by Ben Cassidy
Joseph glanced over at a passing caravan of Merewithian merchants. “Who knows,” he said, trying to keep his voice cheerful, “maybe when this business with the pendant is done, we’ll have some time left over.”
Kara pulled her green cloak further over her shoulders. “That pendant,” she said at last, “it’s important, isn’t it?”
Joseph bit his lip, trying to push the image of Kara bathing out of his mind. “Yes, I think so.” He looked over at the young woman. “To be honest, I don’t really know. Kendril seems pretty concerned about it.”
Kara gave the Bathhouse one last look. “He does, doesn’t he?” Her face tightened with thought. “Almost nervous, if that was a word I’d ever apply to him.”
Joseph first reaction was to chuckle at Kara’s comment, but the pit in his own stomach squelched it. “I guess so,” he said.
They walked together in silence for a moment, passing by a string of laughing students.
“Joseph,” said Kara at last, her voice small.
The scout stopped and looked over at her.
“About last night….”
Joseph felt suddenly warm despite the cold air. “Yes?”
Kara glanced away, rubbing her gloved hands together. “I just wanted—” She closed her mouth abruptly. “I just wanted to say…” She looked over at Joseph again. “Thank you. For my arm, I mean.”
Joseph looked down at the snow. “You’re welcome.” He looked up and grinned. “It’s what I do, you know. That and blaze trails.”
Kara laughed. “I’d say you do both very well.” She looked at the red handkerchief around his neck for a moment, her look changing. “What’s that?”
Joseph tilted his head down suddenly self-conscious. “What?”
“That on your handkerchief. It looks like a stain or something.” She reached up a hand to his neck.
“I don’t—”
With one quick motion, she pulled the cloth off, waving it triumphantly in her hand as she jumped back. “Sorry, my mistake.” She gave the scout a disarming smile. “I guess it’s my handkerchief now.”
Joseph smiled despite himself, and lunged for the red object.
Kara dodged nimbly out of his way, retreating a few steps away in the snow.
“You should be more careful,” she said. “I am a thief, you know.”
“An ex-thief, I thought,” said Joseph. He took a couple steps forward. “Alright, you’d better give it up. I’d hate to have to get rough.”
“With me?” Kara gave him an innocent look. “I’m wounded, remember?”
“Apparently not too badly.”
She gave another playful step back, tying the handkerchief around her own neck. “What do you think? Does it clash with my shirt?”
Joseph dashed forward quickly, reaching for the red cloth.
With a laugh Kara ducked away.
Laughing himself, Joseph reached for the handkerchief again.
“I say, is there a reason you’re doing that?”
Kendril rubbed his gloved hand against his red cold cheek. “Doing what?”
Maklavir gave his patented sigh. “Looking behind us. You’ve been doing it every thirty seconds since we left the inn.”
Kendril glanced back over his shoulder. “Have I?”
“There you go again.” The diplomat gave an exasperated glance towards the heavens above. “I just so enjoy spending time with you, Kendril.”
The Ghostwalker turned his gaze off towards the side of the street. “Likewise, Maklavir.”
They threaded their way down the side street, houses and shops clustered tightly on both sides. Away from the main street the traffic of pedestrians, riders, and carts diminished to a casual trickle. Aside from a few women brushing snow off their front steps, and scattered children playing by the side of the road, there were few people in sight.
“Honestly. All this slush is destroying my boots.” Maklavir picked one of his feet up, grimacing as he examined it. “Would you look at the leather? It’s ruined.”
“That’s really fascinating, Maklavir.” Kendril glanced back behind them again.
“Would you stop doing that? You’re making me nervous.”
“Maybe you should be,” Kendril said in a low voice.
Maklavir scowled down at his boots once more, hurrying to catch up with the Ghostwalker. “Vorten’s a huge city, Kendril. You really think your assassin friend could track us down this quickly? Forgive me if I remain a bit skeptical.”
