Garinas's sickly smile vanished. "Impossible."
Salim affected a look of shock. "So you have no safeguards in place?"
"Of course we do!"
"Then it's not impossible."
The Head Censor's smile returned, but this time it could have cut glass. "You're of course correct, Master Emissary. What I meant is that our safety measures are so secure as to make the risk of corruption exceedingly low. Even if one of our Censors could be turned by a text—and I'll remind you that angels are by their very nature creatures of righteousness, infinitely more resilient than the unpurified mortal souls that spawn them—we would catch them. Our Censors always work in pairs, with only one member examining a given text, while the other logs the examination and watches for any sign of contamination. We also work in shifts, to limit overall exposure to the unclean works." He lifted his chin toward Nemeniah and Malchion. "These two, for instance, won't have their next shift for several days yet."
Salim turned to look at their angelic escort. "You work here?"
Nemeniah nodded. "Many angels aspire to. It's a great honor to be judged worthy."
"Indeed it is." Garinas's voice had lost any polite cushioning. "And as such, Master Emissary, the presence of mortals here is both disrespectful and inappropriate. Please state your business so that we may return to ours."
"I thought you'd never ask," Salim said. "A mysterious text has surfaced on the Material Plane. It concerns the construction of a magical machine with which souls can be stripped from a body and prevented from reaching Pharasma's judgment, instead flowing directly to a target plane, to be incarnated as one of that plane's inhabitants."
Garinas nodded grimly. "A grave crime indeed. I see your mistress's concern. Well, as I said, many texts pass through us on their way to the ovens—perhaps we have information that can assist you. Do you know which fiends are responsible? Demons? Daemons?"
Salim forced himself to keep his face blank. "Actually, we have reason to believe the culprit may be an angel."
Garinas's reaction was everything Salim could have hoped for. The officious angel jerked backward as if slapped, eyes bugging out slightly in his green-skinned face. His wings snapped up behind him with an audible rush of air.
"Impossible!" he said again—then clenched his jaw as he saw Salim's hint of a smile. "I'll remind you, all angels are judged fit by your goddess, long before they pass through Heaven's gates. From there, their purity only increases. And even if one fell from grace, access to the Vault of Correction is highly restricted, with the strict protocols I outlined, and—"
Salim raised a hand. "It's only a theory, Garinas. But we need to know whether your operation was involved. Do you catalog everything that passes through here?"
"Of course we—yes, I see." A sizable crowd of angels had managed to drift closer to the conversation, and now Garinas rounded on them, singling out one figure at random. "You! Bring forth the Book of Lies."
The chosen angel bobbed its head and scurried off, the rest of the listeners also breaking away in embarrassment as they realized their eavesdropping had been noticed. When Garinas turned back, his face was serene once more.
"I apologize for my reaction, Master Emissary. As you can see, we take the disposal of heresy very seriously. Even such an unlikely possibility as a corrupted angel must of course be investigated."
"No offense taken." Salim had to hand it to Garinas—angels might be righteous bastards, but they were also disturbingly good at turning over a new leaf when they found themselves on the wrong side of their own ethics or customs. Penance and forgiveness came easily to their kind.
"Ah, here we are," Garinas said.
From a passage between stacks, a podium floated into view, held aloft by four of the glowing ball archons. The podium was a thin column of fluted stone, wide at the top and narrowing toward the middle before flaring out again into a conical base.
Atop it sat the largest book Salim had ever seen. As wide as an artist's canvas, it was also thick—Salim could have set his elbow on the podium next to it and his fingers would still only barely have brushed the top of the spine. The whole thing was bound in gleaming silver, its cover embossed in the shape of a feathered wing.
"Thank you," Garinas said. The archons set it down and retreated. The Head Censor took hold of the massive cover and swung the book open, then looked up at Salim.
"Your text," he said. "Tell me everything you know about it."
Salim felt a flush of embarrassment. "I'm afraid I've told you everything we know. I didn't get much of a description, but she described it as a collection of loose pages—blueprints and notes."
