No True Way: All-New Tales of Valdemar (Tales of Valdemar Series Book 8)

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Well, it’s a good thing he’s careful with them, or I might expect him to buy one for a change, Ivarra!” Michen snapped back. “Get back to work, Erlan, you lazy wretch!” He aimed a swipe at his twelve-year-old son standing beside Paddy. The boy danced out of the way with a grin, a book on griffins clutched in one hand.

  “I was dusting it, Papa,” he protested, winking at Paddy.

  “I’ll dust you! I swear if I sold apples, I’d have no stock left! Younglings! It’s a wonder I can make any kind of a living with the amount of trade they read for free!”

  Setting the book down carefully, Paddy backed up a step, his face burning. “Er, do a lot of folk just read ’em an’ put ’em back?” he asked, trying to mask his embarrassment with an attempt at an official question.

  Michen gave an unimpressed snort as he straightened the books on the counter. “Enough! The Scholars are the worst!”

  “You can chase them off while they’re still students,” Ivarra explained at Paddy’s confused expression, “but once they come into their own, it’s harder to demand payment without giving offence and risk losing their trade for a time.”

  “Only for a time?”

  “Where else are they going to go?” Erlan answered, elbowing the other boy in the ribs as he pointed out an elderly woman so absorbed in a copy of The Myths of Valdemar that she hardly blinked as she dropped a coin into Ivarra’s hand.

  “Buying books is like buying sweets, lad, so beware,” Michen said with a hideous scowl. “Once you’ve gained a taste for it, you’ll never stop wanting more. Forever.”

  “Some collectors’ll buy books before they buy food,” Erlan added, then burst out laughing at Paddy’s appalled expression.

  “Mind you,” Ivarra allowed as the woman wandered off, still reading. “Most of us don’t mind if the reader is careful with the books. There are some, students mostly, who can’t afford to buy very often, but they can’t stay away either. They’ll come every day just to snatch up a few pages before lessons, and sometimes, if it’s obvious they love the book so much that it would just about kill them if someone else bought it before they reached the end, we’ll tuck it behind the counter until they’ve finished with it.”

  “And sometimes we might take another in trade, if it’s been kept clean and undamaged,” Erlan added. “Right, Aunt Ivarra?”

  “That’s right, lad.”

  Paddy frowned. “Take another in trade?”

  Michen snorted again. “I’ve had some try to trade me my own books back again, week after week, as if I could afford to sell naught but one volume every three months!”

  “It does help if they move around between us,” Ivarra admitted, “so that no one stall gets touched up too often.”

  “Moves around?”

  Michen glared at Paddy as if he suspected he was poking fun at them. “Have you got a hearing problem, boy?” he demanded.

  “No, sir,” Paddy stammered. “I were just thinkin’ out loud.”

  “A bad habit to get into.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anyway, looks like Daedrus has made his choices today, so get gone.”

  Paddy turned to see Erlan wrapping up a dozen manuals for the Artificer, who handed over his money with much the same expression as the woman had, then turned back, his own expression torn.

  “I, um, was wondering . . . how much is the street ball book?” he asked casually.

  Michen wordlessly held it up to show him the price prominently displayed on the back cover and Paddy’s face fell. “Oh, um, thank you. Maybe next week.” As the boy accepted Daedrus’ parcels, Michen rolled his eyes, then deliberately tucked the book behind the counter.

  “What!?” he demanded of his son who was now openly grinning at him. “Get back to work, or you’ll find yourself apprenticed to the very next swineherd who passes by!”

  The boy’s smile grew. “Yes, Papa, just as soon as I finish this one last story, all right?”

  “One. Only.”

  “Thanks, Papa.”

  * * *

  “So, I thought maybe the thief starts out by just snatchin’ a bit of readin’ here an’ there,” Paddy explained to the three other on-duty Danns gathered in Hektor’s office later that afternoon. “But finally the waitin’ to finish gets to be too much for ’im an he borrows one, brings it back right away the next time, does it again, an’ again, an’ then he does it at someone else’s house, only this time he brings the wrong book back to Daedrus’ because he’s got ’em all mixed up.”

