of speech. At length he gave a slight cough, backed away a step, and eyed me with a new wariness which afforded me great satisfaction. ‘Hyarn?’ he repeated.

  ‘Hyarn. A close associate of Dwinal, who is the current Master Lokantor of this Library. You met some of my friends, not long ago: Llandry and Pense, of Nuwelin, and Orillin Vance of Glinnery.’ I could have added, And you murdered Galywis, but I decided such a comment would be both dangerous and rather useless at that moment.

  His lips curved in a faint, rueful smile. Then the vision of Limbane faded, and before me stood a stranger: a man much younger than Limbane, with close-cropped hair and an air of energy. ‘I had not thought that relations between you and Miss Sanfaer were so close.’

  ‘We communicate,’ I assured him.

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘The masquerade was entirely purposeless, I assure you. I knew immediately that you were not Limbane. What can you have meant by it?’

  ‘Ah — we thought you would be more comfortable with a familiar face in charge.’

  I snorted. It was spectacularly unladylike, but I couldn’t help it. ‘You thought I would be more comfortable with Limbane? Your information is sorely lacking.’

  His eyebrows went up and he waited, perhaps hoping I would elaborate. But I have learned my lesson. With these people, never give away anything that you don’t have to, for they certainly will not. Why put oneself at a disadvantage?

  He was not wrong to imagine that I might have felt more comfortable with someone else in charge, however. He killed Galywis. He had defended his own motives in doing so, not wholly without success; Galy had been mad beyond recall, and had done some terrible things himself. Still, entering into negotiations with a man who has recently proved himself capable of committing murder in cold blood was not a circumstance best calculated to inspire confidence in the proceedings.