Chimes at Midnight
Page 23
“We should start with the reign of King Gilad,” I said. “If there’s anything from the later years, that would probably be best.”
To Mags’ credit, she didn’t bat an eye. “King Gilad, is it? What are you looking for? We have the standard histories, of course, and I know where there are a few of the less common ones, although those sections may be dangerous this time of night; better to wait until sunrise, when things settle down.”
“See, I’m on a little bit of a time crunch with this research project,” I said, picking my words as carefully as I could. “So if we could start with the easy-to-find and move on to the more obscure ones, that would be good.”
“Well, you haven’t got a Library card, so you won’t be able to take anything away with you, but if you’re willing to put in the hours, you should be able to find almost anything you need.” Mags walked toward the nearest bookshelf, pulling several volumes down and tucking them under her arm. “I’ll start you with a few biographies, some books of Kingdom history . . .”
“This is very helpful,” I said, following her.
She took down another three books, handing them to me. “I wouldn’t have let you come if I wasn’t willing to help. Besides, I was curious.”
“Curious?”
“I’ve heard of you—who hasn’t? Toby Daye, Amandine’s daughter, twice-dead and twice a changeling child—it’s fascinating, really. I’m sure we’ll be teaching your history in a hundred years. Maybe you’ll even tell me how you managed it, if I’m helpful enough.”
“That was easy,” I said, without thinking about it. “Mom is Firstborn. Surprise.”
Mags stiffened, her wings buzzing a new tattoo. Then she took down another book. “I guess I’ll have to revise her biography, then. But there’s a good way for you to pay your Library fees, if you incur any. We’re always happy to take knowledge in trade.” She took the books from under her arm and added them to the pile I was holding. “This should get you started, and if I can borrow your young men, I’ll let them carry the rest back to you.”
“. . . right.” I looked at the sheer number of books in my hands and managed, barely, not to wince. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have any plans for tonight.”
Mags laughed. “Oh, don’t be cross. Knowledge must be earned, and sometimes this is the only way to do it.” She waved to Quentin and Tybalt. “Come along, gentlemen. We’ll get more knowledge ready for the fight.”
“Um,” said Quentin. “Okay.”
Tybalt paused next to me, murmuring, “If anything troubles you, yell.”
“If anything troubles me, I’ll stab it to death,” I said, and kissed him. “Go with the nice Librarian. Find the book that cracks the case.”
He sighed. “As you say.” I watched him walk after Mags and Quentin until he vanished into the stacks. What can I say? He was still wearing leather pants.
I walked over to the nearest couch and sat, piling the books around me. They looked dusty, but the dust didn’t come away on my fingers, and I had to wonder how much of it had been generated by the Librarian herself. Maybe it was connected to her admittedly eccentric filing system. Navigation via dust.
Reaching into the pile, I picked up the first book my fingers hit, a fat red volume with a redwood tree embossed in gold across the front. I flipped it open to the front page, where the title The Life and Times of King Gilad Windermere in the Mists, Duke of Golden Gate, Protector of the Western Coast was written in florid calligraphy.
“I wish I’d packed some of Marcia’s sandwiches to go,” I muttered, and started reading.
The text was dry, which I expected. It was also dense. By the end of the first chapter, I knew Crown Prince Gilad was an only child; that his parents had been married for more than six hundred years before he was born; that he was a prodigy in every possible way, as befitted a King; and that he really liked climbing trees. Like, really liked climbing trees. Once he was old enough to walk and control his natural teleportation magic, he was continually being fished out of trees all over the Kingdom. Mostly in Muir Woods, where the redwoods presented an irresistible challenge.
At the end of the chapter, Gilad was approaching his teens and had adopted the redwood tree as his personal banner, and I was developing the worst headache I’d had in a long time. I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. “Oh, oak and ash, I hate history,” I moaned.
“History hates you as well,” said Tybalt, whisking the book out of my lap as he sat next to me. “It goes out of its way to be complicated and inscrutable for just that reason.”
“Right now, I’m inclined to believe you.” I eyed the stack of books that he’d brought with him. Quentin was staggering toward us with even more books in his arms. Mags walked behind him, clutching a single massive volume to her chest. “How much history is there?”
“Years and years,” said Mags, and giggled, like that was the funniest joke she’d ever heard. Sobering, she explained, “Much of what you’ll find here is the same information from slightly different points of view. There’s little that’s unique. Historians are magpies, in their way, and they share things back and forth. Still, if you can find a footnote that points you to an index that leads you to a bit of knowledge you didn’t have before . . . librarianship is a form of heroism. It’s just not as flashy as swords and dragons.”
“Any tips on slaying this particular beast?”
“If you could tell me exactly what it was you were looking for . . .” Mags looked from face to face, catching the sudden guardedness in our expressions. “No, I rather thought not. Well, then, I suppose it’s time we reviewed the rules of the Library. Nothing’s quite free, you know.”
“I figured,” I said, and sat up a little straighter. “What’s the fee?”
“The fee comes, in part, with obedience. There is no running in the Library unless you’re being pursued by something that didn’t enter with you. There is no fighting in the Library.”
“What about fighting back?” asked Quentin.
“Self-defense is allowed,” said Mags. “But aggressors will be evicted, and their privilege of passage revoked. Do not taunt someone simply because you think they can’t hit you here.”