Garinas frowned. "Language?"
"Unknown—she said the letters shifted when she saw them, becoming readable."
"Ah." Garinas placed his hand flat in the air above the book, palm down. "Unbound monograph: schematics and diagrams. Glyphs malleable, perhaps universal. Arcane or profane functionality. Subject: bypassing the River of Souls, transmutation of soul energy into new entities without Pharasma's judgment. End query."
With a whirring like the wings of startled birds, the pages of the book began to flip rapidly, edges flickering past beneath Garinas's palm. After a second, they came to rest, lying open somewhere near the book's middle. One perfect emerald finger as long as Salim's whole hand came down on the page, and Garinas peered at the lines written there.
"A match," he said, sounding slightly surprised. "It appears such a text did come through, several of your years ago. Origin unknown. Discovered bricked up in the wall of a ruined monastery of Irori, presumably to keep it out of less judicious hands." He sighed. "Amateurs."
Salim's pulse quickened. "What happened to it?"
"Incinerated." Garinas's tone held a touch of pride. "Evaluated and found to be without significant merit. It was fed to the ovens after only a few hours of evaluation." He looked up. "I'm sorry, Salim. But I'm afraid that wherever your angelic impersonator got the document, it wasn't from our holdings."
Salim's heart sank. Without a lead on the text, the cold trail was that much colder.
Unless... "What about the angels who put it to the torch? Who were they?"
Garinas's expression hardened again. "I've told you, our Censors—"
"—are just as corruptible as any other angel," Salim snapped. "Don't act like angels never fall, Garinas. I've met them. Besides, maybe it wasn't of their own volition—if someone here has been compromised, it could have been magic within the book itself that was responsible. Or maybe they were controlled by an outside force, dominated magically and sent in to steal it. Regardless, I need to interview whoever saw that book last."
Garinas's eyes flashed, but he nodded. "Fair points." He looked back down at the page. "It looks like the team was..." He turned the page, then flipped back. "Now that's odd."
"What?"
"It's not here."
This time Salim's pulse didn't just quicken—it pounded. "What's not there?"
"The log." Garinas's emerald brow furrowed. "Every team signs and countersigns its notes in the catalog. It's standard procedure. Yet this one is blank." He spun the stone podium around as easily as if it were a child's top. "Here. See for yourself."
The pages were a luxurious cream color, the ink a rich black that seemed to sparkle with the faintest of blue outlines. The script that crawled across the page was in several different hands, each beautiful in its own way, yet all crossed the unlined paper in horizontal rows as neat and perfect as a builder's drawings. Without magic, Salim had no idea what the intricate angelic glyphs meant, but he could tell a ledger when he saw one. Each entry ended in a box with precisely two glyphs, each in a different hand.
Except for the box beneath Garinas's pointing finger. That one was empty.
"Why would there be a description but no signature?" Salim asked.
"I have no idea." Garinas was clearly disturbed. "The description makes sense—all reports are created separately and then magically copied into the book. If a descr
iption hadn't been submitted, the oversight teams would have caught it immediately. But they should have caught the lack of a signature, too. And even if they didn't, the book should have noticed."
"The book should have?" Roshad asked. "It's alive?"
Salim shot him a look, but Garinas only nodded. "After a fashion. It does its own part to keep things secure. Everything here is interconnected." He frowned. "This should have been caught."
"Perhaps the signatures were erased after the fact," Salim suggested.
Garinas's frown deepened. "But then why leave the description?"
"Perhaps to keep there from being an obvious hole in the text that might be noticed by someone flipping past." Salim paused. "Or as a boast."
Garinas straightened, shaking his head. "You're right—something is wrong here. Something that may be beyond our power to decipher on our own." He smiled, this time with real satisfaction. "Fortunately, we aren't on our own."
"I don't follow you."
The Head Censor's smile widened. "We're angels, gentlemen. We're never alone." He stepped back. "Observe."