  “Seems a bit complicated,” Aiden pointed out. “Besides, these weren’t storybooks, they were books on what things are or how they work.”

  Paddy shrugged. “Readin’s readin’.”

  Beside him, Kassie nodded.

  “So we’re lookin’ at someone who has regular weekly, or monthly access to more than one private library, no money to buy his own books, and no chance to ask for the loan of one,” Hektor summed up.

  “And has a few moments alone to read without being detected,” Aiden included.

  Kassie and Paddy put their heads together for a moment.

  “Well, it can’t be a privy cleaner, chimney sweep, gardener, or dustbin man,” Paddy noted. “They’d leave marks on the books.”

  “And it can’t be Hadon, Deen, or Marti,” Kassie added. “Because they’re not there long enough.”

  “And they’re only ever in the pantry, anyway.”

  “And it can’t be Janee or Alix, because they could ask Daedrus to lend them anything they were interested in.”

  “An’ it can’t be one of the book folk, because it would hurt their trade with Daedrus, an’ their apprentices can read all they want at their masters’ own stalls without payin’ a single pennybit.”

  “That leaves Mern. Daedrus has water jugs all over his house that need fillin’.”

  Both brother and sister shared a triumphant smile that quickly became stricken expressions.

  “Oh, poor Mern,” Kassie breathed.

  Hektor glanced from one to the other. “Why poor Mern?”

  “Well, because . . .” His sister shrugged. “Because he’s nice.”

  Paddy nodded. “He’s from Sweetsprings. He wanted to be a Scholar but had to quit lessons when his older brother died, an’ he had to start workin’ deliveries with his Da.”

  “He’s smart, too,” Kassie added. “He thinks about things before he says ’em.”

  “Doesn’t sound like he thinks about things before he does ’em, though,” Aiden observed.

  “I guess not. But if it is him stealin’ books, I’ll bet he just means to borrow ’em for a bit an’ then bring ’em right back.”

  Aiden gave her a stern look. “That’s how it always starts, Kasiath,” he said, not unkindly.

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “But it might not even be him,” Paddy argued. “We don’t know anywhere near all the folk who come and go at Daedrus’ house.”

  “No, you don’t, but I trust your instincts,” Hektor answered. “You’ve both been hanging around the watch house your whole lives. You know how people act. So, you tell me, as watchmen, has Mern been actin’ in any way in the last few weeks that might make you think he was guilty of somethin’?”

  Kassie and Paddy exchanged a look, then they both nodded glumly.

  “I’ll talk to Daedrus.”

  * * *

  “No! Under no circumstances do I want him arrested, Sergeant!”

  Three days later, Hektor stood in Daedrus’ front parlor, trying to make the old Artificer see sense while his birds filled the air with a cacophony of agitated shrieking.

  “But, sir—”

  Daedrus fixed the much younger man with an indignant glare. “Don’t you ‘sir’ me, Hektor Dann,” he snapped. “I’m to attend your wedding in less than a fortnight, s
o we can just dispense with such formalities right here and now.”

  “Fine. Daedrus . . .”

  “No. You brought this to my attention, just as you should have, and I’ve spoken with the boy, and he’s admitted the whole thing to both myself and to his father. His choice of materials shows he has a discerning mind and a keen intelligence, as do the others.”

  “Others?”

  Daedrus waved a dismiss hand at him. “He’s been sharing my books with a few others in his home village. They have no hope of gaining access to such works, since they are so far from the capital,” he continued before Hektor could voice another protest. “He did have access, so it only made sense that he be the one to do the procuring. Now, I’ve arranged for certain volumes to be regularly lent out, all above board, all with the complete knowledge of myself and the other participants, so you needn’t worry about that.”