The dark-cloaked man’s eyes wandered up towards the snow-covered rooftops. “You know me. Just being cautious.”
“That’s one word for it.” Maklavir took a quick glance behind him, then groaned loudly. “Ashes, now you’ve got me doing it. Why am I here, anyway?”
Kendril turned a corner, and looked up and down the side street in either direction. “Trust me, if I didn’t need you, you wouldn’t be here.”
Maklavir kicked some dirty slush off his boot. “Why thank you. Is getting into the library really worth all this trouble?”
“Yes. And I doubt they’ll let me in. You, on the other hand, are—” Kendril looked over at his companion for a moment. “Well, respectable.”
Maklavir gave a satisfied smile. “Why, Kendril, I believe that is one of the nicer things you have ever said to me. Actually, probably the only nice thing.”
Kendril drew his cloak further around his shoulders. He looked up at the towering shape of the Great Library just ahead of them. “Don’t let it go to your head. Just get us inside. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Yes,” said the diplomat sourly, “I’ve no doubt.”
They came out into the open, the library directly before them. The building was huge, constructed out of white stone and marble in the style of the ancient Rajathans. Looming gargoyles and other mythical creatures lined the crested top, their grotesque faces glaring down at the street below. Massive stone steps led up towards the entrance. The carved shapes of winged lions guarded the entrance on either side.
Kendril stopped, shielding his eyes from the bright sun as he stared up at the building. “Impressive,” he grunted.
“They don’t call it the Great Library for nothing,” said Maklavir with a hint of pride in his voice. “The building dates from before the Third Despair. It has one of the largest collections of books and manuscripts in all of Rothland.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” said Kendril as he started up the steps. He felt instinctively for the cold lump of metal in his shirt pocket, his eyes searching around behind him. “Now let’s get this done.”
“No argument here,” Maklavir replied.
They walked into the darkened interior of the library, the smell of dust and old parchments swirling around them as they went.
Towering bookshelves filled the first floor in all directions, covered with books, manuscripts, and scrolls of all descriptions. A marble staircase swept up to the second floor, wide enough for five people to walk abreast. Glow-globes hung from the ceilings at regular intervals, or were attached to the walls over reading tables, providing a ghostly white glow to the place of learning. Long gray steam pipes crossed the wall and ceilings, branching out from a central pipe near the library’s front door.
Kendril noticed the glow-globes with a disapproving frown. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think I prefer yellow candlelight.”
“No candles,” came a sudden squawk to their left. A small man, hunched over an even smaller desk, pushed a fragile pair of spectacles further up his nose, and rose from the chair he had been sitting in. “No flints, lanterns, matches, matchcords, gunpowder, firecrackers, or explosives of any type. In short, gentlemen,” he gave a special emphasis to the last word, “no fire-producing elements of any kind are allowed past this door. Now, may I assist you?”
Maklavir stepped casually over to the table. He pulled off his gloves one at a time. “We need to view your collections.”
The man gave a quick nod, squinting over the rims of
his spectacles at the two of them. “You have a membership here, I assume?”
Maklavir cleared his throat and reached into the folds of his cloak. “Not exactly. I and my assistant here are on special assignment, from Varnost.” He whipped out a letter with a red wax seal at the bottom, and handed it over to the librarian.
“Assistant, eh?” The librarian gave Kendril a doubtful look.
The Ghostwalker returned his stare.
Clearing his throat, the librarian glanced the letter up and down, then handed it back.
“I assume we may enter, then?” Maklavir queried as he pocketed the letter.
“You may not.” The librarian lowered himself down in his chair again and flipped open the book in front of him. “Your letter is either a complete forgery or a doctored original from several years ago.” He looked up at the diplomat. “I am not a fool, sir. Now, I bid you a good day.”
Kendril’s hand edged towards the handle of his pistol as he cast a warning look at Maklavir.
His companion stood still and silent.