The angel raised his arms out to his sides and tilted his head back. Pupilless eyes closed in a face turned suddenly innocent and adoring.
"Holy Andoletta," the angel intoned. "Wise grandmother, keeper of knowledge for all your children, please bless us with an answer: Can you tell us which angels last examined the text we seek?"
Roshad sidled up to Salim. "Who's Andoletta?" he whispered.
Apparently keeping quiet was beyond the sorcerer's ability. "An Empyreal Lord," Salim whispered back. "A minor deity of the angels."
"No." The voice was an old woman's, thin and raspy, yet it carried the force and weight of a rockslide. It spoke out of the air directly in front of Garinas.
The angel frowned. "You can't?"
"No."
"But—was one of our own indeed corrupted by the text?"
"Unclear."
If anything, this answer seemed to disturb Garinas more than the denials or refusals. Less confident now, the angel asked, "But we should continue to seek out whoever it was?"
"Yes."
"I understand. Thank you, Grandmother."
The angel lowered his hands and looked at Salim, clearly shaken. "This is a larger issue than I thought, if Grandmother Crow herself cannot see the answer."
"Indeed," Salim said. Privately, it pleased him to see the cocky angel shut down so completely by one of his masters. Show him the sort of ambiguity the gods' mortal followers faced on a daily basis. "So do you believe now that one of your own was involved?"
Tiny lines wrinkled the perfect skin of the Censor's forehead. "Perhaps. Grandmother's answer was...unusual."
Salim nodded. "Some magic is powerful enough to hide itself from even the gods' sight. If that's the case, then it seems more likely than ever that one or more of your Censors was compromised, does it not?"
"You make good points," Garinas admitted, thoughtful. "And regardless, we must clearly devote ourselves to tracking down those responsible. Grandmother was clear on that much."
"Excellent." Salim had forced the angels to take him seriously—now it was time to extend the olive branch. "Between us, I'm confident we can get to the bottom of this in short order. We'll want to start by interviewing those angels who worked here at the time the text was last seen. I'll also need to see more of how your operation is conducted, to try and spot any weaknesses that might have been exploited."
"No."
Salim stopped short. "I beg your pardon?"
Garinas drew himself up straight and spread his wings. Salim was suddenly reminded just how large the Head Censor was.
"Heaven appreciates your efforts," Garinas said coolly, "but I cannot allow a mortal any deeper into the Vault of Correction. Now that we're aware of the problem, we will begin an internal investigation immediately."
"But Faralan—"
"Commander Faralan has no authority here," Garinas snapped. "The Censors are well outside of his purview, and his suggestions are heeded as a courtesy only." The angel's lips twisted in a tight moue of disapproval. "If the hound wants to let a mortal run wild in the Vault, he can run his request up the chain and back down again. Until then, the Great Library will continue to follow the strictures that have served it since before your ancestors mastered fire." Pinions flexed and stretched, throwing Salim and his companions into shadow. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Quite," Salim said. "Yet you're not the only one following orders here, Garinas. Do you want to be the one to tell the Lady of Graves that a document capable of circumventing her judgment is outside her jurisdiction?"
The angel looked slightly less confident as he considered the implications of that, yet he didn't move. "The Lady will of course be immediately informed of anything we uncover."
"And in the meantime, her chosen agent sits on his hands in some Heavenly waiting room." Salim shook his head. "Those responsible already outfoxed your security once, Garinas. What makes you think you'll do better this time?"
It was the wrong thing to say. Any uncertainty that had crept into the angel's face instantly gave way to disgust. "You know nothing of Heaven's workings, mortal. Your kind doesn't live long enough to even begin to understand. You are children, Salim."
"You might be surprised. At least children are capable of appreciating new ideas, rather than being hamstrung by routine." Salim stopped himself and took a deep breath. Now wasn't the time. "Listen to me, Garinas. You know I can't continue my investigation without access to the Vault. Even if the culprit is long gone, what about the text itself? Can you be sure there isn't another copy somewhere in your collection?"