To Mags’ credit, she didn’t bat an eye. “King Gilad, is it? What are you looking for? We have the standard histories, of course, and I know where there are a few of the less common ones, although those sections may be dangerous this time of night; better to wait until sunrise, when things settle down.”
“See, I’m on a little bit of a time crunch with this research project,” I said, picking my words as carefully as I could. “So if we could start with the easy-to-find and move on to the more obscure ones, that would be good.”
“Well, you haven’t got a Library card, so you won’t be able to take anything away with you, but if you’re willing to put in the hours, you should be able to find almost anything you need.” Mags walked toward the nearest bookshelf, pulling several volumes down and tucking them under her arm. “I’ll start you with a few biographies, some books of Kingdom history . . .”
“This is very helpful,” I said, following her.
She took down another three books, handing them to me. “I wouldn’t have let you come if I wasn’t willing to help. Besides, I was curious.”
“Curious?”
“I’ve heard of you—who hasn’t? Toby Daye, Amandine’s daughter, twice-dead and twice a changeling child—it’s fascinating, really. I’m sure we’ll be teaching your history in a hundred years. Maybe you’ll even tell me how you managed it, if I’m helpful enough.”
“That was easy,” I said, without thinking about it. “Mom is Firstborn. Surprise.”
Mags stiffened, her wings buzzing a new tattoo. Then she took down another book. “I guess I’ll have to revise her biography, then. But there’s a good way for you to pay your Library fees, if you incur any. We’re always happy to take knowledge in trade.” She took the books from under her arm and added them to the pile I was holding. “This should get you started, and if I can borrow your young men, I’ll let them carry the rest back to you.”
“. . . right.” I looked at the sheer number of books in my hands and managed, barely, not to wince. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have any plans for tonight.”
Mags laughed. “Oh, don’t be cross. Knowledge must be earned, and sometimes this is the only way to do it.” She waved to Quentin and Tybalt. “Come along, gentlemen. We’ll get more knowledge ready for the fight.”
“Um,” said Quentin. “Okay.”
Tybalt paused next to me, murmuring, “If anything troubles you, yell.”
“If anything troubles me, I’ll stab it to death,” I said, and kissed him. “Go with the nice Librarian. Find the book that cracks the case.”
He sighed. “As you say.” I watched him walk after Mags and Quentin until he vanished into the stacks. What can I say? He was still wearing leather pants.
I walked over to the nearest couch and sat, piling the books around me. They looked dusty, but the dust didn’t come away on my fingers, and I had to wonder how much of it had been generated by the Librarian herself. Maybe it was connected to her admittedly eccentric filing system. Navigation via dust.
Reaching into the pile, I picked up the first book my fingers hit, a fat red volume with a redwood tree embossed in gold across the front. I flipped it open to the front page, where the title The Life and Times of King Gilad Windermere in the Mists, Duke of Golden Gate, Protector of the Western Coast was written in florid calligraphy.
“I wish I’d packed some of Marcia’s sandwiches to go,” I muttered, and started reading.
The text was dry, which I expected. It was also dense. By the end of the first chapter, I knew Crown Prince Gilad was an only child; that his parents had been married for more than six hundred years before he was born; that he was a prodigy in every possible way, as befitted a King; and that he really liked climbing trees. Like, really liked climbing trees. Once he was old enough to walk and control his natural teleportation magic, he was continually being fished out of trees all over the Kingdom. Mostly in Muir Woods, where the redwoods presented an irresistible challenge.
At the end of the chapter, Gilad was approaching his teens and had adopted the redwood tree as his personal banner, and I was developing the worst headache I’d had in a long time. I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. “Oh, oak and ash, I hate history,” I moaned.
“History hates you as well,” said Tybalt, whisking the book out of my lap as he sat next to me. “It goes out of its way to be complicated and inscrutable for just that reason.”
“Right now, I’m inclined to believe you.” I eyed the stack of books that he’d brought with him. Quentin was staggering toward us with even more books in his arms. Mags walked behind him, clutching a single massive volume to her chest. “How much history is there?”
“Years and years,” said Mags, and giggled, like that was the funniest joke she’d ever heard. Sobering, she explained, “Much of what you’ll find here is the same information from slightly different points of view. There’s little that’s unique. Historians are magpies, in their way, and they share things back and forth. Still, if you can find a footnote that points you to an index that leads you to a bit of knowledge you didn’t have before . . . librarianship is a form of heroism. It’s just not as flashy as swords and dragons.”
“Any tips on slaying this particular beast?”
“If you could tell me exactly what it was you were looking for . . .” Mags looked from face to face, catching the sudden guardedness in our expressions. “No, I rather thought not. Well, then, I suppose it’s time we reviewed the rules of the Library. Nothing’s quite free, you know.”
“I figured,” I said, and sat up a little straighter. “What’s the fee?”
“The fee comes, in part, with obedience. There is no running in the Library unless you’re being pursued by something that didn’t enter with you. There is no fighting in the Library.”
“What about fighting back?” asked Quentin.
“Self-defense is allowed,” said Mags. “But aggressors will be evicted, and their privilege of passage revoked. Do not taunt someone simply because you think they can’t hit you here.”