“I said—” repeated the librarian again as the two men didn’t move.
“It’s a shame,” said Maklavir in a disappointed voice, “I was so hoping to see your original collections.” He passed his hand over the open book on the desk.
As if by magic ten golden coins appeared on its surface.
“I have heard great things about this library.”
“Have you?” asked the man sarcastically. His gaze flickered back and forth between Kendril and Maklavir, then back to the coins before him. “The rules of the library are completely inflexible, gentlemen. I cannot—”
“We have traveled very far.” Five more coins appeared on the table. “It really would be a shame if it was all for nothing.”
The librarian looked silently down at the coins before him.
Kendril glanced uneasily back towards the door behind them.
Maklavir didn’t move. His face was a mask of congenial serenity.
After a long moment, the librarian scooped up the coins. He flipped a page in his ledger book. “It appears I was mistaken, gentlemen. Your names are on the membership list after all.”
“Splendid,” said Maklavir brightly. “I thought they might turn up.”
“But those,” the librarian glared at the pistols holstered in Kendril’s belt, “will remain here, along with any other items you may be carrying of a fire-producing nature.”
“But of course,” responded Maklavir quickly, ignoring his companion’s piercing look. “And thank you so much for your assistance, sir.”
Five minutes later they were walking up the grand staircase, Kendril glancing back at the pair of pistols he had left tucked behind the librarian’s desk.
The man was already absorbed in his book once more.
“My guns,” he said to Maklavir between clenched teeth.
“Oh, ashes, Kendril. This is a library, not a battlefield. We weren’t getting in otherwise.”
Kendril gave the librarian one last hateful look. “We should have just shot him.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot, that’s your solution to everything, isn’t it?” Maklavir shook his head sadly as they reached the second floor. “Now what exactly are we looking for?”
Kendril looked at the endless rows of bookshelves. “I’ll know when I find it.”
“That was properly cryptic, as usual.” Maklavir clapped his hands together. “Well, there can only be a few thousand books here, so let’s get cracking.”
“We’ll start there,” said Kendril as he walked. He pointed towards a large reading room just off to the right.
Maklavir glanced over at the name inscribed above the archway, feeling a cold tingle in his stomach. “The Underwood Room? I don’t quite understand. Those are books about--?”
“Despair,” said Kendril in a quiet voice. “The Second Despair, to be precise.” He turned, looking Maklavir full in the eyes. “I’ll need your help. We need to work fast.”
Maklavir chuckled, trying hard to push off his own rising anxieties. “Still worried about that assassin of yours?” The diplomat shook his head. “I’m telling you, Kendril, there is no way she could find us this quickly in a city the size of Vorten. No way at all.”
“Ghostwalker, eh?”
The innkeeper scrunched his face in thought, continuing to wipe down the counter with his cleaning rag. “Now that you mention it, I think there was someone like that here this morning. Had a few friends with him, too. They left in a hurry.”
“Did they?” The woman across the counter leaned forward, dark hair falling out from under her hood. Her voice lowered to a silky purr.
“Did they indeed…?”
Chapter 12
The carriage and coach lot was in the eastern part of the city, just beyond the entrance to the Ice Gardens. Both Kara and Joseph had looked longingly at the gates as they had passed, but both had continued walking.
“Perhaps after dinner,” the pathfinder had suggested hopefully.
Kara had given no response, but continued plodding along through the snowy streets, her face downcast.
After asking a few locals for directions, and backtracking down several twisting side streets, the two friends practically stumbled on the lot as they emerged from a back alley between a saddler’s store and a dilapidated brewery.
It was enclosed with a high iron fence, the black shapes of several coaches and carriages just visible within. The snow on the street just outside the main office was churned into a broil of mud and water from the passing horses and wooden wheels.
“You really think they took it here?” Kara asked doubtfully.
Joseph shrugged. “It’s possible. Your horse throws a shoe, you take them to a blacksmith. Your gun malfunctions, you take it to a gunsmith.”
