The Broken Eye
Page 74
“They’re not deaf, Ferk,” Ben-hadad muttered.
“Oh, sorry,” Ferkudi said, lowering his voice. “Wait, why am I apologizing to slaves?”
He glowered at a slave, and when the others weren’t looking, Kip saw the slave waggle a stub of a tongue at Ferkudi, who flinched. The next moment, when the others turned to see why Ferkudi had shrunk back, the slave was standing placidly, as if he’d never moved.
Ferkudi was cursing under his breath, but he made no move at retaliation.
Ben-hadad went over to a stack of books and looked at the titles. It took him a while, but no one intervened. Ben-hadad would accept help when he needed to absorb a lot of text, but could get angry otherwise. He said, “This place looks like the High Luxiats have used it as their own private lounge. These books aren’t forbidden. I think the venerable magisters simply don’t like sitting on the same hard benches the rest of us do.”
“Does that slave have wine?” Daelos asked. “You think I could…”
“No,” Ben-hahad, Kip, Cruxer, and Big Leo said.
Other than four slaves and the luxiat who was watching the door, this restricted library was empty. The squad drew together a couple of the desks, moving furniture with the impunity of the young, or of Blackguards, or of the friends of a young lord with a special writ from his grandfather. It felt great, but Kip clutched the writ close, certain someone was going to yell at them at any moment.
They’d settled down to study quickly, though. Cruxer wouldn’t stand for less. Only Kip was released to browse the shelves. He grabbed books blindly, bound leather inscribed with faded runes and filled with delicate script that at first he didn’t realize was in a language he could read. An account of some village he’d never heard of, filled with vocabulary that had to be of foreign origin. Another scroll that seemed to be about farming methods. Another entirely in Old Parian. Another in some language Kip had never laid eyes on. Another in runes.
An account of the pygmies—not of Blood Forest, nor of the archaic Blood Plains, but of Tyrea. Tyrea? Sounded fascinating, though the dates listed were some abbreviation that Kip hadn’t seen, so he had no idea how long ago this had been written—and it was written about a time several hundred years before it?
He had no idea how this part of the library was organized, and picking up scrolls randomly was never going to help him find something useful. Kip headed to the front to find the guardian librarian standing out in the hall. As he got close, he heard urgent whispers. “No!” someone said. Using the shelves to hide his approach, Kip crept closer until he saw the original librarian, speaking to some younger luxiats, “—and report to the High Luxiat that he can’t send any more … I can let him know when these spies are gone, but—”
“Can’t make us carry these all the way back. Can’t the slaves—”
Kip stepped forward and saw four young luxiats-to-be flinch guiltily. Each was carrying a stack of scrolls or books. “What’s going on here?” Kip asked.
They all looked at the older luxiat, and Kip knew he was going to hear lies. “Simply routine work, scrolls in need of mending being returned.” He turned to the young luxiats-in-training. “Thank you, you may deposit those and go.”
“But before you go,” Kip said. “You’re to tell me your names.”
They looked again at the librarian.
Kip sighed, putting on a pretty good pretense of exasperation. “Who is the Highest Luxiat?” he asked. He didn’t wait for the man to say, the Prism. “That’s my father. And who is in charge of all the Chromeria during his absence? The promachos. That’s my grandfather. Who has told you to aid me as I go about his work. Do you think he sees not what you do?”
The librarian blanched. “Tell him your names,” he said.
They did, and Kip said, “Good, now I want each of you to go looking for a luxiat named Quentin Naheed. You are to demand that he attend me here, immediately. It’s an order from the promachos’s own hand. Understood?”
They scattered. It left Kip with a very uncomfortable librarian. Kip just stared at the man, trying to put some Andross Guile into his expression. The librarian looked away, and Kip broke out into a big grin. It worked!
He tried to recapture the fierceness, but even as the minutes passed, he could only get as close as dour.
“Hey, Kip! You feeling well? You look constipated,” Quentin Naheed said, coming into the library.
Kip winced.
“How’d you find— Oh, greetings, Brother Anir.”
The librarian scowled and moved to speak. “Brother Anir,” Kip said, “you’re dismissed back to your post.”
