Chapter Thirty-Five
Royal Master Librarian Jacoben’s gut roiled in sick, squirming knots as sweat pooled in the small of his back.
The main doors of the library were open, the chill air sweeping away the warm, sweet scent of paper and ink. He watched as the palace guards with their filthy boots hauled open boxes and barrels of books and scrolls into the Royal Library— his library —like so many sides of beef, stacking them willy-nilly on the tables and floors. A chaos of knowledge, treated with utter disdain.
When a page fluttered to the floor, a guard snatched it up and crammed it into his crate.
Jacoben could barely breathe. He opened his mouth to protest, but the sight of the Queen’s Bondmaiden, Avice, stilled his words, cleaving his dry tongue to the roof of his mouth. She was a lovely woman, but her was the cold beauty of the blade. Something about the way she moved spoke of a cat, waiting to pounce when the mouse twitched.
He stood stiff and silent at her side, his cold, clammy fingers laced together to keep them from shaking.
There were whispers. Rumors of disappearances.
Of deaths.
“There’s more coming,” Avice sniffed. “At least another wagon-load.”
Another wagon-load? Looking at what had already arrived, Jacoben realized with horror that that would be all of Orval’s collection. The Librarian swallowed hard, trying to get moisture in his mouth, trying to protest, to spit on this woman for this atrocity.
Then he recalled his lovely wife, his oldest son—just about to start his apprenticeship, and his youngest daughter, first learning to walk. And the others. Six mouths, altogether, to feed and clothe and nurture and…bile rose in his throat.
He could not risk it.
He and Orval had their differences, certainly, and the man was definitely wrong in his interpretations of the Epic of Xyson . But to strip a man of his books, his life’s work.…
Jacoben looked at the volumes around him, organized systematically, cataloged, the knowledge of the Kingdom.
His life’s work.
He’d been told—no, warned—that Orval was to be “honored” by the King, told that his staff should be ready to accept the scholar’s books as an addition to the Library, but he’d never expected this. A few of the choicest pieces, certainly…but everything ?
The worst of it? The thought that burned in the back of his throat? He’d seen Orval at the Audiences and for one brief instant, he’d dared to think. Dared to warn him, to try to aid him…
Instead, he’d fled back to his library. To the shelter of the stacks and shelves. They’d never been friends, though they weren’t truly enemies, either. Perhaps adversaries was the better term, but—
Guilt added to the pain in his bowels, which were turning liquid. He clenched his ass tight and tried to breathe.
The Bondmaiden shifted slightly, smelling of ginger and something sour. The silence had gone too long; she was looking at him oddly. He forced words out past the clog in his throat. “We are overwhelmed to be trusted with this amount of material. It will take time to organize and catalog—”
Avice gave him a direct stare from under dark lashes. “No need. The Queen wishes these materials preserved, so we will seal the crates with her personal seal and place them in storage.
Jacoben licked his lips. “We will need to find suitable storage, somewhere dry and free of—”
“Somewhere there is room,” Avice said firmly. “Safely under lock and key.”
“Of course,” Jacoben said faintly. “But we could prepare a list—”
“Of the crates? Certainly.” Avice said. “Of the books? Why bother? If anyone asks for access, tell them they will need the Queen’s permission. Written permission,” she added firmly.
“I see,” Jacoben said cautiously.
“Excellent. You should be aware that there are plans to secure additional materials from other libraries in the future.”
Other collections?
They watched as more boxes were brought in. Then sacks. Sacks.
Avice spoke again. “The Queen understands that you receive requests at times, for research and information.”
“Y-y-yes.” Jacoben swallowed hard. “The work of this Library and Archive is to provide—”
“No more, Master Librarian. In the future, all requests must be approved by the Queen,” Avice said.
“Oh, but,” Jacoben glanced at the stacks of pending requests on the shelf designated for them. “But that will—”
“No ‘buts,’” Avice said, a threat in her voice.
“No, of course not,” Jacoben said faintly. “As the Queen commands, of course.” He drew a breath, thinking of his wife, his children, his staff. He knew they were currently pretending to work, bodies hunched over desks but pens barely moving.
“Good. Ah, that’s the last of it.” Avice nodded as the guards started to bring in lids for the crates. One of them dropped a lid on top of an over-full box and mashed down the contents. Jacoben tried not to wince.
The Librarian never knew where the idea came from; he spoke almost before finishing the thought. “There’s one difficulty,” he blurted out. “The King has commanded that we search all records for any reference to atira blades.”
“Hold,” Avice said. The guards obeyed.
Jacoben trembled at his own daring. “Surely he would wish us to search these new collections as well?”
There was a very long pause. Avice didn’t even look at him.