  “Other participants?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. The boy gave me a list of libraries that he’d been particularly tempted by, and since they all belong to close friends of mine, I’ve taken the liberty of discussing with them the setting up of a formal lending library, and they are all quite excited about the project. As the great Artificer Brayce once said: ‘No advance or invention ever came from knowledge hoarded, but only from knowledge sprinkled into fertile minds. Then it can move mountains.’” Daedrus paused. “Or something like that, I forget the actual quote. And for that matter, who said it. Now that I think of it, it might have been Isora, King Valdemar’s Head Gardener back in the day. My point is that young Mern is wasted as a sweet waterseller. He shows excellent organizational skills, or he will, once he’s trained up a bit. Now that he doesn’t have to do the lending in a clandestine manner, he’s free to tweak it. I think we’ll put him in charge.”

  “Sir!”

  “A bit of proper responsibility is just what he needs.”

  “You’ll have no library left!”

  “Don’t be silly, my boy, that’s not how it works at all. No, no, you leave it to me. All is in good hands.” Daedrus pushed Hektor gently but firmly toward the door. “Paddy tells me that Aiden and Suli are moving into their new flat today, and they’ll need you to help them before you’re to meet with the watch house tailor to have your new dress uniform fitted for your wedding, so off you go, Sergeant!”

  “But . . .” Hektor tried once more. “I have to report what I found to the captain.”

  “Quite right. Tell him I’m hosting the first meeting of the Friends of Haven’s Public Library Association here tonight, and we’d welcome a volume or two from his own collection if he has a mind to offer them. I have a list here somewhere of works that might suit. Ah yes, here it is!” Daedrus pressed a piece of paper into Hektor’s unresisting hand.

  “Now, if you would be so kind as to ask Kasiath to drop by a bit early tomorrow before lessons if she could. I’m afraid my children have gotten a little unsettled by all of this,” he continued, wincing as the cacophony continued. “And they could use some calming down. Give your mother my regards, and tell young Jakon and Raik that I’m escorting my dear friend, Annise, to the third year Bardic Trainees’ concert at the Virgin and Stars Tavern next week. Annise needs two canes to get around these days, so we’ll be taking chairs instead of walking. They needn’t accompany us unless they want to. I know they worry—quite unnecessarily by the way—about my being out of doors late at night, but they might enjoy the music. So, love to all, good afternoon!”

  Hektor found himself on the front step with the door closed very firmly behind him before he could get another word in edgewise. He stood a moment, trying to sort out what had just happened, then headed for the watch house with a resigned air. As the breeze sent the first few drops of a warm, spring rain spattering across his face, his thoughts returned to Ismy.

  Ismy looking up at him with a smile, her arm tucked securely in his. Ismy . . . mentioning a prewedding dinner with her violent and unpredictable father.

  His steps faltered as he wondered what the likelihood of him actually surviving until the wedding was. Maybe he could convince his brothers to come with him as backup. For that matter, maybe he could convince the entire watch house to come with him as backup . . .

  He quickened his pace, and as the capital’s bells began to chime the hour, he turned onto Iron Street a few moments later, already lost in thought as to what kind of report he could possibly write about all of this.

  A Dream Reborn

  Dylan Birtolo

  Sera sat at the edge of the road, leaning back against the inn’s stone wall. It was hard and rough, with points that bit into her muscles, but she was used to the discomfort. She shifted to make it as bearable as possible but continued watching people as they passed by on their way to Wineboro’s central market. She was close enough to smell the freshly baked bread, and it made her stomach rumble.

  The inn’s location, on the borders of the town and along the road to Tindale, forced all traffic from the East to pass by its door. By serving as a beacon to late night travelers and offering succor without the need to search through the narrower town streets, it had prospered, and the innkeeper had built expansions onto it twice, judging by the different colored stones used. The location also served Sera’s purposes, letting her keep an eye out for any new travelers with coin to spare.

