Chimes at Midnight
Page 24
I frowned. “You sound like you’re expecting trouble.”
To my surprise, she laughed. “Amandine’s daughter comes here from the Queen’s Court, if the dress you’re wearing is any indication, and starts asking for books about a long-dead King? It doesn’t take a genius to know that you are trouble, and you’re likely to cause even more.”
“Fair,” I admitted.
“Next, I’ll need you to tell me about your mum. We can do that part later, once you have the information you need, but it’s clear you know something that’s not in her official biography, and that could help me quite a bit.” Mags looked almost abashed. “The Libraries work on a system of information for information, you see. If I have verified information that no one else does, I can use it to trade for some volumes we’ve needed here. Undersea histories and the like.”
“Done,” I said. Mom gave up the right to pretend she was Daoine Sidhe when she lied to me about my heritage, then left me with powers I didn’t fully understand. I paused as a thought occurred to me, and asked, “While we’re here, do you have any books about hope chests?” They were a manufactured method of doing what my mother—and I—could do naturally. Maybe reading about the hope chests could give me a better idea of how my own magic worked.
And how to hurt people less when I had to use it on them.
“I do,” Mags said. “I’ll get it for you.”
I looked at the heap already building around me, and sighed. “Right. We’re going to need to make a coffee run.”
Mags smiled. “I like my mochas with extra whipped cream.”
SEVEN
AFTER SOME DEBATE—and writing our order on a piece of scratch paper—Quentin and Tybalt were dispatched to get coffee, on the theory that Mags was the Librarian and I was the one who’d actually be banished if I didn’t find something useful in these books. I squinted at the one I had open, wondering if it would make more sense after I’d had some coffee. Mags emerged from the shelf-maze with another four books in her arms.
I looked up. “Was this written to be confusing?”
“What’s the title?”
“Um . . . A History of the Westlands, volume III.”
“Then yes. That series was written to the style of the time, which called for absolute heroism on the part of everyone involved, even the villains. It made things a bit difficult to muddle through.” She put the fresh stack of books down next to me. “It might help if I knew what you were looking for. King Gilad wasn’t a friend of mine, but we met. He came to the Library more than a few times. Never would tell me what he was looking for, but oh, he was a sweet one, when he wanted to be . . .”
I looked up, assessing her. Finally, after a pause almost long enough to let me lose my nerve, I asked, “What do you know about the Queen of the Mists?”
“Not much. Our biography on her is more like a pamphlet. ‘How to start a war and terrorize your citizenry without revealing your real name.’ And she’s not Gilad’s heir, of course. I’d have been happy to confirm that, if I’d ever been asked.” Mags shook her head. “She claimed the throne, the local nobles backed her, and no one ever came here to check her pedigree. Sloppy. But then, succession so often is.”
I stared at her.
She blinked. “What? Did I say something wrong? Not that it matters—Libraries are sovereign territories. I can’t commit treason unless I do it outside these walls.”
“Good to know.” I set the book I’d been struggling with aside. “How can you be sure she wasn’t his heir?”
Mags blinked again, wings buzzing in a rapid blur that telegraphed her confusion. “Because I met his children.”
I was on my feet before I realized I was going to move. “Children? King Gilad never married.”
“Marriage is not a requirement for children, nor does every marriage result in children,” said Mags slowly. “Do I need to add some books about sexual reproduction to your pull list?”
“No! I mean . . . he was the King. Why wouldn’t he have gotten married if he was going to have children?”
“As a King, I believe I can answer that,” said Tybalt. I turned. He was standing in the opening of the nearest row of bookshelves with Quentin and a tray of take-out cups. “I never introduced my wife to the Divided Courts. My cats knew her because I wanted her to have their protection. But she never met a soul she did not need to know.”
He walked over to me, taking the largest of the cups off the tray and holding it out. I took it. He smiled, a little sadly.
“A King learns to conceal what matters most, lest others use it as a weapon against him. I learned that early and held it dear. If King Gilad had children, he did well to keep them from the public eye.”
“A little too well, since it looks like it netted us the wrong Queen.” I turned back to Mags. “Were they too young to claim the throne when their father died?”
“They may have been dead, or injured, or lost in grief,” she said. “The Kingdom was in chaos after the earthquake. No one expected Gilad to be killed. If Arden and Nolan lived—”
I went still. “Wait. Arden?”
“Yes. Arden Windermere, the King’s daughter.”
When Dean and Peter Lorden were kidnapped, their kidnappers hid them in a shallowing in Muir Woods. The Luidaeg was able to convince it to let us in by telling it that Arden lived. The Luidaeg never lied.
The King’s daughter was alive.
Quentin’s thoughts had clearly mirrored mine. He nodded toward the door. “I’ll stay here and keep reading,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “Mags, if we go, can we come back?”
“Of course,” she said. “A Library pass is good for a fortnight, and you owe me information. The Library will not move as long as your pass is good.”
“Since that’s more time than I have left in the Kingdom, that should be more than enough.” I turned to Tybalt. “We need to go back to the Luidaeg.”
He nodded. “Yes. I suppose we do.”
“Wait!”
We both turned to Mags. “Yes?” I asked.
“Is the Luidaeg still in San Francisco?” Her cheeks reddened as she added, “I haven’t heard from her in years. I thought she’d moved on to some other coastal city.”