"There isn't," Garinas said.
That was one nice thing about angels: they might be arrogant, but they were still inherently righteous creatures, formed out of pure-hearted souls and infused with Heaven's divine values. Honesty was built into their very bones.
Which made them terrible liars. Salim doubted Garinas would lie to him outright, yet even the greenest inquisitor could have told that the Head Censor was hiding something from the way his gaze flicked away as he spoke, his body language closing up defensively.
Salim wished he'd thought to call upon the goddess's mind-reading spell before he'd started this conversation, but it hadn't seemed necessary, and casting it now would undoubtedly draw attention. Besides, Garinas was a prick, but he clearly wasn't corrupt himself—if he could lie that well, he wouldn't be so awkward and obvious now. But he was unsure about something, and didn't want to show it to Salim.
It was time to change strategies.
"Very well." Salim stepped back and bowed. "I understand your decision. I'll check in with Faralan periodically for the results of your investigation, and in the meantime will return to interviewing the mortals involved, to see if I can gain anything more. Please let me know as soon as you find anything."
Garinas's white eyes widened slightly, then his wings folded again and he resumed his stately, officious posture, arms folded into his robes. "We will. And please let your mistress know that Heaven has every intention of cooperating fully."
That was the other nice thing about angels. They were so obedient themselves that they automatically expected and accepted it from others.
"I will." Salim turned around. "Come on, we'll return to the more conventional portions of the Great Library. Perhaps the Librarians can help us research other aspects of this case."
Nemeniah and Malchion turned as well, but Roshad and Bors were both staring at Salim in surprise. As he moved toward them, he reached up to adjust his robes, crooking his hand into two quick gestures—signs common enough among street thieves around the Inner Sea. Distraction. Big. Both men were foreign, but perhaps...
Roshad's wide eyes crinkled into a veiled grin, and he turned to the Head Censor. "Excuse me, Master Garinas," he asked, "but without intending any disrespect, I think you could run this place a lot more efficiently."
"Oh?" The Head Censor close
d up the Book of Lies, his tone one of strained patience.
"Yeah," Roshad said. "Why bother with those ovens, when you could just do this?"
Roshad reached out a hand, and a blast of flame shot forth to engulf a stack of manuscripts.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Twenty-One
The Lower Collection
The Vault exploded into chaos. Garinas screamed and leapt for the burning books even as Nemeniah and Malchion grabbed Roshad by the arms, shouting. Bors shoved himself into the scrum, while other veiled figures came sprinting from the stacks.
All of which left Salim alone for one crucial moment. Moving quickly, he slipped between the nearest shelves, pulling his own dark cowl up over his head. He was far from a ten-foot-tall angel, but perhaps there were other types of creatures working among them. Either way, he didn't plan to be seen. Leaving the rising commotion behind him, he followed the narrow aisle away from the heat and glow of the ovens, ducking from one set of bookcases to another, moving through one of the giant arches in the cavern walls and deeper into the collection.
After the first few turns, when he could no longer see the Vault's entrance, he straightened and slowed, snatching up a book at random and carrying it flat against his chest. Confidence and a sense of purpose were always the best disguise. That should hold especially true in the trusting, authoritarian environment of Heaven, where subterfuge was seen as a problem for lesser races.
Salim considered his options. Unfortunately, it didn't take long. After all that had happened, what did he really know? That the entity he was looking for—angel or otherwise—had appeared to Caramine in the guise of Arathuziel or a similar "probationary" angel. That it had shown her a forbidden text from the Vault of Correction, and that someone had tampered with the library's records, which seemed to indicate an inside job. Garinas clearly didn't know who was responsible—but he was covering up something regarding the book.
That was good enough for Salim. He had no illusions regarding his progress on this job—this was about as careful an investigation as a dog chasing a flock of chickens. But anything the Head Censor didn't want him to know was worth following up on.
Pathfinder Tales: The Redemption Engine Page 24