“The King is very focused on this goal,” Jacoben ventured.
“He is,” Avice confirmed. “Is there a chance there is a mention in all this?”
“Yes,” Jacoben said firmly. Of course there was a chance. A small chance, perhaps, but a chance nonetheless. Who knew what Orval had locked away? “With the Queen’s permission, we could review this collection and seek the information the King has requested.”
Avice looked at him coolly and he knew damn well he was not fooling her. But King Xyrath had made it very clear to everyone that he desired an atira blade above all things.
Jacoben smiled weakly, feeling his knees begin to give way. He was useless and spineless, but—
“I will consult with Her Majesty,” Avice said. “No one is to touch these crates until I return. You,” she pointed at two of the guards, “stand watch while I am gone.”
The other guards followed the Bondmaiden out. It felt like the very air grew warmer as she left.
“Master,” came a whisper, and Jacoben felt the warmth of other bodies around him.
He came to himself to find he was surrounded by his staff. Copyists, archivists, friends. Worried faces, all looking to him.
“We should return to our duties,” he choked out. “These boxes are not to be touched until we receive instructions from the Queen. We will work around the clutter. Move your things and use the desks towards the back.”
“Yes, Master.” Their voices were quiet as they bowed away, retreating to their usual desks.
Jacoben brushed off the front of his tunic and returned to his desk, glancing at the papers there. “Apprentice Hulbert, did you find that Second Age reference for me?”
“No, Master,” came the response from the boy, his pudgy face stark white, his cheeks two spots of red. His dark eyes glanced at the guards, then lowered. “Perhaps it has been mis-shelved. I will look again.”
Good lad, Jacoben thought, though he merely nodded. He returned to work as the others gathered their things and moved away. The pair of guards kept their distance, standing together near the main door, chatting with each other.
After what seemed like forever, Hulbert called from the back. “I have it here, Master. Shall I bring it out?”
“No,” Jacoben rose. “I will come.”
As he expected, his people were gathered together, huddled among the farthest stacks. They gathered close to him, like stoop-shouldered, ink-stained chicks.
“What shall we do?” one whispered. A few looked over their shoulders toward the main door, their fear plain.
“There are many new faces,” another said, wringing ink-stained fingers.
“That new Housekeeper is not to be trusted,” a third growled.
Jacoben gathered them even closer, whispering. “We will keep ourselves and the collection safe. We will do as we are commanded.”
“But—”
“We will continue the work of this archive. The King has commanded us to search out any reference to atira blades, no matter how vague. The Queen will have little choice but to allow us to go through Orval’s collection, or—” he swallowed hard, “any other materials that come into our possession.” He took a breath. “And if we organize and preserve as we go, who is to say we err?”
Nods all around.
“We will review all new acquisitions according to our standard procedures,” he reminded them. “Through methods that take time and care. In an orderly fashion, so that we do not miss a single reference to atira blades.”
They were calming, thinking of the work ahead.
“We will send their Majesties a daily report, to keep their interest and show our co-operation.” Jacoben nodded, the idea forming even as he spoke. “We will keep safe and quiet.”
“What if we find one?” Ansella, the youngest apprentice, asked, with wide-eyed hope. “Might the King come here? To the Library?”
Hulbert opened his mouth to argue.
“Ansella,” Jacoben chided her even as the others chuckled. “It’s a myth, from the Golden Age of Xy. Hundreds of years and no one has found an atira blade yet.” He straightened, lifting his chin. “Although if one is to be found, I am sure we would be the ones to find the reference.”
Soft chuckles all around. They were justifiably proud of their abilities.
“What of those research requests?” Hulbert asked.
“We will send our regrets and explain the new procedures in ways that provide a carefully worded warning. We will note that all requests are reviewed and noted and that there might be…further acquisitions.”
Light was dawning in their eyes as they began to understand him.
“But Master,” Hulbert reminded him, “The crates will still be sealed, the knowledge contained within still not accessible.”
“True,” Jacoben smiled grimly, “at least until the page turns. And we all know that there is always another page. And with every turn of the page, new knowledge is revealed, new ideas and thoughts.”
He looked them all in the eye in turn, gauging their understanding. He was met with hope and determination.
“So, we will work and strive and keep ourselves and our own safe as best we can.” Jacoben gestured them back to their work as the main doors opened. “It’s all we can do.”
He headed back through the shelves to his desk, changing course when he saw that the Bondmaiden had returned and was awaiting him. Even as she instructed him to catalog Orval’s papers, his thoughts kept churning back to the man himself.
Lord High Baron Orval. Married, huh, that had come as a surprise. Still, he wished the new Lord High Baron and his wife well.
They were going to need it.