The man went, and Quentin looked at Kip, surprised that he had power over a luxiat.
“I need your help,” Kip said. “Not just today.” Kip showed him the writ.
“I would have helped without that,” Quentin said. “I was thinking about before, and … you’re right, I did lie to you, and that’s beneath a luxiat of Orholam. It shall not happen again, not ever. This I swear in the light and by my hope of eternity. You will have the truth of me, no matter the cost.”
Kip raised an eyebrow. What a strange young man. But Quentin was deadly serious. Kip supposed that those who became luxiats had to be a bit peculiar by definition, though.
“Very well,” Kip said, feeling like he should react with some sort of sufficiently sober pronouncement, but he had nothing. “These texts here. What are they?”
“I can look through each and tell you what each one is. Is that what you’re looking for?” Quentin asked, puzzled.
“No, no. Some younger luxiats-to-be were tasked with bringing those books here, and I want to know why. Brother Anir said they’d been repaired? Is that true?”
Quentin went through the books and scrolls and scowled. “I am loath to accuse anyone of falsehood, but … the condition of these books is not consistent with books coming up from the binderies. Mistress Takama would never let this work pass. Some of these haven’t been repaired in decades. Nor do all of the books need repair, so this is not consistent with either going to or coming from the binderies.”
“Then what are they?” Kip asked.
“I don’t know.”
But there was something in how he stressed that. “Are you going to be honest, or only technically honest?” Kip asked.
Quentin hesitated. “You’re right. I … I’ll have to pray about how reflexively I cover the truth where my peers are concerned. I should have said, ‘I don’t know, but I can speculate.’ And as I’m sure you’ll next ask what said speculation would be…” He blew out a breath. “These are books from the other restricted libraries.”
“So?” Kip asked.
The rest of the squad had come over. Kip introduced them, and Quentin seemed to get more and more shy, but after introductions, Kip pressed him again. “So?”
“So there are different permissions needed for the various libraries: you may get access to some libraries but not to others. This library is restricted at the highest level. I’ve actually never been here.”
“Oh, sneaky,” Ben-hadad said, shaking his head, understanding.
“Oh, sorry,” Ferkudi said, lowering his voice. “Wait, why am I apologizing to slaves?”
He glowered at a slave, and when the others weren’t looking, Kip saw the slave waggle a stub of a tongue at Ferkudi, who flinched. The next moment, when the others turned to see why Ferkudi had shrunk back, the slave was standing placidly, as if he’d never moved.
Ferkudi was cursing under his breath, but he made no move at retaliation.
Ben-hadad went over to a stack of books and looked at the titles. It took him a while, but no one intervened. Ben-hadad would accept help when he needed to absorb a lot of text, but could get angry otherwise. He said, “This place looks like the High Luxiats have used it as their own private lounge. These books aren’t forbidden. I think the venerable magisters simply don’t like sitting on the same hard benches the rest of us do.”
“Does that slave have wine?” Daelos asked. “You think I could…”
“No,” Ben-hahad, Kip, Cruxer, and Big Leo said.
Other than four slaves and the luxiat who was watching the door, this restricted library was empty. The squad drew together a couple of the desks, moving furniture with the impunity of the young, or of Blackguards, or of the friends of a young lord with a special writ from his grandfather. It felt great, but Kip clutched the writ close, certain someone was going to yell at them at any moment.
They’d settled down to study quickly, though. Cruxer wouldn’t stand for less. Only Kip was released to browse the shelves. He grabbed books blindly, bound leather inscribed with faded runes and filled with delicate script that at first he didn’t realize was in a language he could read. An account of some village he’d never heard of, filled with vocabulary that had to be of foreign origin. Another scroll that seemed to be about farming methods. Another entirely in Old Parian. Another in some language Kip had never laid eyes on. Another in runes.
An account of the pygmies—not of Blood Forest, nor of the archaic Blood Plains, but of Tyrea. Tyrea? Sounded fascinating, though the dates listed were some abbreviation that Kip hadn’t seen, so he had no idea how long ago this had been written—and it was written about a time several hundred years before it?