“And if a Ghostwalker jumps through the roof of your carriage, you take it to a carriagesmith?”
Joseph gave the redhead a look of resignation. “We walked all the way here, didn’t we? Might as well have a look.”
The thief shrugged. “Fine. But I’ll bet you anything it’s not here.”
Joseph started to cross the street. He gave Kara a sidelong glance. “Make it dinner, and you’ve got a bet.”
She smiled. “Alright, dinner then. I’m starving anyway.”
They pushed through the heavy front door of the coach and carriage store, tromping inside onto the thresh-covered floor. Just a few feet away was an open doorway that led out into the fenced lot where the carriages were kept. A fire blazed away in a nearby hearth, making no discernible difference to the temperature in the room.
“Help you?” A large man strode in from out back, brushing some grease off his hands onto a dirty towel.
“Yes,” said Joseph, his face turning a little red. “We were wondering if we could…see the carriages.”
The man stopped short, throwing down the towel. He cast a measured eye over both of them. “You want to see carriages? What for?”
Joseph opened his mouth to answer, but found he had no ready response.
Kara quickly slipped her arm through his and pulled herself alongside him.
“Not for us, of course,” she said quickly. “My Jinn here is charge of the master’s stables, don’t you see, and the master, well he’s terrible upset about that carriage of his, with the roof all busted in and what. He sent us here to know if it was ready.”
The man snorted angrily, the suspicion vanishing from his eyes. “Ready? Ashes, woman, I’ve only had the thing a few hours. Do you know how long it takes to repair a roof on a carriage like that?”
Kara gave a disarming smile and cuddled closer to Joseph, who still had his mouth half open. “Well, the master wants it for a ball tonight, or some such. You know how those fancy folk are, always running off to one thing or other.”
The man moved behind the counter and leaned forward towards the two of them. “Now you look here, miss. Baron Dutraad may be an important man, but I’ve got other carriages to
fix too. You tell him it’ll be ready in two days. That’s the best I can do, and that’ll cost him extra as is. I’m trying to run a business here, after all.”
Kara shook her head in mock disappointment “Oh, he won’t like that. Not at all he won’t. But if that’s the best you can do….” She let the sentence hang, then pulled the stunned Joseph towards the door. “Come along, Jinn dear. Best we be going and leave this poor man alone to do his work.”
They exited the office, hearing another angry snort behind them.
As soon as they were out in the street, Joseph stared over at Kara. “Jinn?”
The woman gave a coy shrug. “An old suitor. Besides, you wouldn’t want me to use your real name, would you?” She tapped him playfully on the side of his head. “You’re no con artist, Joseph, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t remember there being a class on that back at the seminary,” said Joseph a little stiffly. He felt a sudden sharp stab at the thought of Kara having a suitor, old or not. For a moment he considered asking about him, then decided quickly he would rather not know.
Ignorance was bliss, sometimes.
“Well,” said Joseph at last, pushing a smile onto his face, “I believe you still owe me a dinner….”
Maklavir pushed back his chair, flipping the massive tome lying before him shut. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m seeing double, Kendril.”
“Quit griping,” the Ghostwalker snapped without looking up from his book. A stack of similar volumes lay scattered across the reading table, with two more stacks on the ground by his chair. He finally straightened, cursing under his breath and slapping his book shut as well. “There has to be something here.”
“There’s a lot of something here, if that’s what you mean,” said Maklavir as he stretched his neck. “Just nothing useful. I’m tired. Can we go yet?”
“No.” Kendril closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We stay until we find what we’re looking for.”
“We’ll bloody well starve first,” Maklavir said. “It’s already dark out, for Eru’s sake.” He grabbed another book and heaved it up onto the table. “Colored Illuminations of the Second Despair. Ah, yes. Sounds like another real winner.” He began to dramatically scroll through the pages. “Flip, flip, flip….”