  Some of the local residents glanced her way as they walked past, but most simply ignored her. A select few who considered themselves of higher stature went the extra measure to sneer in her direction before leaving her behind. It was almost time to leave this place and look for a new town to make her livelihood. Beggars were not welcome in one place for long, and it seemed that she was at the point of overstaying her welcome. Sera pulled her ragged cloak tight around her. She might as well make one last attempt at picking up some traveling coin before taking to the road again.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, a suitable mark crested the hill to the east, near the horizon. Even from this distance, the traveler’s wealth was obvious. He—at least Sera assumed it was a he, based on the style of dress—had two horses trailing behind his own, both hauling bags bulging with goods. His clothes were bright, with dyed colors designed to catch the eye and capture attention.

  Sera took a deep breath and waited for him to arrive. As he got closer, she scanned the street to make sure the stage would be set for her performance. He glanced up at the inn when he was a few strides away, but he refocused on the road in front of him. It didn’t look as though he would stop. Sera used her hand to push herself up from the wall, trying to keep her back hunched and looking weak as she stumbled in front of his horse.

  He pulled hard on the reins, making his horse whinny as it stopped hard on its front feet. The animal snorted at her, and she felt warm, wet breath against her face, blowing her hood back. The merchant looked down at her, concern etched on his face. When he saw her ragged cloak, dirty clothes, and bare feet, his lips tightened into a sneer.

  “Out of the way, beggar.” He jerked his reins hard, yanking his horse’s head to the side. He gave his mount a harsh kick, trying to urge it to move around her.

  “Please, just a little bit of coin for a meal.” Sera held out a wooden bowl that she had deliberately chipped and beaten up to add to the image.

  The merchant grumbled and reached into the purse tied to his belt. He pulled out a couple of coins, barely enough for a crust of bread and watered ale, and dropped them into her bowl. They hit the bottom with a clink and bounced into the dirt at the horse’s feet.

  As they did, Sera reached out, using her Gift. It wasn’t powerful enough for her to Mindspeak, but she pressed on him a sense of pity and sorrow. She willed him to look at her again, to see the dirty young girl with skin stretched tight over her cheekbones from lack of food. She brought to mind every aspect of her pitiful appearance, down to her raw fingers with dirt caked under the little nails that remained from scr
abbling for roots to feast on.

  He turned away from the road to look back at her. His eyebrows furrowed together, and he frowned, as if seeing her for the first time. His shoulders slumped, and the morning light glistened in eyes beginning to tear up. Untying the purse from his belt, he leaned out of the saddle to hand it to her.

  “You need this far more than I do. Please, get some food, a room, and a bath.”

  Sera smiled, dropping her gaze as she mumbled her thanks. When she looked up, the merchant smiled and nodded at her before nudging his horse and team to go around her. She pocketed the purse, tucking it inside her rags and out of sight. She stooped to pick up the coins in the dirt, sliding them inside the purse. She hobbled back over to the wall, in case anyone was watching, before resuming her watch.

  * * *

  Over the rest of the day, Sera didn’t find another mark as lucrative as her first. She doubted that the other three combined would equal the wealth of her first take. It was getting close to sunset, and most of the people traveling to market had already left. She saw familiar faces as they passed by, and Sera made sure to hide her face and avoid eye contact. It had never been a problem before, but an ounce of caution was worth more than a pound of trouble.

  It was about time for her to retire, take a long bath, and then leave before anyone took notice of her sudden wealth. She was sure the innkeeper wouldn’t mind, especially if she left a healthy tip. But she did not want to wait long enough to have people asking questions.

  She climbed the first few steps to the inn’s front door when she heard the quick patter of hoof beats on the packed dirt as a horse galloped toward her. Sera turned and froze as she saw a woman riding up on the most gorgeous all-white horse she had ever seen. She had heard of the Companions, but she had never seen one in person before. The descriptions of their grace and beauty paled in comparison to the reality. She could only watch, transfixed, as the Herald rode up to the front entrance of the inn and stopped just a few feet from her.