He had no idea how this part of the library was organized, and picking up scrolls randomly was never going to help him find something useful. Kip headed to the front to find the guardian librarian standing out in the hall. As he got close, he heard urgent whispers. “No!” someone said. Using the shelves to hide his approach, Kip crept closer until he saw the original librarian, speaking to some younger luxiats, “—and report to the High Luxiat that he can’t send any more … I can let him know when these spies are gone, but—”
“Can’t make us carry these all the way back. Can’t the slaves—”
Kip stepped forward and saw four young luxiats-to-be flinch guiltily. Each was carrying a stack of scrolls or books. “What’s going on here?” Kip asked.
They all looked at the older luxiat, and Kip knew he was going to hear lies. “Simply routine work, scrolls in need of mending being returned.” He turned to the young luxiats-in-training. “Thank you, you may deposit those and go.”
“But before you go,” Kip said. “You’re to tell me your names.”
They looked again at the librarian.
Kip sighed, putting on a pretty good pretense of exasperation. “Who is the Highest Luxiat?” he asked. He didn’t wait for the man to say, the Prism. “That’s my father. And who is in charge of all the Chromeria during his absence? The promachos. That’s my grandfather. Who has told you to aid me as I go about his work. Do you think he sees not what you do?”
The librarian blanched. “Tell him your names,” he said.
They did, and Kip said, “Good, now I want each of you to go looking for a luxiat named Quentin Naheed. You are to demand that he attend me here, immediately. It’s an order from the promachos’s own hand. Understood?”
They scattered. It left Kip with a very uncomfortable librarian. Kip just stared at the man, trying to put some Andross Guile into his expression. The librarian looked away, and Kip broke out into a big grin. It worked!
He tried to recapture the fierceness, but even as the minutes passed, he could only get as close as dour.
“Hey, Kip! You feeling well? You look constipated,” Quentin Naheed said, coming into the library.
Kip winced.
“How’d you find— Oh, greetings, Brother Anir.”
The librarian scowled and moved to speak. “Brother Anir,” Kip said, “you’re dismissed back to your post.”
The man went, and Quentin looked at Kip, surprised that he had power over a luxiat.
“I need your help,” Kip said. “Not just today.” Kip showed him the writ.
“I would have helped without that,” Quentin said. “I was thinking about before, and … you’re right, I did lie to you, and that’s beneath a luxiat of Orholam. It shall not happen again, not ever. This I swear in the light and by my hope of eternity. You will have the truth of me, no matter the cost.”
Kip raised an eyebrow. What a strange young man. But Quentin was deadly serious. Kip supposed that those who became luxiats had to be a bit peculiar by definition, though.
“Very well,” Kip said, feeling like he should react with some sort of sufficiently sober pronouncement, but he had nothing. “These texts here. What are they?”
“I can look through each and tell you what each one is. Is that what you’re looking for?” Quentin asked, puzzled.
“No, no. Some younger luxiats-to-be were tasked with bringing those books here, and I want to know why. Brother Anir said they’d been repaired? Is that true?”
Quentin went through the books and scrolls and scowled. “I am loath to accuse anyone of falsehood, but … the condition of these books is not consistent with books coming up from the binderies. Mistress Takama would never let this work pass. Some of these haven’t been repaired in decades. Nor do all of the books need repair, so this is not consistent with either going to or coming from the binderies.”
“Then what are they?” Kip asked.
“I don’t know.”
But there was something in how he stressed that. “Are you going to be honest, or only technically honest?” Kip asked.
Quentin hesitated. “You’re right. I … I’ll have to pray about how reflexively I cover the truth where my peers are concerned. I should have said, ‘I don’t know, but I can speculate.’ And as I’m sure you’ll next ask what said speculation would be…” He blew out a breath. “These are books from the other restricted libraries.”
“So?” Kip asked.
The rest of the squad had come over. Kip introduced them, and Quentin seemed to get more and more shy, but after introductions, Kip pressed him again. “So?”
“So there are different permissions needed for the various libraries: you may get access to some libraries but not to others. This library is restricted at the highest level. I’ve actually never been here.”
“Oh, sneaky,” Ben-hadad said, shaking his head, understanding.