To my surprise, she laughed. “Amandine’s daughter comes here from the Queen’s Court, if the dress you’re wearing is any indication, and starts asking for books about a long-dead King? It doesn’t take a genius to know that you are trouble, and you’re likely to cause even more.”
“Fair,” I admitted.
“Next, I’ll need you to tell me about your mum. We can do that part later, once you have the information you need, but it’s clear you know something that’s not in her official biography, and that could help me quite a bit.” Mags looked almost abashed. “The Libraries work on a system of information for information, you see. If I have verified information that no one else does, I can use it to trade for some volumes we’ve needed here. Undersea histories and the like.”
“Done,” I said. Mom gave up the right to pretend she was Daoine Sidhe when she lied to me about my heritage, then left me with powers I didn’t fully understand. I paused as a thought occurred to me, and asked, “While we’re here, do you have any books about hope chests?” They were a manufactured method of doing what my mother—and I—could do naturally. Maybe reading about the hope chests could give me a better idea of how my own magic worked.
And how to hurt people less when I had to use it on them.
“I do,” Mags said. “I’ll get it for you.”
I looked at the heap already building around me, and sighed. “Right. We’re going to need to make a coffee run.”
Mags smiled. “I like my mochas with extra whipped cream.”
SEVEN
AFTER SOME DEBATE—and writing our order on a piece of scratch paper—Quentin and Tybalt were dispatched to get coffee, on the theory that Mags was the Librarian and I was the one who’d actually be banished if I didn’t find something useful in these books. I squinted at the one I had open, wondering if it would make more sense after I’d had some coffee. Mags emerged from the shelf-maze with another four books in her arms.
I looked up. “Was this written to be confusing?”
“What’s the title?”
“Um . . . A History of the Westlands, volume III.”
“Then yes. That series was written to the style of the time, which called for absolute heroism on the part of everyone involved, even the villains. It made things a bit difficult to muddle through.” She put the fresh stack of books down next to me. “It might help if I knew what you were looking for. King Gilad wasn’t a friend of mine, but we met. He came to the Library more than a few times. Never would tell me what he was looking for, but oh, he was a sweet one, when he wanted to be . . .”
I looked up, assessing her. Finally, after a pause almost long enough to let me lose my nerve, I asked, “What do you know about the Queen of the Mists?”
“Not much. Our biography on her is more like a pamphlet. ‘How to start a war and terrorize your citizenry without revealing your real name.’ And she’s not Gilad’s heir, of course. I’d have been happy to confirm that, if I’d ever been asked.” Mags shook her head. “She claimed the throne, the local nobles backed her, and no one ever came here to check her pedigree. Sloppy. But then, succession so often is.”
I stared at her.
She blinked. “What? Did I say something wrong? Not that it matters—Libraries are sovereign territories. I can’t commit treason unless I do it outside these walls.”
“Good to know.” I set the book I’d been struggling with aside. “How can you be sure she wasn’t his heir?”
Mags blinked again, wings buzzing in a rapid blur that telegraphed her confusion. “Because I met his children.”
I was on my feet before I realized I was going to move. “Children? King Gilad never married.”
“Marriage is not a requirement for children, nor does every marriage result in children,” said Mags slowly. “Do I need to add some books about sexual reproduction to your pull list?”
“No! I mean . . . he was the King. Why wouldn’t he have gotten married if he was going to have children?”
“As a King, I believe I can answer that,” said Tybalt. I turned. He was standing in the opening of the nearest row of bookshelves with Quentin and a tray of take-out cups. “I never introduced my wife to the Divided Courts. My cats knew her because I wanted her to have their protection. But she never met a soul she did not need to know.”
He walked over to me, taking the largest of the cups off the tray and holding it out. I took it. He smiled, a little sadly.
“A King learns to conceal what matters most, lest others use it as a weapon against him. I learned that early and held it dear. If King Gilad had children, he did well to keep them from the public eye.”
“A little too well, since it looks like it netted us the wrong Queen.” I turned back to Mags. “Were they too young to claim the throne when their father died?”
“They may have been dead, or injured, or lost in grief,” she said. “The Kingdom was in chaos after the earthquake. No one expected Gilad to be killed. If Arden and Nolan lived—”
I went still. “Wait. Arden?”
“Yes. Arden Windermere, the King’s daughter.”
When Dean and Peter Lorden were kidnapped, their kidnappers hid them in a shallowing in Muir Woods. The Luidaeg was able to convince it to let us in by telling it that Arden lived. The Luidaeg never lied.
The King’s daughter was alive.
Quentin’s thoughts had clearly mirrored mine. He nodded toward the door. “I’ll stay here and keep reading,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “Mags, if we go, can we come back?”
“Of course,” she said. “A Library pass is good for a fortnight, and you owe me information. The Library will not move as long as your pass is good.”
“Since that’s more time than I have left in the Kingdom, that should be more than enough.” I turned to Tybalt. “We need to go back to the Luidaeg.”
He nodded. “Yes. I suppose we do.”
“Wait!”
We both turned to Mags. “Yes?” I asked.
“Is the Luidaeg still in San Francisco?” Her cheeks reddened as she added, “I haven’t heard from her in years. I thought she’d moved on to some other coastal city.”
